by Jake Logan
“Guess you better explain why Jim Bob sent you to me.”
“Six weeks ago, five men rode into the crossroads where my husband and I owned a store—Meyer’s Corner. Anyway when they left, my husband Walter, the postmaster’s wife, the bank teller, a blacksmith and two strangers were lying dead in the street. And then they used my ten-year-old son and two other boys for target practice on their way out.”
“What about the law?”
“Gracious, those kind of killers didn’t sit down in Kansas and hold their hands out to be handcuffed.” She folded her arms over her breasts and sat up straight. “Kansas law said they’d get them, but you and I both know that’s just so much talk. They’re gone, long gone to Hades or somewhere else.”
“And you’re going up against five killers?” He shook his head mildly in disbelief. No way.
“Four. I blew one apart in the store with a shotgun, and I also got some lead in the leader.”
“Three and a half killers would make short work of you.”
She ignored his words. “They killed my husband and son. And that’s why I’m here to hire you.”
“You have any names for these men?”
With a sharp nod, she wet her lips and began. “Charlie Bowdry, he’s the boss, Nickel Malloy, he’s the kid. Henny Williams and Indian Tee.”
“Colonel Charles Bowdry?” Slocum shook his head and looked at the gray boards under his dusty boots. He’d had a run-in with the big man—Galveston, Texas, a long time ago—over Bowdry slapping some dove around. He’d made him stop doing it, and only the law arriving saved a gun-fight.
“You know him?” she asked with a glint of hope in her eyes.
“He ain’t exactly a favorite of mine. Former Confederate captain who raised his own rank to colonel. Been in some scraps with the law. Supposedly robbed a couple of banks, stole a few herds of cattle, but did that in the Nation, so he was under Fort Smith law and Judge Parker’s U.S. marshals never caught him.”
“You know any of the others?”
Slocum shook his head. “May recognize them when I see them.”
“Here.” She raised herself to fish out some folded wanted posters from her pants pocket, and eased back down. She flattened out the first one on the bench seat. “The kid. Nickel Malloy alias Morgan Davis.”
“Wanted for murder of two federal black troopers in Waco,” he read off the poster. “Two-fifty reward.”
“That’s the short list on him. This next guy here is a skinny-looking cowboy,” she said, topping the first with another sheet. “Henny murdered his wife, and two other women they know about.”
Slocum pursed his lips and gave her a wry look. “Real nice bunch.”
“Indian Tee, also known as Black Knife. Wanted for murder, rape and robbery by Arkansas authorities.”
He folded his arms over his vest, slumped down on the bench, crossed his outstretched legs at the ankles with a ring of his spur rowels and shook his head. “And you’re going after them?”
“Yes, I came to hire you to help me.”
“Lady, them four men could whip up on a good posse.”
“We need a posse, I’ll hire them.”
“You’re talking big bucks, real big bucks.” He stared at his scuffed boot toes. This would never work—she wasn’t tough enough in the first place. Some housewife dressed in drover’s clothing, packing a .32 short-barreled Colt on her hip. It’d never work.
“Those—those men killed my husband, they killed my son. They can’t hide forever, and when those vermin stick their heads up out of some hole, I aim to blow them off. Now, you can help me or not. I won’t rest till they’re all dead.” Impatience glaring on her smooth face, she started to get up.
“Or they kill you.” He put his hand on her arm to stay her. “Mrs.—”
“Wink’s my name.”
“Wink, go back to that store. Stay busy. Post some rewards for them.”
“I rode a fur piece to get here and find you. Jim Bob said you were my man. I guess he misjudged you.”
He closed his eyes, pushed his stiff shoulders against the back of the bench and slow-like shook his head. She didn’t understand the hard nature of what she proposed. About then, two cowboys reined up and dismounted; he gave a head bob to them.
Both blinked in surprise once they were in the porch’s shade and out of the glare and realized the person seated beside him was a good-looking woman. They fumbled to remove their hats for her and half stumbled over the threshold looking back.
Amused, Slocum about laughed at their obvious frustration, then, serious, he turned back to her. “Go back, go back to the store.”
Her eyes narrowed and she looked away, taking in the passing buckboard. “Can’t. I sold everything I owned.”
“Go back to your kin—at home.”
“Don’t have any kin. My family was killed over ten years ago in an Indian raid. Those four bastards killed my only family.”
He drew his boots up and stamped the floorboards. “Then we need to get you in shape for this ordeal.”
“In shape? What do you mean ‘in shape’?”
“Can you run a mile?”
“I don’t know, never had to.”
“Chasing down killers is tough, hard work for a man, be twice as hard on a woman.”
“What do I need to do to prove to you—” Her even white teeth were clenched tight and her stare was cold as a northerner.
“When you can run a mile and not get out of breath, shoot a tin can four out of six times and lift a hundred pounds—we’ll go find those killers.”
“But they may—”
“Get killed by someone else? Be good riddance, right?”
“Where are we going to do all this?”
“I got a friend down in the Nation, Hurricane Wilson. We can stay at his place.”
“What—what’s he?”
Slocum looked at the distorting heat waves that rose off the waving dry grass in the vacant prairie across the street. “An old Cherokee outlaw turned medicine man.”
“We really need to go to—him?” The edge of her voice sounded uncertain.
“Wink, that’s what they call you?”
“Yes, for Winkle.”
“If you’re planning on going after men like the colonel, Hurricane Wilson will be like a Baptist preacher compared to the creatures you’ll meet on their trail.”
“You’re trying to scare me out of this. I won’t be.” She folded her arms over her breasts and sulked on the bench.
“Good. Let’s ride to Wilson’s.” He stood up and stretched.
“How far away is he?”
“Depends.”
“On what?” She frowned at him.
“Whether you can fly like an eagle or ride a horse. Eagles will get there faster.”
“Where’s your horse?”
“Livery yard, I’ll go get him.”
“Meanwhile I’ll get some things from the store for us to eat on the way.” She tossed her head in that direction.
“Three days’ worth. Should be there by then.” He started to leave and appraised her as she strode for the doorway. Willowy figure, she looked interesting enough under the cowboy garb. Time would sure tell. He drew a deep breath and stepped off the porch—Lord only knew how this would turn out.
He moved under the blazing midday sun toward the sign marked “Livery Yard. Good Horses For Sale.” That place hadn’t sold a good horse since Columbus landed from Spain. When he’d arrived there two days before, he’d looked over the wind-broke plugs in the corral—none of them would make it ten miles before collapsing.
The whiskered owner came to the office door chewing on a straw. “Ya leaving already?”
“Yep, can’t find a Delmonico steak in any of the fancy cafés here.”
The man chuckled. “Hell, last two days, you’ve won enough playing cards to start a café of your own.”
Slocum nodded and closed his eyes to the too bright sun’s glare. “Trouble is now there
ain’t any rich enough customers left around here for my menu.”
The man tossed the straw away. “Give you fifty and a good horse for that dun you’re riding.”
“Naw, me and ole Dunny got to move on.”
“With that good-looking bitch come by here looking for you?”
Stung by his words, Slocum pushed past the man and inside the office. “What do I owe you?”
“Buck and a half.”
Slocum dug the money out of his vest pocket, switched the coins to his left hand and held out his closed fist to drop them into the expectant palm. When the man’s attention went to the falling silver, Slocum hit him with a right cross and sent him on his ass.
“Next time, don’t mix dogs up with ladies.”
“Hell, you didn’t need to get mad about it.” He sat on his butt and rubbed his jaw. “Make it seventy-five and I ain’t going a dime higher.”
Saddle and bridle in his hands, Slocum turned back, going out the stable side door to get his horse. “Not for sale.”
The dun under pad and saddle, he led him outside and prepared to mount. The liveryman stood hatless in the doorway, still feeling his jaw. “Ninety bucks and that’s robbery.”
With a shake of his head, Slocum mounted and never looked back. Wink was coming out of the store with two cotton pokes of things when he reined up before her. He smiled and she held up one for him.
“What all did you buy?” He took it from her.
Busy tying her cotton sack on the horn, she looked back at him. “Jerky, crackers, dry cheese and some airtight tins of peaches and tomatoes. I use to help run a store; I know what drifters like.”
Slocum chuckled and turned the dun back east. No telling, she might be lots of fun yet. When they rode past, he nodded to the liveryman, who watched them with an eagle eye from his doorway. Then an older man drove past them in a buckboard, on his way to town; he looked grouchy and in a big hurry. Slocum swung Dunny south, wide of the last small frame house, and she kept her roan horse close to his.
He took in how she rode—natural, which amazed him. Part of the horse and saddle, not like he’d thought, her being a storekeeper’s wife—widow. He had expected her to plow-pull the roan around with too much rein or choked up short in fear it’d run off.
“Where did you learn how to ride?”
“I always rode horses—till I married Walter. He never kept one.”
“How old did you get married?”
“Fourteen.”
His gaze on the line of hills in the south, he nodded. “You said something about a wagon train raid?”
“Oh, yes, everyone in our wagon train was killed. I managed to get away going for help. But I was too late.”
He twisted in the saddle and looked at her. “Indians?”
“Of course. Who else raids wagon trains?”
“Lots of those raids were done by white men and the Indians got the blame.”
She looked hard at him. “I never thought of that. My entire family was murdered and two other families too that made up the train. Walter was a widower. He took me in after the funeral and decided we should get married—it would look bad otherwise, me being of age and all.”
“You had children?”
“A boy, the next year—Tobias—” She looked away,
“I guess you and Walter got along.”
“Dutiful,” she said.
“I savvy that.”
“He wasn’t cruel to me. I’m embarrassed to say it, but I expected something more I guess from a marriage. Still, he did take me in.”
“Yes.” No big deal he could see for some older man to take in an attractive girl and make her his wife, but she appreciated the man for it, which showed lots of character to Slocum. “Let’s lope a ways. There’s creek ahead that might have some water in it and we can rest the horses there.”
She nodded and set the roan in a high lope. He looked back and saw nothing but a few buzzards searching in big arcs on an updrift. Wink was sure a funny name for a woman. He sent Dunny flying after her.
What the hell would that old Cherokee medicine man think of her? He’d like her.
2
“That water looks absolutely inviting,” she said as their horses shifted back and forth, going down the steep decline toward the final high bank, both animals sweaty and breathing hard.
“Guess you could swim in that hole over there.” He pointed through the gnarled trunks of the tall, rustling cottonwoods at an inviting blue pool.
She nodded, looked around and then back at him. “Guess we’re alone, ain’t we?”
“Yes, ma’am, why?”
“I figured part of my test today is, can she swim?”
He nodded, swallowing his amusement.
“Well, Slocum. I can swim better than most damn fish.” And she swung her leg over the cantle. The roan tied to some sapling, she jerked loose the gunbelt and hung it on the horn. On the far side of her horse, she ignored him and began to unbutton the blouse and then to hang it over the gun. Then she undid a money belt to hang over the gun set and next toed off her boots. All he could see was her bare shoulders and shining hair showing above the saddle’s seat, as she undid and shed her pants next and hung them up.
“Guess you’ve seen lots of naked women before,” she said and started down the steep bank for the water using a bush or two for support. At last on the edge, with a quick look back up at him that showed off the long, brown-capped breasts, she smiled uneasy-like and dove in.
He gathered her clothing, boots, money belt and gun, then carried them down the high bank to the water’s edge. Never a bad idea to have them close in case she needed them. He left the horses to graze on top. Squatted down on his boot heels at the side of the pool, chewing on a bluestem stalk, he watched her through the glinting sunlight take long strokes through the water. Downstream, she rose up with her hands to her eyes and fought the wet hair back. Liquid ran down her shapely white body, and she swept the curls back from her face to blink at him.
“Come on in. It’s wonderful.”
“Bet it is. But if one of the colonel’s men caught you that far from your gun, what would happen?” He could tell his words had taken her aback. She folded her arms and bit her lip, stamping her bare heel on the ground without an answer.
Then she rubbed her palms on the top of her snowy legs. “It won’t happen ever again, teacher.”
“Good,” he said and stood up to toe off his boots.
She dove in and dog-paddled toward that side of the hole. “Damn you, Slocum. You tricked me.”
Undoing his shirt, he laughed as he pulled it off over his head. “Not like they would.”
Undressed, he took his time wading out to the hole. She was in the water up to her neck, looking away. He advanced until he reached knee-deep, tepid water, and then dove in for a swim. It must be spring-fed, he decided, making powerful strokes—the liquid turned cooler out in the current flowing through the hole.
He came up waist-deep on the far side and wiped his face.
“I thought I’d shock you doing that,” she said, in a small voice. “Getting naked, I mean. I wanted to prove to you, I’ll do anything to get those killers.”
He nodded. “I imagine you will.” He backstroked away from her. “Can you shoot?”
“I used to shoot a .22.”
“Good. You say you shot one of them in the robbery?” He was barely stroking, only enough to stay up, and watching intently for her answer.
“Walter, my husband, kept a shotgun under the counter. After they killed him, I crept over there and shot a Mexican coming up the aisle with it.”
“What next?”
“The recoil spilled me on the floor, and they shot the shelves of airtight cans to pieces over me. Whew, I was soaked in peach and tomato juice. But I got up and then winged the colonel. They left after that.”
He found his feet and stood up. “I’m not shocked at your wanting to prove yourself. I know you want these men, but why did they ki
ll your son?”
“That neighbor boy who was with him and lived said the kid—Malloy, whoever—rode up where they were in the creek wading after frogs and said, ‘Boys, let’s see who can shoot the best.’ Then they opened fire on them.”
“Tough bunch of no-accounts.”
She nodded and then a serious look spread over her face. “Can I swim good enough to suit you?”
He nodded and laughed. “Yes, ma’am, and it ain’t bad scenery.”
Her face turned red and she started to leave.
“Aw, you better stay in here and enjoy this while we can. We still have two days’ ride left to get to Hurricane’s.”
She nodded and eased down to swim some more. Turning back, she laughed uneasily. “No wife? No home? No roots?”
“None of that.”
“Billy Bob said they wanted you in Kansas? What for?”
“Long time ago—a kid came after me with a gun in a saloon. It was self-defense. But his family owned the law in Fort Scott, and they’ve kept two deputies on my heels ever since.”
“Couldn’t you—”
“No, they own the law. I’m the outsider. Never get a fair trail.”
“Whew, I thought I had troubles.”
He met her face-on and she struggled for moment to find her footing. Water ran off her quaking, firm breasts and, her blue eyes opened wide, she rose to her feet. With her upper arms in his hands, he bent over and kissed her.
At first, her lips were frozen. Then as if awoken from some long sleep, she threw her arms around his neck; he hugged her tight to him and her lips parted for his tongue. When at last they broke their mouths away, she huffed for her breath wrapped in his arms.
“Did I shock you?” he asked—but before she could answer, he heard something and whirled around, but couldn’t see the source of the sounds for the high dirt bluff above them.
“What’s wrong?” she whispered.
“Someone’s stealing our horses,” he said, and started through the waist-deep water for his gun.
3
Eagles would have been quicker, Slocum decided. The old wagon the two of them rode in pounded over every rut, rock and bump in the twin tracks through the brown grass. The Cheyenne woman on the seat driving it must be looking for bumps to run over, he decided, seated on his butt in back. He’d hired Yellow Deer to haul them to Hurricane’s after they’d walked two days on foot.