Slocum and the Apache Campaign

by Jake Logan

  “Yes!” she shouted and took the bottles from him. “Grande! Grande!”

  Slocum woke up the next morning before dawn. She was squatted at the fireplace under a blanket to ward off the cool air. Reflections of the flames illuminated her face in red orange when she turned to look at him.

  “Ah, you are still alive,” she teased and turned a tortilla with her fingertips on the sheet-metal grill.

  “Still alive. But barely.” He strapped on his holster and went out to relieve his bladder. In his bare feet, he stood in the starlight outside her jacal and listened. A few doves cooed and somewhere a dog barked. Nothing sounded out of place as he let fly an arcing stream of relief into the darkness. Finished, he shook it, put it away and buttoned up. Be a long ride to the Conchos. He’d have plenty of time to devise a plan—needed somehow to get those good women who’d helped him out of harm’s way too when hell broke loose.

  They rode the roan double to the warehouse. Rifle butt on his right leg, he circled and came in from the north. In the starlight, he watched close for anything. Some feeling of apprehension had ridden in his subconscious, since he had awoke—saying, Take care, you’ve been at this place long enough to draw the attention of your enemies. Far short of the corrals and the dark outline of the warehouse, he halted the roan.

  “You suspect trouble,” she whispered.

  “Can’t take any chance.” He drew his left leg up and slipped off the right side like an Indian pony expected. Then he handed her the reins and gave a head toss to the north. “Ride off slow.”

  “You see something?”

  His right hand adjusted his holster and he tried the six-gun, then, satisfied, switched the Winchester back to his right hand. She had not moved.

  “Get going.”

  “You expect trouble?”

  He shoved the roan around and set her on her way.

  “Be careful, my lover.”

  He nodded and began to run low for the corral. When he reached the far side, he listened to the snores of sleeping horses and mules, the soft shuffle of hooves in the powdery manure base and an occasional grunt or squeal.

  Where was the Morgan and the mule? Easing his way around the large set of pens, he saw a light on in the office. Maybe the boy didn’t expect him so early. Then he stopped—two men with sombreros and rifles stood on the back dock. Damn—he wished he had not sent her away with the horse. If he hadn’t, he could have simply disappeared on the roan. He should have known his presence this long in Naco would have been noticed and his plans leaked out. Too damn busy having a Roman orgy with Rey’s sweet ass and not thinking like a man who needed to survive. Crouched down on one knee, he considered what to do next. Who did these gun toters belong to?

  A horse was coming—he frowned. Someone drunk was riding it. He could hear a woman singing some dirty ditty about a lady with titties. Both men ran to the edge of the platform to confront her.

  “Hello, mi amigos,” she shouted and waved at them.

  “Hush,” one said.

  “Oh, you don’t want some fine pussy.”

  “I bet fine pussy. Go away. We have no time for you.”

  Slocum used the distraction to move in. “Drop the guns.”

  For a moment, one of them considered doing something, but then he too dropped his rifle.

  “Smart man,” Slocum said, covering them and closing the gap.

  “How many more are there?” she whispered.

  “How many are inside?” he asked them, relieving them of their sidearms and knives.

  No answer.

  “Somebody better go to talking,” he said in a low voice to the two. But before he could stop her, she was moving down the platform to look in the lighted window.

  She hurried back on her toes. “Three and the boy who works for him. He’s tied up.”

  “Get on the ground. Facedown,” he said to them and nodded to her. “Keep my gun on them.”

  The two grumbled, but obeyed. He ran to the corral, snatched a couple of lead ropes and ran back to tie their hands behind their backs and one foot to that so they could not do anything.

  “You need to ride out of here,” he said.

  She shook her head. “Do they have your horse saddled?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “I’ll go check.” And she rushed off to the corral. Before he finished binding the second one, she rushed back. “There is a saddled horse and packed mule in the pen.”

  “Good. You find a saddle and toss it on the roan. You’ll have to come with me or they’ll hurt you for helping me.” He gagged both of them and then straightened.

  She nodded. “What about the others?”

  “I better eliminate them too.”

  “Be careful,” she said and then ran to the corral for one of the saddles on the rack.

  He nodded and stuck one of the men’s revolvers in his belt for a spare. “Bring out the horse and mule. Try to check the load. I’ll be back.” He left the rifle and vaulted onto the platform. He found a sliding door unlocked and slid it gently to the side. In minutes, he was in the dark warehouse that smelled of raw wool, sweet grain and dry goods. He made his way through the darkness, toward the light coming from under the door, with his Colt in his fist. The men in the room were talking in Spanish.

  When he sprung the door open, he’d have to find his targets fast. Percussion from the first shot in the room would douse the lights. The darkness and the boiling, acrid gunsmoke would be enough to blind the occupants as well as deafen all of them. An ear to the thin wood, he heard one swear and demand, “When is he supposed to get here?”

  “How should I know,” the boy said.

  Six-gun in each hand, Slocum used his foot to smash open the door. He saw where the boy was and fired at the shocked-looking bandit on the left. His right-hand gun raised and aimed at the one by the door—it spoke hot lead and the boiling smoke burned his eyes. The third hombre dove out the window and Slocum rushed to stop him. Two rapid shots of a rifle came from down the platform and sent him sprawling off the side.

  “I’ve got the other two,” he said to her from the broken-out window as she rushed up with the smoking Winchester. “Watch the broken glass. I better check on the boy.”

  “You all right?” he asked, untying him.

  “I’m fine.”

  The boy was coughing from all the smoke, and once he was released they joined her on the dock.

  “Who were these men?” Slocum asked him.

  “They worked for the general. After I had the horse saddled and the mule loaded, they jumped me.”

  “Well, if they live, I also have two more tied up outside. Turn them over to the law.”

  “I’ll do that. They’ll get some hard time in Yuma.”

  “Good. I’ll go get the horses,” she said.

  Slocum agreed, satisfied that the young man was fine. “Tell Sherlock I’m sorry about the broken window and thanks for the animals and explosives.”

  “You found them?”

  “Oh, yes. We’ll be fine.”

  “Be careful, Mr. Slocum, obviously General Diaz knows who you are.”

  “Obviously,” Slocum agreed. He had lots of tricky things to do ahead. Maybe he could end the general’s reign. He hoped so.

  18

  There was no sign of his Apache scouts when he found the small spring in a side canyon, several miles from the rancheria. He watered the animals and then they withdrew to an abandoned place with a palm-frond ramada and corrals good enough to hold their animals. With little feed for their animals, it would be hard to stay there long. Chewy would find them easy enough—the time was when?

  The food Sherlock’s man sent in the packs with the explosives was mostly jerky, frijoles and some flour and lard Marie used to make tortillas. Rey was as adaptable as most of her country’s women, and wherever they were they could gather enough fuel to build a slow, hot fire and cook what was necessary to survive. Besides she occupied him in the long wait—she really liked her void fil
led with his dick any way she could get it and as often as possible.

  She was taking a siesta when he heard the horses approaching. Rifle in his hand, he ran over and shook her. “Company.”

  In a flash of her bare brown legs, she rolled over on the pallet, pulling down the hem of her dress to cover her shapely butt. The rifle cocked, he knelt beside her and wondered who was coming. A patrol or Chewy?

  Soon the red headbands appeared and Chewy booted his horse forward in a lope to join them. Relieved, Slocum went to join them.

  “I see you found many,” he said to his scout.

  Chewy nodded. “Six more come tonight.”

  “That should be enough.”

  “Plenty. Who is she?” He indicated the sleepy Rey stretching and yawning under the shade.

  “Her name is Rey. She saved me from the general’s men at Naco.”

  “Good.”

  “She’s going in the village and get Gloretta and the good women to come out the morning we are to attack them.”

  Chewy nodded. “Be dangerous.”

  “She knows that. But she is fearless.”

  “How many men are there now?”

  “I don’t know,” Slocum said. “I have stayed away until you made it back so I didn’t spook them.”

  “Good. I will send some men over there to count them.” He moved back among the dozen riders that had came with him, and soon two rode off to do his bidding. The others dismounted, left their ponies ground-tied and joined them at the ramada.

  “You’ll need to cook more frijoles,” he said to her.

  She looked at the palm fronds for help and laughed. “Whew, there are mucho hombres here.”

  “If you are going in tomorrow to find Gloretta, you need to ride in looking for your cousin. Lupe.”

  “This woman’s name is Gloretta?”

  “Yes, she got me out their jail and then relocked it so they’d not know what happened.”

  “I will find her,” she said, squatting down and looking over the dust-frosted scouts in a circle around her. “I can see they are hungry.” Then she laughed, and they did too in an echo.

  “I’m taking a siesta,” Slocum said. “Now I’ve got so much help to be on the lookout.”

  The crew nodded, but their attention was on the cook, and he knew a good patch of cooked frijoles might fill them until they found the next meal. He gave a wave to Chewy and went to catch a few winks.

  In his sleep, Mary again appeared and then slipped off his fingertips. He woke and found the sun low in the west. First real rest he’d found in days. He sat up, rubbed his gritty eyes, and Chewy, seeing him awake, came over to drop close and talk.

  “There are maybe thirty men in his camp.”

  “The general’s there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then tomorrow Rey can ride in and look for her cousin.”

  Chewy agreed.

  Slocum scowled, coughed up a hocker and spat it aside. “Could be a bad place, but she’s tough and I’d like the woman who helped me escape to get out.”

  Chewy nodded in agreement. “We will watch for the women.”

  “Good.”

  “Yubie has the layout.” Chewy waved him over. The rest crowded around to grunt and agree.

  The young buck used a stick in the hard dirt to draw where the men slept that did not have women. Then he pointed out the thatched building where Diaz stayed and where he thought they kept the guns.

  “Come over here,” Slocum said to Rey. “The way to get out of there is get in this dry wash and go north.” He looked at the others. “Watch for her and some women coming out here. Don’t shoot them.”

  The nods went around the circle, and Slocum turned back to see the place where Chewy said they should go, pointing out to the various ones where they should be. Slocum knew many, like Red Dog, Paunchy, Yellow Paint, Two Deer, Big Bird, Pony Boy, Tiger Man, and the others that were not familiar to him—all listened to Chewy.

  Then he went for a section of fuse and showed them eighteen inches, lit the end and tossed it on the ground. The string sparkled like a firecracker fuse, eating up the strand, and when it came to the end, he clapped his hands and shouted boom! They all nodded that they understood.

  The rest of the day they opened each of the red waxed sticks, implanted fuse attached to an eighteen-inch cord in the black granules, then closed the end and wrapped two more sticks in a bundle around that one. Soon the boxes bristled with loaded sticks, and by sundown they had the job completed.

  Slocum trailed after Rey as she rode for Diaz’s camp. He watched her turn up the canyon and from his high spot saw her pass through his guards, who made smart comments that carried to him, about a new piece of ass had come to them. They’d think “piece of ass” when they were blown to kingdom come.

  Slocum finally could not see anything from his perch and slipped back to his horse. But he could hear the music—good, they’d have another fandango. They’d all be asleep at dawn, when his scouts struck them. Get ready, Diaz. We’re coming with the sun.

  In the cool predawn, their ponies hobbled in a nearby draw, Slocum and his scouts spread like black ants over the creosote-smelling greasewood-clad hills. A grunt or two and the guards were victims of sharp blows that delivered them to unconsciousness or death—then silence save for the soft scuff of hard moccasin soles. They split up and went around the buildings. An unfortunate dog or two made only a yelp and his throat was cut. Slocum at last stood on the porch of Diaz’s headquarters. Six-gun drawn when a coyote howled, he considered holding his hands over his ears for the forthcoming explosions.

  As he ducked his head, the next twenty seconds ate up the various cords, and the first explosion was in the barracks. The second one exploded in the side jacal, in a huge blast of dust. The thatched roof flew up and then collapsed back down. More explosions all over racked the camp. Women screamed and men shouted and cursed, and shots were fired.

  Then the main man burst out on the porch brandishing a silver pistol and trying to put on his coat. “What’s happening?”

  “Drop that gun and get your hands in the air,” Slocum ordered.

  “Like hell—” Diaz swung the barrel around, but the turn was too great and that’s why Slocum’s first shot struck him in the chest. He still fired his pistol, but the shot went wide of its mark. Slocum’s second blast of hot lead staggered him. Diaz’s next round plowed into the ground beside his foot adding a cloud of dirt to the boiling gunsmoke. His knees collapsed and he pitched forward.

  Slocum looked around, his .44 ready and the smoking muzzle held high. The fight was gone from the soldiers as the sun began to spear red orange lights over the hills and onto the camp.

  “You gringo bastard . . . I should . . . have killed you.” Diaz strained to speak.

  “Should have,” Slocum agreed, kicking his silver six-gun away. “You should have stayed in Mexico. Gringos don’t like robbers.”

  “But . . . your army has no authority . . . here.”

  “I see no army—only the Apache.”

  “Apache—” Diaz’s words caught. “You . . . sumbitch . . .”

  Slocum reached down and closed his eyes. “Sleep, General.”

  Pony Boy came by the porch on a horse. “Gawdamn good whiskey!” He held up a crock of rum to offer Slocum a drink.

  Holstering his gun, he stepped over and took a slug. Then held up the jug. “Good.” And handed it back.

  Pony Boy’s eyes gleamed with excitement as he waved his treasure. “Have gawdamn good drunk. Fuck all the women! EEHA!” He rode off screaming like a coyote with hot pepper poured on his ass.

  Slocum headed for the wash and saw some women coming out of the depression. Gloretta and Rey were among the five. He stopped them in the road.

  “Them Apache bucks are wound up. They kinda plan to have a big party.”

  Gloretta look at the others. They shrugged as if it made no matter and searched one another.

  “They won’t kill us, will they?”
one of them asked.

  “No, but they might rape you.”

  “Oh hell, is that all,” one said and the four headed for camp. Gloretta held back.

  “Slocum. Thanks for sending her,” she said. “We’re sure even now.”

  Then she rushed to catch the others.

  He shook his head and then grinned at Rey. “I owe you.” “Let’s go raise hell with them then,” she said and caught his arm.

  He looked back and saw nothing out of place in the desert that stretched north. “Hell, yes.”

  19

  The next day the scouts took the horses away from the remaining soldiers that guarded the herd in the tules. So with the scouts’ new horses loaded with treasures and the village women mounted to go their own ways, they parted from the scouts. Diaz’s men that were still alive found themselves left barefooted to make their own way out of this place.

  The last thing Chewy’s command did was blow up the headquarters full of ordnance that the Apaches had no need for, and watch from afar as the thatched roof blew sky high and spooked all their horses.

  “Where will you go?” Slocum asked Rey as they headed north across the greasewood sea.

  “Oh, back to Naco. I have friends and customers.” She shrugged and reset the sombrero on her head. “Who would ever believe I was at the demise of the General Diaz?”

  “There will be a replacement for him in weeks, I’m sure.”

  “Yes, in a week or less.” She chuckled. “What will you do?”

  “Go back to Bowie and collect my pay, if they have any money.”

  She rode in close and leaned her cheek on his arm. “I won’t forget you, and you ever need any help again, remember Rey in Naco.”

  “I will.”

  “No wife, no hacienda?”

  He shook his head. “A saddle for a pillow and sky for a roof.”

  “Then when you ride through, share my bed and roof.”

  He nodded that he heard her and looked at the fuzzy, distant purple mountains. He’d think long about the short Mexican woman and her strength—enough to shoot down a killer and go into an armed camp and save other women.

  They parted in the night with a kiss and an embrace. He rode on with the scouts, who acted anxious to get back in the U.S. with their treasures of war. Why they felt any safer across the line he had no idea, but rode along. Mexico had no forces in the field that would intercept them this far north—but they passed on like silent ghosts into the Muleshoes and over the divide so they were heading up the Sulphur Springs Valley when the sun climbed over the Chiricahuas.