by Jake Logan
The old man came out in his pants, and pulling up his suspenders, he looked at the crowd. “What the hell do you want?”
“If you and your men are not gone from this ranch and the area by Saturday morning, we will come and lynch each and every one of you. We didn’t come to argue. You can see how many people are backing this. We will return Saturday, and if any of you are still here, be sure to wear the clothes you want to be planted in ’cause we will be back here to do that.”
“You can’t do that!”
“Be here and find out.”
Slocum nodded to Jon, and they along with the others began to ride off—not listening to the old man’s ranting and raving. He could do that until he was hoarse, it wouldn’t do him any damn good—the deal was cut-and-dried.
“Will he leave?” Jon asked.
“I think so. Unless he takes his own life. He don’t have much to live for losing his place.”
Word went down the line. They’d ride back Saturday morning and be certain Garvin was gone. The men all agreed.
They were back at the Russell ranch by noon, and Glenna had to hear the story. They told her about Garvin’s response.
Folks passing by in the next few days left word that Garvin’s gunhands had all left. No one had seen him in town or leaving to go anyplace. Slocum was convinced he’d try a shoot-out with the posse and bring on his own death. But good folks could get hurt that way. Maybe some killed. Slocum didn’t know any solution to the matter.
* * *
After midnight Friday, Jon and Slocum saddled up and rode cross-country to join the many others. This time each man had a rifle on his knee; before only a few had done that. They were armed for bear. They rode in silence off the rise and began to form another big half circle.
At the warning rifle shot, a man in a white shirt, unarmed, came out of the house and held up his hands. “Hold your fire, men. It’s me, the sheriff. Horace Garvin hung himself last night. I came up here to check on things. I understand your concerns. Let’s not let this happen again. I want law and order here. If you had reported some of the worst of these incidents I have been hearing about here at the last, I could’ve shut this whole thing down a long time ago, but you didn’t tell me there was this kind of violence, with women raped, and . . . Let’s make this a better place to live. Now, go home and hug your families. Oh yes, and thank Jon Russell and John Clark for starting this by breaking this thing and arresting the rustlers.”
A cheer went up, and after shaking several hands, they rode home.
Glenna met Slocum and Jon and had lunch ready. “What now, big man?”
“Catch my mule. Load him up and head south, I guess.”
“No bribing you to stay the winter?” She was holding his arm tight as they headed for the house.
“I’d love to do that, but I have an itching tells me I have been here too long.”
“Then I guess we better pack you up to leave.”
Jon stopped them. “Hold everything. I hate tears and gnashing teeth. I am going over and see Carter and Helen for a few days and leave you two to have your time together.”
“Hey you don’t have to go—” But Slocum couldn’t stop him.
“Yeah, I do.” With that he headed for the pen to get a horse saddled and wouldn’t even stop for lunch.
“I hated to run him off,” Slocum said privately to her.
“No problem. He knows how I feel about you. He’s just being Jon. Jon’s girlfriend died before they got married. No one has spun him around since that happened. Someday he’ll find one.”
“Maybe he’s like you—hard to please.”
“Maybe worse. If you ever get shed of this wanted business, come back to Nebraska.”
“Thanks. I will consider it.”
“I didn’t expect you back this time and you’ve spoiled me.”
“Me too.”
* * *
He left two days later. Leading the mule and riding a stout bay horse. He wandered south by southeast. Five days after parting with Glenna, he was in York, Nebraska, headed south, when he saw a red-and-yellow painted wagon, marked WATER AND TREASURE WITCHING. Under that was this announcement: WE CAN FIND YOUR NEXT WATER WELL OR LOST JEWELRY—MURTY MCBRIDE.
He stood in the stirrups and rode hard until he was beside her as she drove her spirited horses.
“Hey, is that you?” she screeched and fell back to halt her horses. “That you under all that fuzzy face? Gods, man. Am I ever glad to see you alive. Why, there’s been three bodies turned in as yours.” Then she put her hand over her mouth. “I better quit shouting.”
She finally sawed down her team to a stop. He dropped out of the saddle and stretched the pants out of his crotch. Then she came running into his arms.
“What about the house in Iowa?” he asked with her in his arms.
“Oh, hell, I’d have been bored to death. I can find water wells and jewelry lost. Plus it’s lots of fun—folks really think I am,” she wrinkled her nose, “a witch, and that gives me lots of power. I am going to a man’s place today and find him where to drill for water. Go with me.”
“I’m John Clark these days. Did you get all your money?”
“Did I ever. I have it so if I die my niece in Iowa is to get it or what is left. Right now I make ten dollars for finding a good well. And I average at least two to three wells a week. You need some money?”
“No, I’m fine right now.”
“Come along with me today and we can have some fun after I find his well.”
“Let me tie my stock on back. Where is this place?”
“There is a store out here, and he lives two miles west of there. John Jeffers is his name.”
“Fine.”
“Where have you been?”
“Oh, I took a herd of cattle from Wyoming to Montana.”
“And you are back already?”
“Yes. I want to be in south Texas by the time the snow flies.”
“Sounds like you will make it. I could witch wells down there, couldn’t I?”
“You bet.” His horse and mule tied to the wagon’s back gate, he used his hand to boost her firm ass back up onto the wagon. She was still wearing her short dress trimmed in lace that he remembered buying for her.
They were traveling along at a good clip over the rolling prairie when the store came in sight.
“Stop,” he said to her as a man on horseback out in front of the store drew his six-gun to shoot at them.
His gun blast scattered the empty-saddled horses the man was holding. Murty reined her horses out into the prairie to get out of range. Slocum, gun in his fist, jumped down and ran toward the shooter, who, in the confusion, was wound up in panicked horses. Slocum paused to take a planned shot. His bullet struck the shooter and he pitched off his horse.
As Slocum expected, more robbers came out of the store looking for him. A blaze of bullets filled the air as he dropped onto his belly and returned fire. He was under a small rise as he reloaded his six-gun, which gave him some protection. There were four other hard cases wanting to reach their scattered horses. It was everyone for his own self. One man, while on the run, was reloading his handgun. Slocum shot him in the leg.
Another man on the store porch issuing orders was silenced by a .44/40 rifle shot that Murty delivered from her wagon. Then a bareheaded man came out of the store with a shotgun. His head was bleeding, but the charge from his shotgun downed another.
Slocum was on his feet, chasing the last robber trying desperately to get on his spooked horse. When the outlaw found his stirrup to swing over, a rifle shot stopped him and he fell off. The fight was over.
Slocum saw Murty coming on the run, her bare legs showing as she ran packing the smoking rifle.
Out of breath, she asked him, “Why is that man bleeding?”
“I guess he was
beaten by these would-be robbers.”
“Are you all right?” she asked the shaken store man.
“Yes, now that you two have cut down these robbers.”
“Well, you sure are bleeding. Slo—Clark can handle them now. Go inside and we will stitch and bandage you up some.”
“Oh, you don’t need to fuss over me, ma’am.”
She caught his arm. “My name is Murty. Not ma’am. You may need stitches. Get inside. You have a wife?”
“No ma’am. I mean Murty.”
“There ain’t a doctor out here?”
“No. I’ll be fine.”
“My stitches may not look pretty, but that bad cut will be closed. Who were those men?”
“Some drifters, I guess.” She took him inside while Slocum disarmed the wounded men and moved them closer so they could be together for him to watch them better. The man shot in the back by the storekeeper was dead.
A few farm people drove up and asked what had happened. Then they went to gather the outlaws’ horses and move the dead man.
“The sheriff know about this?” one of them asked.
“It just happened,” Slocum said. “We drove up and the lookout shot at her and me.”
“How is Erwin?”
“Oh, Murty is in there stitching his head where they must have beat him with a pistol.”
“He all right?”
“I think he will be fine.”
“Can we take one of those horses and go get the sheriff?”
“My boy can ride one. He’ll get the law out here,” another said.
“Fine, take one,” Slocum said to the second man. “Some of you watch them. I’ll go check on Erwin.”
They agreed as yet more came and the word spread. Slocum went inside and found Murty finishing up her work on the man’s forehead.
“This iodine is going to burn, but you need it to keep down an infection,” she told him.
“Oh, I’ll be fine. I am so glad you two came by or I’d be dead.”
“You made a good fighter and a fine patient.” She kissed him on his bald head.
“Where did you learn to do this?” Erwin asked.
“Sewing up buffalo hunters and being their chief cook.”
He shook his head again. “I am so lucky you two came along.”
“We sent for the sheriff,” Slocum told him.
“Good, he needs to clean this up. I don’t know where they came from. I never saw them before.”
“No matter. He can handle it.”
“What can I do for you two to repay you?”
“Nothing, we will be fine,” Slocum said
“I must do something. I owe you so much.”
“We need to go witch a well down the road. I promised a man I’d do that today.” Murty got ready to leave.
“I understand, but stop by on your way back.”
“We will.”
“Thanks.”
* * *
It took a bit of time to drive Murty’s wagon up to the house. A man came out, and she bounded down into Slocum’s arms and went around back to get her peach forks.
The man’s wife came out and nodded to Slocum as he stood back. “Is she for real?”
Slocum nodded. “Yes. Murty has the power to find things.”
“I hope so. We’ve drove three sand-point wells, and they’re all dry. Hauling all our water is a big pain. And that pipe is expensive.”
“I know what you mean.”
“You her husband?”
“No, we are friends.”
“I hope she finds some water. We are thinking about giving up on our homestead if we don’t find some.”
Murty found no water around the home place. “Driest place I have ever witched in Nebraska,” she said, raising her forks. Then she went east with the forks turned down.
“Here, there is water.”
“How deep?” Jeffers asked, looking at the distance downhill to his homestead.
“There is water down there. I am not good at feet deep.”
“You couldn’t find any water closer?”
“No, there is none in the yard. This is where you can drive a sand point and get water.”
“Can you wait while I try?”
“Sure.”
He went and got a wagonload of pipe and a sand point to haul up there. He soon began to hammer the pipe down into the ground. His wife brought them sandwiches and tea while the pipe went farther down with each sledgehammer blow. New pipe connected, and he drove it deeper each time. His hard work continued. Slocum took over while he rested a bit, and finally when Jeffers went back to driving and grumbling, water began to bubble out of the pipe, and soon it showered over them in the air.
Jeffers danced with Murty and shouted. “You’ve done it! You’ve done it!”
His wife did the same with Slocum. Everyone was excited. Slocum knew Murty was excited; she was giggling like her old self. The farmer broke out some homemade wine, and they all four about got drunk over the water find.
The sheriff came by, spoke to them about the robbery, and thanked them. His men were taking the prisoners back to York. He doubted some of them would live. He also drank water from the Jeffers’ new well and told them they had a good one.
Murty and Slocum stayed over the night and slept together in a bed in the wagon. She still giggled when he entered her, and they had a good time making love.
“I can’t stay here much longer,” he told her.
“Where will you go?”
“Wander south and keep my head down. I don’t need a newspaper story that might show our being together again and bring the Pinkertons down on you.”
“Gods I’d hate that.”
“So would I, but facts are facts, and those outfits have you down as a person of interest, I bet.”
“I never thought of that.”
* * *
At dawn, he loaded the mule, saddled the bay, and rode south. Just him and the meadowlarks, darting about, and them singing songs to him. He sang some trail songs as he sat in the saddle, riding south across the country to the Republican River and crossing on the ferry. Not daring to stop and see Jenny Nelson and her boys, he rode on, trying to be as unnoticed as he could. He’d also passed the Pawnee lands north of there and kept going on his way.
Abilene was a farming town. He realized that fact, so he didn’t spend any time there. A hundred miles south, Wichita was about to give up its crown as the queen of the cattle drives and move the title west on to Dodge City. He snuck in under cover of night and looked for some old friends. Lots of unfamiliar faces crowded the street, and plenty of Texas cattle were there near the end of the summer.
In the Red Dog Saloon, he slipped into a card game with two men he knew who were discreet. Alan Collins and Jasper Wentworth. Collins was the better gambler, but Wentworth had a lucky streak that evening and kept drawing good cards in the game. Slocum trusted each man to keep his identity quiet. When he took a seat and introduced himself as Clark, neither of them raised an eyebrow. The game went on.
Slocum won a little and lost some. When the game broke up and the three of them were alone, Collins asked how he had been.
“Good, but I guess Pinkerton is looking for me.”
“They’ve been running around. We all wondered who’d swallowed you.”
“I’ve been to Montana.”
“Really?”
“Sold some high-priced cattle up there.”
“Oh, it was you made that big deal for Jim Caltron? I read about that.”
“You know him?” Slocum asked.
“Yeah, he was sure proud of that sale.”
“What was the deal on his wife?” Slocum asked, still curious about the outcome of Caltron’s return.
“Oh, he got took on her. She
ran around on him, I’d bet, from the day he left. But he is divorced now and doing fine. You need to stop by. I know Jim well. He thinks you’re a real hero selling his herd for all that money.”
“Good. It’s nice to see both of you and catch up.”
“We know you’re wanted. Have they hounded you?”
“Yes. But so far that’s all they’ve done.”
“That’s a tough deal. All of us heard your side of the story. Anything you need? Money?”
Slocum shook his head. “I only wanted to get in touch with some friends and learn all I could.”
“They haven’t given up,” Collins said.
“Oh, I knew that.” He laughed.
* * *
He rode south the next day. Past many herds that he knew would be wintered there because the market was so crowded by this time of year. He was deep into the Indian Territory in a few days. He knew a Choctaw woman, and he aimed to spend a few days with her if she wasn’t preoccupied.
He approached Anita Strawberry’s place quietly and sat on his horse in the post oak timber for several hours watching to be certain she was alone. Then, satisfied, he rode in.
“How long you been spying on me, big man?” Her smile was warm. In her early thirties, she had a willowy figure and her hair was in a single braid down her back.
“I didn’t want to disturb you and some lover.”
“Or one of Parker’s deputies prowling around, or even a Pinkerton man asking me damn questions about you. How did I get on that list?”
“You musta tried hard. It’s a long story.”
“I sure never told them one damn thing. They been around here doing that for months now. Right after you escaped that bunch of lawmen. I read it in a Kansas City newspaper, and here come these bastards dressed in checkered suits and bowler hats—hell, they had to be Pinkerton men. They didn’t need a damn badge they were so obvious. Well where was Slocum hiding? Who was hiding him? How you nearly killed them deputies you escaped from. I said it wasn’t him. If it was, he’d have killed them.” She threw back her head and laughed. “Oh, I had them going.”
“You been all right?” he asked.
“No.”