Slocum and the Teamster Lady

by Jake Logan

  “It wasn’t beer, only pulque. That’s fermented corn.”

  “It was still bad.”

  He didn’t bother to tell her how wild she’d been, a little drunk and worked up. She was an eager lover to start, but intoxicated, she became a fierce mink in heat. Keeping his newfound secret to himself, he pushed his horse up the steeper gravel trail. Cumulous clouds were building. Those up toward the peaks, he could see, were growing into columns. There would be thunder showers somewhere in the Madres. Every day in the monsoon season, rain fell in some parts of the Mother Mountains. Maybe only a passing shower or a gulley washer that would send dry washes to high flood stage in minutes.

  By noon, they camped at a spring that came out at the base of a tall sheer buff and boiled over into a large rock basin. The spring’s water was cool and refreshing. He tossed his hat aside, doused his sunbaked face in the clear liquid, and came up tossing his long hair.

  “What do we need to do about the willows?” she asked, seated on the ground, pinching off green grass.

  “Oh, make some boiling water. I’ll scrape off some bark and we can make willow tea.”

  “I’m ready.”

  He winked at her. “Altitude. At times it really gets to me. I never know when it’ll hit me.”

  “I’ll get a kettle of water boiling.”

  He rose, went to the weeping willow tree, and began cutting off slivers with his jackknife. With a fist full of the bark shavings, he went to where her fire licked the black bottom of the coffeepot. Seated cross-legged again, he cut the bark up into smaller pieces. She brought him a couple of tin cups and a third one to put the tea in they didn’t use.

  “What woman taught you about the willow tea?”

  “I’m not sure, but it’s brought me around when I was lots worse than I am today.”

  “Maybe she had some charms you didn’t see and it wasn’t willow tea at all that cured you.”

  “No, I’ve done it without her too.” He smiled at her chiding him. “But she may have been a bruja.”

  She smiled and rose on her knees. “The water is boiling. What do I do next?”

  “Put a teaspoon of chopped bark in each cup and pour in the hot water. Then it needs to steep.”

  “That’s easy enough. What is in it that helps you?”

  “Some chemical that’s in the bark, I reckon. Indian women keep it on hand in large supplies.”

  “I just wondered. How far are we away from those villages we are going to?”

  “Maybe an eight-hour ride. But my head’s going to be better before we go much further or higher.”

  “What else would clear your head?” A smug know-it-all smile written on her lips, she handed him the steaming cup. “Is it ready?”

  He winked and nodded. “I’ll check it.”

  When the tea cooled enough to drink, he found it had a wang. Sipping on it, he felt satisfied that relief would soon stop the sharp needles in his temples. Their camping spot was off the main road, the two dried up ruts that wound their way up into the Mother Mountains.

  He used the downtime to bathe. She did the same, as well as shaved him. Then she washed their clothes and hung them on bushes to dry. They took siestas, and the mountain fever had began to release its grip on him enough for them to have a smooth round of lovemaking. When it was over, she sat up and grinned big at him. “Helped your headache?”

  “Damn near gone.”

  They laughed.

  Later in the night, he awoke to the sound of horses and mules. Quickly, he reached over and smothered her mouth. “We’ve got company and I ain’t certain it’s the good kind. Better get dressed.”

  “Who is it?” she hissed, already pulling on her skirt.

  “A big pack train.”

  She nodded and went on dressing.

  The fact that this outfit was moving at all so late after sundown made him doubly suspicious. Unusual for a packer to chance a night movement, especially in the mountain terrain they’d find ahead. They must be moving guns or other contraband to the Apaches.

  The spring couldn’t water that many animals. Slocum’s wishful thinking said maybe they’d move on without trying, but taking no chances, he grabbed up the bedroll and told her under his breath to go saddle their horses. Rolling it up, he listened to all the confusion out on the road and braying jackasses, which was covering their escape. Soon mounted, they rode up the side canyon leading the pack mules. Feeling apprehensive, Slocum kept looking over his shoulder into the dark night for any sign of pursuit.

  When they topped the next rise, he stopped under the weak starlight and they both listened. He could hear the distant cursing and mules protesting in the darkness as they went up the mountain.

  “Have they gone on?” she whispered.

  “I hope so. I could have slept a few hours longer.”

  “They must be in a big hurry to get wherever they’re headed.”

  He wished he knew why. “Yes, traveling into those mountains at night is damn dangerous.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “Take a new trail in there.” A less-used one, he hoped.

  He damn sure wanted no war with the bandits. He was there to rescue or ransom a girl, not fight for some revolution or be in a power war for command of a region. Leave all that to the hired guns and soldiers of fortune,

  The trail he chose proved to be a dim one under the stars that followed high-pitched hogbacks with a narrow path on their crests and thousands of feet on either side to fall if your mount missed a step. Her shadow was silhouetted ahead of the two mules he drove across the backbone.

  “How much more is there of this?” she asked. “This scares me more and more by the minute.”

  “Keep your faith. It isn’t far.”

  “You said that last time I asked. Sweet Jesus, this is like walking a rope. I saw a man do that over the street in Tombstone. My heart was in my throat the whole time for him not to fall. Here it’s choking off my breathing.”

  “Try to settle down. There is no turning around. We’re committed.”

  “I want to be on my hands and knees.”

  “Willa, close your eyes and relax.”

  “My heart is pumping so hard that it’s thumping inside my chest. I close my eyes for very long, I won’t ever open them again.”

  “Yes, you will. Yes you will. Be brave, we’ll make it.”

  Hours later, on sea legs, they dismounted in a grove of pines, grateful to have gravelly ground under their soles. Her arms wrapped around him, and her whole body trembled as she clung to him.

  “Did you ever use that horrible trail we came across back there before?” she managed to ask him.

  “No, and I won’t ever again unless it’s to save our lives.” He buried her sobbing face against his lower chest. The trembling in her shoulders and body continued. Anxious to relieve her of the trauma gripping her soul, he cupped her face and smothered her with kisses. Lips pressed together in wanton need, they finally slumped to the ground and soon they were lost in passion’s arms. Her dress wadded up to her waist with her legs and crotch exposed, he tore open his pants and started his aching dick inside her.

  When he opened her gates, she cried out and they fell into an abyss deeper than the hogbacks had straddled. Later, exhausted, they undressed and crawled in the bedroll. Nothing woke them until dawn.

  8

  The next morning, they sat cross-legged on the ground when the sun tried to come over the Madres. Blowing on his coffee, he wondered where that pack train in the night before was headed.

  “I guess we’re lucky we weren’t discovered back there, huh?” she asked.

  “Chances are we were lucky. They weren’t moving at night because they wanted it known, I’m certain.”

  “I expected any moment to be discovered.”

  “They were so involved in keeping the train going, they missed us.”

  “What were they hauling, do you think?”

  “Maybe guns for the Apaches. You know
there’s gold up in the Madres. Indians used to burn paper money when they found it on raids. They hated gold diggers. Now they know the difference. They’ve figured out what stolen money, and even what raw gold, will buy them. And there’s enough greedy white men in this world that will exchange with them.”

  “Don’t they know any better?” She made a pained face at him. “All the people that get killed—”

  “They know better.” He nodded with a grim set to his mouth. “I call it greed.”

  After a short meal of some crackers and dry cheese, they saddled up.

  Slocum leaned over the saddle to speak to her. “There’s no easy way into those mountains. The way that we’re going eagles might hate.”

  “I’m with you. How’s your head?”

  “No worse.”

  “I’ll make you some more willow tea later today.”

  “That’ll be fine.”

  He wasn’t about to tell her he had needles again in both ears piercing his brain. If he had the time, he’d have rested at the those springs another day before venturing higher and let his body adjust to the altitude. But he worried there might be some pistoleros with the pack outfit running as guards front and back. With a boost, he put her in the saddle and they headed out.

  By noon, they were climbing into the Mother Mountains on a narrow trail notched out of the stone face. The clack of their shod saddle horses’ shoes striking rocks rang like bells.

  “Don’t look down. It’ll make you dizzy.”

  She threw her chin up. “No-no worry. I’m looking for a buzzard to float by close enough to pet.”

  He chuckled and looked ahead at the winding ribbon that angled skyward. If only his head’d quit pounding. His hand on the horn, he had to stay conscious until they reached the top, and by his estimate that was three hours ahead, with few places except some turn-backs wide enough to rest. Damn, he might have made the wrong judgment choosing this narrow staircase and him not feeling any better than he did.

  With her bringing up the rear, they clacked up the mountain trail. His head-bobbing horse made his way handily. With lightning pain blasting through his brain, he tried to simply keep himself in the saddle and going on. All he had to do was ride. His left foot scuffing the rock wall and thousands of feet to a sure death under the right stirrup didn’t mend his headache or stop the dizzy spells that swept through him in waves.

  He was sweat-soaked more from the tension than the heat, but the wind striking him made a cooling sweep of his face that he felt grateful for. This day proved worse than the hogback one for him. He rode the horse more by grit than anything else. The sharp knives in his ears pierced painfully into his gray matter. Made him wonder why his blood wasn’t squirting out of both of them.

  Hours went by and deep in his lost mind, he knew she must be under a similar pressure. Then, he felt in his dull awareness his horse gathering himself under him in cat hops that about shook him out of his saddle. Like a giant hole cut in the sky, he emerged onto a flat land of pines.

  Thank you, Lord . . .

  He could hear her calling to him, but she was far away. How could that be? She held him in her arms and her pleading face was only inches from his—the world went black again.

  For two days, he came and went, with her holding him steady to stand up and vent his bladder. Then she’d lead him back to the bedroll. Devils chased him through his hellish nightmares, and he wondered why she didn’t leave him to die.

  He awoke in a cold sweat and the stench of his own body odor assailed his nostrils. For sure he needed a bath. But the mountain fever had passed and he knew he’d recover quickly. Knotted muscles all over his body complained, but he knew that too would evaporate.

  “Well, you look awake for the first time. Tell me,” she said, walking over to stand above him with her hands on her hips. “Where in hell have you been?”

  “You guessed it.” He swept his too-long hair back with his fingers. “Whew, that was the worst session I ever had with the mountain fever in a long time.”

  “Worried me. But I’d worried a lot more if I’d known you probably were hanging on for your life to the saddle horn the last mile of that climb up here.”

  He smiled for her. “Thanks to you anyway.”

  “You rest. I found a spring on the way up here to water the horses and get drinking water. Tomorrow I’ll get you down there for a bath.”

  “Sounds exciting enough.”

  She waved a finger at him. “You don’t need nothing exciting yet.”

  “Damn my luck.” He struggled to his feet and looked around. They were in a pine glen surrounded with graze for the horses. Good, she wasn’t camped on the trail, but their experience of almost being discovered by the pack train taught her that. Hell, he’d come up there to find out about Apaches and he’d lost enough days to have found an army.

  She took him around the waist, her hip to his legs, and hugged him. “It’s been an exciting trip so far.”

  “Damned if it ain’t.”

  That evening they were drinking coffee, seated at the small fire as twilight engulfed the mountains. He heard something and then his world went blank.

  When he awoke, it was cool and dark. Must be close to dawn. The fire was dead. He knew he was alone. Listening as he could, there was no sounds of horses at sleep.

  Whoever knocked him over the head must have taken her and their things. Who in the hell was it? Apaches? Outlaws? It would be dawn before he could read any signs. But he knew Apaches would have killed him. Especially if they knew who he was. He represented General Crook. That would be reason enough.

  There were lots of bands of outlaws hiding in the Madres. This was a hard country to find a man in or even a gang. But an even tougher land to find anything to steal. Most of the resident denizens were living hand to mouth. His horses and the supplies would be a nice treasure, plus an attractive blond-headed woman. Sumbitch.

  He felt his boot top. He still had his small .30-caliber Colt. Good, he wasn’t defenseless. That could count for a lot in this vast range. He’d need to find her before the horny bastards wore her twat out raping her. What a damn mess. Maybe one of the pack mules got loose on them—he’d be around there grazing when the sun came up. At this point even a burro would do.

  In the starlight penetrating through the pines, he found his saddlebags that they must have missed. In them was some jerky in the pouches as well as caps, bullets, and black powder for the .30. That was better than good news. It made a wonderful discovery for him.

  Daylight finally came and the footprints were not Apaches. They’d ridden on east. Maybe four or five of them with all of his horses, mules, and Willa. They’d rue the day they’d done this to him and her. At least he felt strong enough to take up their trail.

  By late afternoon, he could smell wood smoke, and began to take care as he approached the source. He soon discovered a wood cutters’ camp and with the saddlebags slung over his shoulder and the .30 caliber revolver stuck in his waistband, he walked up to the site. Some women looked up in shock from their cooking.

  “Mi amiga. Hold it. I am looking for some men that took my woman and horses last night before they rode by here. Have you seen them?”

  “Sí. They are bandidos, Señor,” the short woman said to him as the other two stood back, anxious-looking enough about his appearance to hug each other and act ready to run for the edge of the pine forest around them.

  “I know they must be. What are their names?”

  “The main one is Leon Silva. He is very mean and those others I don’t know.” She glanced back at the other two women as if questioning them and they shook their heads.

  “Where does this Silva live?”

  “I don’t know—but he is a very mean man and rapes many women.”

  “Did he rape you or any of them this time?” He gave a head toss at the two girls.

  She shook her head. “Our men were here and they had guns.”

  “Where are your men now?”

&nb
sp; “Cutting wood on the mountain. If you listen you can hear them working. Would you have some coffee, Señor?”

  “Yes, I would. I’m sorry, my name is Slocum.”

  “Mine is Renee. Her name is Sally, the other is Lou. This woman they took is your wife?”

  “She is very important to me.”

  Renee nodded. “They did not waste much time here. Our men all had their guns ready.”

  She handed him a steaming cup. “Here. How will you catch them on foot?”

  The other two became braver, he noticed, and joined her. “Can you ladies sell me a horse?”

  They searched each others’ faces. At last Renee said, “We have one that is not well broke.”

  “How much for it?”

  “It will buck.”

  “I know buck. Is it sound?”

  She glanced at the others and they nodded.

  “May I see it?”

  “Sure.” She gathered her skirt and led him to a corral. The short-coupled red roan mountain horse looked stout enough.

  “How much?”

  “Fifteen pesos.”

  “Is there an extra saddle?”

  “It is old, but two pesos will buy it.”

  “Seventeen pesos. Is that enough?” He had that much money hidden in the vamp of his boot.

  She looked at them for the answer, and they nodded woodenly.

  “Yes, it is.”

  He removed his left boot and paid them from the money he recovered from the vamp, putting the rest of the small roll of bills in his pocket. “Gracias.”

  They brought him an old bridle, a well-worn Indian blanket for a pad, and a very old wooden horn saddle. The girths looked all right. He went in the pen and caught the horse like he considered him well broke, brought him over on a lead to the saddle. Roan snorted at the pile, but Slocum ignored him trying to shy away from there. Holding him close by the makeshift halter, he forced him to smell the pad. That was soon on his back. Next he tossed up the saddle. Roan should just as well get used to it. When the saddle hit his back, Roan squatted down like he was going to toss it higher than the moon. No chance. In a flash, Slocum had the front girth hooked on him, and soon the latigoes were threaded in place. Drawing them tight made the horse roll his eyes around in their sockets. This would be a fun ride.