Slocum and Little Britches

by Jake Logan

  When she took the shaft of his dick in her firm fist and inserted the head in her mouth, he stood on his boot toes in response. Her alternate sucking and licking soon had him breathing so rapidly, he could hardly restrain himself. With his cock in and out of her lips, and her rubbing the skintight head on the hard surface of the roof of her mouth, his hips were urging him to shove it down her throat. Her left hand began to massage his scrotum. He knew he couldn’t contain it any longer, and his gun went off. She dropped back on her heels and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand.

  “Same ole Slocum,” she said, and he lifted her up. Then he buttoned his pants.

  At the sound of someone moving around upstairs in the kitchen, she quickly took down a slab of bacon and whispered, “Take this up for me.”

  “Yes, ma’am, anything else?”

  “Give me a match. This damn light’s went out.”

  He struck one and relit the candle. Then he packed the bacon upstairs.

  “Morning, Marie,” he said, exiting the cellar.

  The older woman nodded, barely looked at him as if she was minding her own business, and made herself busy adding coffee to the boiling water. He put the slab of bacon on the wooden preparation table.

  Soon, Consuela came up the stairs still huffing. “That cellar is a lot of work going and coming up and down.”

  Marie agreed, and put the lid back on the coffeepot. “I think there are spirits down there, too.” She crossed herself.

  “Oh, what kind?” Consuela began to pile flour on the table with a large cup.

  “I am not sure,” the old woman said. “Trust me, I know about spirits. I can feel them down there.”

  “You feel any spirits down there?” Consuela asked Slocum.

  “Oh, yes,” he said, straddling a chair backward and overseeing her work. “I could feel them.”

  Donada came in and smiled at discovering that he was back.

  “When did you return?” she asked, putting the shawl she came in with on the peg.

  “Ten minutes ago.”

  “Any more Indian trouble?”

  He shook his head. “No problem this time. Some buffalo soldiers had a problem with a small band over in Sulfur Springs Valley.”

  “Oh, that is close.”

  “The Indians ran away again.”

  “But where?”

  “Damned if I know. They left was the good thing.”

  “You tell him about the message?” Donada asked Consuela.

  The woman shook her head. “They sent word yesterday that bandits killed the man you use to work for—Valenta,” she told Slocum.

  “Anything else?”

  “Yes, his widow wants you to come and help her.”

  “Who brought the message?”

  “A boy name Largo. He’s sleeping in the barn.”

  “Yes, I know him.”

  “What will you do?” Consuela had a large wad of dough she was kneading in her hands.

  “I guess go and help her.”

  “What about the girl you brought here?” Consuela asked. “She tells us she has no one.”

  “I’ll fund her passage to her sister in Prescott.”

  The three nodded in approval as if relieved at his words.

  “Get the man some coffee,” Consuela said to Marie. “He’s been up all night riding to get back here.”

  Slocum nodded. So Valenta was dead. Served him right. Slocum had told the man that the bandit St. John was going to get tougher and tougher. Blowing steam off his cup, he wondered about Valenta’s wife Lucia. She had sent that boy Largo to find him. That meant she really needed him. He’d better grab some sleep and get on his way back to Mexico.

  6

  “Wake up. Wake up.”

  He opened his matted eyes and in his unclear vision could see the girl Silver was on the bed shaking him.

  “What is it?”

  “Apaches attacked the freight wagons.”

  “Huh?” He could see the buckskin-clad O’Day standing behind her. “Get the damn army. That’s their job.” Still not completely awake from his deep sleep, he sat up. “When did it happen?”

  “Daybreak,” O’Day began. “They swept in. Maybe two dozen of ’em. Who can tell, it was fast. They got Thomas and three of the teamsters in the first surge. Used arrows when they first attacked. I guess that’s what surprised us. Plenty silent. Whack, whack. Then when the damage was done, four of our guys down, they came screaming with new Winchesters and wounded more.”

  “What can I do?”

  “That mining equipment is worth a lot of money and they need it at Tombstone. I figured if you were here, I’d see if you’d organize the deal and get it there. I’m sure they’d pay us well for doing it.”

  “They never burned the wagons?” Slocum asked, looking at the anxious-faced girl sitting on her heels close by.

  “No, all they got was the stock.”

  “You must have fought like hell to save them.”

  “We did. There’s enough teamsters and workers to get the equipment to Tombstone. Can’t take us much over four days to move it over there.”

  “Telegraph wire up?” he asked Silver.

  She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  “It’s working,” Ben Corbett said, coming in the doorway.

  “O’Day, wire Bowie.” Slocum started to sweep the covers back, and then he looked at Silver. “I’m getting up.”

  “I won’t look.”

  “Good,” he said, and swept the covers fully back. “Tell Bowie they attacked the wagon train and killed Thomas.”

  Corbett nodded. “Where are you going to get enough stock to move the equipment?”

  “Damned if I know. Going through St. David instead of Benson, I can cut almost a day off. But finding enough draft animals may be the tough part.”

  “Short of Tucson, I think so.”

  “I hope to find a freight outfit coming out of down there.”

  “Corbett?” O’Day stuck his head back in. “Those women say you operate the key.”

  “I’m coming.” He turned back to Slocum, who was standing. “Lots of luck.”

  “I may need it.” He watched Corbett leave. He pulled his britches up and buttoned them, aware that Silver had moved to sit on the edge of the bed and was kicking her legs like she was on a swing.

  “I have your death certificate,” he said.

  She nodded and did not look up. “Sorry I woke you. But Mr. O’Day said it was urgent.”

  “No. I needed to get up. You all right?”

  “As right as I can be.”

  He dropped beside her on the bed and shook out a boot. No need to put it on with a scorpion or vinegaroon in the toe. “You need to go visit your sister.”

  “No.” She rubbed her palms on top of her legs, which were under the dress they must have found for her. “I’m going along with you.”

  “You don’t understand—”

  “I understand perfectly. You saved me. You can keep me.” With her lips set in a tight line and her fists clenched in her lap, she sulked.

  “You have no idea where in the hell I need to go.” Picking up his other boot to shake it out, he looked over at her.

  She never returned his gaze. “Benson, I figure, to get teams, right?”

  “Then we’ve got to snake them into Tombstone.”

  “Two, maybe three days. What then?”

  “You’ll be on the stage to Prescott.”

  “No, we’re going to Mexico.”

  He strained on the mule ears to pull the second boot on. “No way. Mexico is too dangerous.”

  “If the Apaches had gotten me, I’d’ve been in Mexico.”

  He shook his head and clapped his knees. “Lunch over?”

  “I’m sure they have some food.”

  “Let’s go get something to eat.” They could talk about her going to Prescott later.

  “You want Red saddled while you do that?” she asked.

  “Sure.”

>   “I’ll have him and a horse for me saddled while you eat.”

  Hell, she could go to Tombstone, Slocum decided. Then he’d send her packing. “All right. Where’s Largo?”

  “Is he going, too?”

  “No, I need to send a message to his boss.”

  “I’ll find him. He’s probably still sleeping. Said he rode night and day to get up here and find you.”

  “Thanks.”

  In the main building, Corbett worked on the telegraph key. O’Day stood above him and nodded.

  “He getting out?” Slocum asked.

  “I think so.”

  Corbett nodded to reassure him. “I’m getting a message back.”

  “Good,” Slocum said, heading for the kitchen. “I’m getting some food. Silver’s saddling horses.”

  “Lieutenant Gauge—sends his regards—says that they sent ammo and—food to Company—C.” Corbett continued listening to his key. “They will have two companies here in the field by nightfall.”

  Slocum shook his head. Hell, that bunch of Apaches would be miles from there by then. “It’ll be a big help.”

  Corbett took off his headset. “I agree. But what else can we do?”

  “This hit-and-run business by the broncos needs to be matched with teams of Apache scouts in the field. Crook knows it. His boss, General Sherman, disagrees with him.”

  “Well, Crook has handled them before.”

  “He can do it like that,” O’Day agreed.

  “Things keep getting worse,” Corbett said. “Instead of better.”

  “That and the economy. Which has kept the railroad from crawling through here and putting you out of business,” Slocum said.

  “It’ll come, I know,” Corbett agreed, and looked hard at the dirt floor.

  “Then what’ll you do?” O’Day asked.

  “Hell,” Corbett said, looking up at them. “I was looking for work when I found this deal. You taking over moving the equipment?”

  Slocum nodded. “You said they’d pay well to get it. I’ll do it.”

  “They will.”

  “I’ll get some food in my belly, then we can go look for teams.” Slocum went into the dining room.

  “Ah,” Consuela said. “You are hungry again?”

  “Always for your cooking.”

  “Bread. I have some lamb stew.” She stood hands on her hips, her brown eyes challenging him.

  “Mutton?”

  “Lamb.”

  “I’ll take some.”

  “O’Day?” she called out to the scout. “You eating, too?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You going to help that bunch?” Consuela motioned to O’Day.

  Slocum nodded. “Those mines need that freight. They’ll pay the bill.”

  She started to say something, then ran her lower lip under her even upper teeth. “What about Silver?”

  “She’s going along,” Slocum said, and took off his hat.

  “I see how you got her on the stage for Prescott.” She laughed at his plight, and went back in the kitchen talking loudly to her crew about all the special meals they had to fix. Then they all laughed loud enough that both men heard them.

  Corbett joined them with a bottle of whiskey. He drank, they ate. Slocum had noticed the man’s absence from other events earlier. The man was deep into drinking, but Slocum wasn’t his keeper. Some folks drank to forget; others drank because they weren’t satisfied with their place in life—the rest wanted to escape. Whiskey didn’t answer any of them. He’d tried it. It only numbed the rough edges of life.

  Silver came in and joined them, refusing food since she had eaten earlier. Her blond hair was gathered in a bun in back. The red remains of her sunburn still scarred her face. They’d heal, but he’d need to get her to wear a wide-brimmed hat.

  In the kitchen doorway, Consuela, seeing the boy come in, ordered more lamb stew for him.

  “Ah, Largo,” Slocum said. “Have a seat. Food is coming.”

  “Gracias,” Largo said to Consuela.

  “Tell ’em about the patrón,” she said to Largo.

  “Those bandidos have robbed the last two trains.” Largo looked at Slocum to see if he knew that. Then, as Slocum nodded, he continued. “The señora, she told him he should get you to come back.” The handsome boy shrugged his shoulders. “He never listened to her. The patrón said he would stop the bandidos himself. They killed him and took the gold.”

  “The same bandits?”

  “I think so. The señora said for me to find you and get you to come back and work for her.”

  Slocum nodded. “Tell her I will be coming in ten days. Not to ship any bullion until I get there.”

  “I savvy,” the boy said, and a smile crossed his face. “She will be very happy that you return. So will the men at the mine.”

  “You be very careful going home. If those bandits learn that you have a message for her, they’ll kill you.”

  “I know. They are mean men.”

  “Largo, do you have money for your food and horse feed?”

  He swallowed. “Sí señor.”

  Slocum started to dip out a spoon of stew and paused. “Good. Just watch yourself night and day.”

  “I will.”

  He went back to eating.

  “Damn, Slocum, you’re going right back into that mess down there?” Corbett scowled in disapproval at the notion, then raised his glass. “To your health, old buddy—may those fucking bandidos not cut out your balls and kill you.”

  Slocum raised his spoon. “I’ll drink to that.”

  Corbett nodded and then, acting upset, took his bottle and glass. He headed for the door. Slocum watched his longtime friend disappear. Corbett had problems. But Slocum wasn’t sure what they were. Might be the railroad coming and putting him out of business—something.

  Consuela came into the room, noticed Corbett was gone, and looked at Slocum. “Corbett’s son was killed in Mexico a year ago. He has not been himself since then.”

  “Who killed him?” Slocum asked, buttering a chunk of fresh bread.

  She wrinkled her nose. “If he knows who, he never tells us.”

  “A son?”

  “He didn’t know of him. The boy came here to meet his father. He told him that his mother on her deathbed said that Corbett was his real father. Corbett could not deny him.” Consuela shook her head. “He looked so much like him—”

  “The boy stay here?”

  “For a while. Then he said he must go back to see his family down there. Corbett gave him money and told him to come back after he saw them. The boy agreed.”

  “Where did they kill him?’

  “They said in a cantina in Santa Madre.”

  “No name for the killer?”

  “No. It eats at Corbett that he did not go down there and avenge his death. I know it does.”

  Slocum nodded slowly. “Why didn’t he?”

  “You see him shake?”

  “Some.”

  “Well—” She looked around to be certain Corbett was not around. “He couldn’t shoot a gun fast enough because of that.”

  Under the table, Slocum pushed his palms over the top of his pants legs. He closed his eyes for a moment to push away the notion. One day he’d face the same situation, if some gunman didn’t end his life before then. Damn.

  7

  Slocum, Silver, and O’Day reached Benson at dark. After checking on the crew at the wagons, they rode on to their destination. The two wounded teamsters had only sustained minor injuries and all would recover. They acted pleased that Slocum had taken on the leadership since they were counting on making the delivery so they could collect their pay for the six-week job.

  Benson was a small, sleepy settlement on the San Pedro River and the emigrant trail. Slocum and O’Day left Silver with the horses and went inside the first cantina. The bartender was a big man with a black mustache.

  “Slocum’s my name. I’m looking for teamsters. Apaches took our hors
es and mules this morning,” Slocum said.

  “Hartley’s mine. Heard about it. Said they killed Thomas?”

  “Yes. I need six teams of mules to get the freight over to Tombstone.”

  “That’ll be tough. There ain’t that many good teams in the country.”

  “Not any freighters left in the country?”

  “No.” Hartley shook his head. “Apaches got them all scared out of here. Thomas, he was tough. And he’d always made it up till now. But they got him, too.”

  “Hell’s fire,” O’Day said. “There’s got to be some teams we can hire.”

  “I guess tomorrow we go up to Tombstone and see if the mine owners can find us some draft stock,” Slocum said.

  Hartley looked at the smoky ceiling for help. “Good luck, men.”

  “From the sounds of things, we’ll sure as hell need it.” O’Day drew up his shoulders and started for the door.

  Slocum thanked the man and followed O’Day outside.

  “Do any good?” Silver asked, rising in the stirrups and grasping the horn in the darkness.

  “None here,” Slocum said, and jerked his cinch tight.

  “What now?” she asked him.

  “We’ll ride down to St. David and see how many farmers we can hire.”

  “Them Mormons are clannish as hell,” O’Day said under his breath. “I don’t trust ’em.”

  “Our best choice. Besides, Mormons also like money.”

  That night, they camped by the sluggish San Pedro, and in the morning, after some jerky for breakfast, they crossed the wooden bridge into St. David. Slocum stopped them at the small store, dismounted, and went inside. A short, attractive, gray-headed woman greeted him at the store and he asked for direction to the bishop’s place.

  “Oh, you mean Bishop Rutherford.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He’d had no idea of the man’s name until she told him.

  “Go down this road to the first big place with honey hives. That’s his.”

  “Thank you.”

  Slocum and his crew rode down the road, turning in at the beehives. In a white shirt and tie, Rutherford came out on the porch.

  “Bishop.” Slocum stepped down, pushed his hat back with his thumb. “Slocum’s my name. Apaches struck my freighting outfit yesterday. Killed a few of the men and stole our horses and mules. We have three heavy wagons. Been pulling them double teams with some big mules and horses.”