by Jake Logan
Slocum nodded he understood—Nantan Lupan didn’t like surprises. The Apache called Crook the Gray Wolf. But he had lots of influence on them and really was the only one in command who understood how to fight them—Apache scouts. But Slocum knew as he took leave of the colonel that Crook had to constantly fight with upper command over his usage of them.
In the starlight he joined Chako in the spring draw. His horse hobbled and bedroll unrolled, he sat on his butt on top of it and pulled off his boots, to the relief of his feet.
“Hear anything?” he asked, rubbing his bare feet to increase the circulation and soothe them.
“No.”
“We better get some sleep. We need to find that buckboard tomorrow.”
“We find it.”
“Yes.” That said, Slocum slipped under the top blanket. By dawn it would be chilly in the arroyo. He soon was asleep.
In the night, he awoke and blinked to the sound of a woman close by giggling. Easy-like, with his hand on the butt of his gun, he rolled over and could see the outline of Chako pumping away between her raised knees. She issued more giggles of pleasure as the scout pounded her harder, and then she wrapped her legs around him, raising her butt off the ground. Both were rasping for their breath as Chako’s back straightened and he drove his dick home. Slocum turned back over—just so Chewy didn’t find out.
3
In the midday sun, Slocum and Chako squatted in the shade of a mesquite. They were looking at a makeshift camp. Two wagons with bows covered in tattered yellow canvas covers were parked with several oxen grazing nearby. A ramada had been made with a tarp on poles. Slocum could see some women moving about a cooking fire. The buckboard they’d traced for hours was sitting unhitched, but the horses were not in sight.
“See any men?” Slocum asked his scout beside him.
Chako shook his head.
“I sure don’t want to ride into a hornet’s nest. Some of these hardscrabblers are really outlaws moving west. They may feel that buckboard is theirs.”
“I go around and come in from back?” His scout waited for approval.
“Good idea. Keep your rifle ready. We don’t need any shooting unless they blow up.”
“Where they come from?”
“Lord only knows. But they look like trouble.”
Chako took off in a low run. Slocum went back for his horse. He booted Roan off the ridge and let them see him coming downhill. A child or two in the camp shouted—“Some-un’s coming.”
Sunbonnets turned to look in his direction, and the older ones gathered in a cluster. Children ran to hide in dresses like chicks hid under a hen. Still no men appeared, and Slocum wondered about that fact.
“Morning,” Slocum said.
A hawkeyed woman with a sharp chin, clenching a corncob pipe in her teeth, stepped away for the younger women. “State your business.”
“I’m looking for a team, buckboard, some mail and luggage.”
She took the pipe out and her gray blue eyes glared at him. “They ain’t here.”
“You mind if I look at that buckboard?”
“I damn sure do.”
“I represent the U.S. Army.”
“Don’t mean shit to me.” She used the stem of her pipe to point west. “You can ride right back where you came from.”
“Can’t,” he said, setting the saddle and trying to keep his guard up enough in case any opposition broke out of the wagons. Two of the three younger women were more attractive and better dressed than the fortyish “boss.” But they didn’t look one bit more hospitable than her.
“Where are your menfolk?”
“None of you damn business.”
“Ma’am, I’m going to look at that buckboard.”
“Get out of here,’fore I go get my shotgun—” At the sounds of Chako levering a cartridge in his Winchester behind her, she started and turned.
“Everyone stay put. Chako won’t shoot you unless you try something.”
Slocum waited a few seconds, until he was satisfied they would hold; then he pushed Roan over to the buckboard and dismounted. The rig belonged to the stage line. Their brand was on the back of the spring seat. But the mail and the luggage were nowhere in sight. He turned back and dismounted.
“Opening U.S. mail is a federal offense. Where is it?”
“You’re so damn smart, find it.”
“What’s your name?”
“Claudia, Claudia Thorpe.”
On a small notepad, he wrote it down in pencil. Then he looked at the taller, rawboned woman beside her. “What’s your name?”
“Sadie Slade.”
He nodded after writing it down and looked at the prettier girl beside her. “Your name?”
“Wanda.”
“Thorpe?”
“Yes.”
“My name’s Candy,” the fourth one said, and took off her sunbonnet and shook out her black curls. “We don’t know nothing about no mail, but if’n you were interested, you and I could get up in that wagon and talk about it.” She rolled her dark eyelashes at him.
“Another time, another place, maybe,” Slocum said as he strode past the tart.
He looked in the first wagon and saw an opened trunk with clothes sticking out of it. Obviously it had been rummaged through. He climbed inside and found that there were school-books in the turned-up clothing. Those two—Candy and Wanda—had on new dresses, or at least nicer than the other two’s soiled, wash-worn ones.
“This trunk belongs to Mary Harbor,” he said and closed it up. He hefted it to the edge of the wagon and then transferred it to the ground.
“You two get those dresses off.” He pointed at the pair. “Those dresses are hers too.”
“No, they ain’t,” Mother Thorpe shouted.
“Either they can shed them or I’m taking you all in for theft.”
“My men get back here—” Mother said, through her clenched teeth.
“Now where are the mailbags?” The two were unbuttoning the dresses. He was getting shots of white flesh as they deliberately stripped off the clothing before him.
“We ain’t got none.”
“I’m getting damn tired of your mouth.”
“Aw, hell, tell him,” the rawboned Sadie said.
“Shut your mouth, girl.”
“No!” Slocum jerked Claudia around by the arm. “Tell me.”
“In the other wagon . . .”
Slocum gave a head toss to Chako, who sprang to his feet and went to the other wagon’s tailgate. He turned back and nodded.
“Here,” Candy said, handing him the dress. “I never liked it anyway.” Her bare teardrop breasts exposed, she shoved her pink nipples forward.
He took the dress and shook his head at the amused Chako, who tossed off two mailbags. On the ground, he picked up his rifle and nodded as if to say, What’re you doing next?
“Better go find you some clothes,” Slocum said to her.
“You don’t like my titties?” She cupped her small pointed breasts and lifted them for him to see.
“I’m worried you’re going to get a bad sunburn on ’em,” he said and chuckled. Holy cow, two good-looking, half-naked women and he was playing marshal.
“Aw, you sure you and I can’t go romp in the featherbed up there?” Candy asked with a head toss to the wagon.
“Not today. Where are the men and those horses?”
“They get back here, they’ll stomp your ass in the ground,” Mother Thorpe said. “You two little whores go get some damn clothes on.”
“When’re they coming back?” Slocum asked.
“How should I know?”
“’Cause walking to Fort Bowie is a long way and you all will be walking there in ten minutes if your memory don’t recover.”
“They’re due back anytime and they’ll settle this. Making my girls strip naked and holding us hostage—you ain’t met my man. You will.”
“His name is?”
“Joshua Thorpe.”
; He turned to Sadie Slade. “And yours?”
“Jed.”
Slocum stopped. “Thought he died.”
Sadie wrinkled her red nose at him. “That bitch only thought she’d killed him.”
“Well. It’ll be interesting. Since he stole the buckboard and mail they hired him to haul to Bowie.”
“You’ll see when they get here,” Mother shouted.
“I want all of you to go sit in the shade on the ground. Kids and all. One word of warning to them and I’ll drop them dead in their tracks. You all understand?”
Even the two girls finished dressing, nodded and took their places under the wind-ruffled canvas top. Some of the small kids were crying and being hugged. Things settled, he took Chako aside, telling him to go scout for the men.
Then Slocum found a seat on a wooden crate behind them—with the rifle across his knees. The wait had begun. Candy sat facing him with her back against Wanda’s. Soon she had her knees raised, with the tattered brown dress pulled up to expose her white legs, and she spread them apart every once in a while when he glanced at her, so he could see between the snowy bare legs—the patch of black pubic hair and the lips of her pink cunt when she parted them wide enough.
“How long you going to wait fur ’em?” Mother Thorpe asked.
“Till they get back.”
“Hell, that might be next week.”
“Where did they go with the horses?”
“I said, I didn’t know—”
“Hush, they’re coming back,” he said at the sounds of some horses approaching.
Two riders came in on sweaty horses and they dropped off them in a cloud of dust.
“What the hell are you all sitting around for?” the big bearded man shouted at the women, coming around the front of his horse.
“’Cause I told them to. Both of you grab some sky or die!”
“What the shit—” Slade, with his head bandaged, spun around, his hand poised for his gun butt. At the last moment, he decided to raise his hands high along with Thorpe.
“Rustling horses, U.S. mail theft, attempted rape and stealing a stage.”
“You the damn law?” Thorpe asked from behind the black woolly beard, looking like a mad bear woke up from hibernation.
Slade shook his head in grim assessment. “I guess that damn bitch didn’t die after all.”
“No thanks to you.” Slocum shook his face in regret that Slade hadn’t been killed.
Chako rode in and bounded off his pony.
“Tie ’em up. They’re going to Bowie.”
“I can do that.” The scout jerked out their six-guns and knives to discard them on the ground in Slocum’s direction. In a short while, the two were thrust up, hands behind them, and sitting on the ground. With Chako guarding them and the women, Slocum harnessed the team. Mary’s things and the mail finally loaded, he put the grumbling pair in the back and roped them down to the bed.
“What now?” Chako asked when they finished.
“Go unload her shotgun that’s in one of these wagons, so she don’t shoot us in the back,” he said in a stage whisper.
“She need it?”
“Might. Just unload it and hide the shells.”
He had their handguns and knives in a sack and put them on the buckboard.
“Gawdamn you, Slocum!” Slade shouted and kicked at him.
“Listen, I can bust you over the head and you won’t be so damn belligerent on this ride. Think about it before you kick or cuss at me again.”
Thorpe’s eyes narrowed to slits as he fought at his binds. “I’ll get you.”
“When you get out of prison, you’ll be too old to catch a tortoise.”
“You’ll see. You’ll see.”
Slocum tied the roan to the tailgate. “I’ll be watching real close twenty years from now.”
He looked at the hard-eyed women getting up and brushing the dirt off their butts. He took a seat next to Chako, then the reins in his hands and nodded. “Have a nice day, ladies.”
“Fuck you!” Mother Thorpe shouted at him
The mail sacks and her things were left off at the Bowie post office. Slocum saw no sign of Mary, and anxious to deliver his grumbling prisoners, he told the stage man that a soldier would bring back the buckboard and horses.
“Hell, Slocum, we’re just damn glad you got the mail, her things and them two bastards in custody. I’m putting you in for the fifty dollars reward the stage line pays.”
On the seat, he considered the possible publicity and shook his head. “Pay Chako here that money.”
“What’s his last name?”
“Ah . . .” He looked over at the scout and winked. “Chako Smith.”
“I’ll get it for him.”
“Good.” Slocum wheeled the horses around and headed in the bleeding light for Bowie. Be long past dark before they got there. When he slapped the horses to set them in a trot, he regretted not getting to look at Mary again. Damn business anyway.
At Bowie, the officer of the day, Captain Casey, had two soldiers take the grumpy pair to the brig and then he filled out the report for Slocum to sign. A seasoned veteran, Casey was a proficient man to do all the necessary papers, and after dipping the straight pen and signing it, Slocum thanked him.
“Hell, you did all the work. The colonel will be pleased. I’ll tell him in the morning.”
“Chako and I may go to the border tomorrow and see what we can find out.”
“I’ll tell him that too.”
Slocum nodded and shook his hand. It had been a long day. He stepped outside, past the sentries into the starlight. Chako handed him the reins to his horse and he bounded into the saddle.
Slocum saluted Casey on the porch and rode off into the night. Why did he think that he had not seen the last of those two outlaws? Something about their threats and the fact that Slade had survived—even with them in the Fort Bowie brig, Slocum felt niggled over something. He finally shrugged it off when they reached the springs and he hobbled his horse, strung out his bedroll and went to sleep without supper.
He awoke with a sergeant squatted beside him. Slocum sat up and tried to clear his eyes. “Colonel wants you to find out all you can about Diaz while you’re down there.”
“Fine, we will.”
“Sorry I had to wake you. He was worried you’d be leaving early.”
Slocum scrubbed his beard stubble in his callused palms and nodded. “Good idea. I get anything on Diaz, I’ll send him word.”
“I’ll tell him. He said for you to keep your head down, and the U.S. marshal would be coming for them two.”
“Taking them to Tucson?”
“Yes. Why?”
Slocum only nodded and then dismissed it with a headshake. That was what was wrong. Why he’d been so upset about them. That tin-can jail in Tucson wouldn’t hold those two for no time. He sighed and then threw back the covers to pull on his boots. “Thanks for the good news.”
“Good news?”
“If they’re still in jail in a week over there, I’ll buy you a beer.”
The noncom grinned. “I’ll tell the colonel.”
Slocum frowned aside at him. “He won’t be in charge.”
“Might up my chances of getting a free one.” The noncom laughed and left him.
Slocum’s breakfast consisted of pepper-hot, tough jerky as he and Chako rode south. They made lunch with Maudie Ann Rankin, which improved his disposition. That evening they reached Birch Turner’s ranch before dark. A tall, hulking Texan that even old man Clanton left alone, Turner operated the T Cross ranch on the south slopes of the Muleshoes with his wife Billie and a half dozen Mexican vaqueros. A tough enough individual that the Apaches avoided him, Birch smiled and nodded when he came out on the porch of the stone house to greet Slocum and Chako.
“How have you been?” Slocum asked, shaking his huge hand before he undid his latigos. The slow-drawling, big man was always a good one to visit—he never seemed to do anything too fast, but
Slocum had not seen him in action. Word was he’d single-handedly killed five Mexican rustlers in a box canyon one day when he caught them changing brands on some of his stock.
“Aw, all right. How you and that buck getting on?”
“Fine. We arrested Jed Slade and a guy named Thorpe yesterday.”
“That damn worthless Slade needs hung. I caught him twice taking whiskey to the broncos. I busted it up, and the last time I told him he come through here again with that crap I’d string him up.”
“Must be why he’s been working on the east side.”
“Could be. Jerk them saddles off. Billie’s got some frijoles hot.”
“Okay. You seen any broncos headed south?”
“Jua-loo saw two of ’em a day or so ago hotfooting it for the Madres.”
“They were riding Buster Rankin’s horses.”
Birch laughed. “Better his ponies than mine. They stole a dozen of old man Clanton’s best horses the week before. Heard him cussing plumb up here.” Then he chuckled deep in his throat. “Beats the hell out of me how a handful of the bucks can outdo the Mexican Army, ruralists, U.S. Army and all the rest.”
“They’ve been outdoing the Mexicans for two hundred years.” Slocum put Roan in the corral, and Chako did the same with his pony.
“Them horses will be fine in that lot. There’s hay and a tank in there.” Birch closed the gate and hooked it. “Yah, but them Messikins never were this serious before now.”
“You ever crossed swords with some bandit named Diaz?” Slocum asked as they headed for the house.
“General?”
“Maybe—he raided a stage stop over near the New Mexico line. Made it look like Apaches, but there was a witness said it was Mexican bandits.”
Birch nodded in the light escaping from the open door. “I figured all along this talk about Apache raiding might have been more than they could do.”
“Wonder where Diaz is at.”
“I heard he had a hacienda in the Conchos.”
Slocum frowned. There wasn’t much of nothing in those hills. “That ain’t a very prosperous place.”
“Easy to defend a stronghold there. Billie,” Birch called out, “that rascal Slocum and his scout Chako are here for supper.”
“Shucks, Birch, he ain’t no rascal,” The gray-haired, willowy woman rushed over and hugged him tight. “My, my, where have you been?”