Slocum and Little Britches

by Jake Logan

  Lucia and Little Britches struck up a conversation that went on and on. The men made firewood and stayed away. Seeing Lucia behaving almost normally with Little Britches made Slocum feel a lot better. They were camped for the night in the pines, a day’s ride from the hideout Vegas had proposed.

  While they ate their beans, Slocum asked Lucia who else was with her captors besides Freddie Fine and El Tigre.

  “A man they called Juarez. I never heard him called anything else.”

  Slocum nodded. “Vegas, you know that one?”

  He shook his head. “I know Tigre because he came by the hacienda once to seek help finding a man he said stole some horses from his patrón.”

  “Was that true?”

  “I think the man double-crossed him on the horse deal and took the horses on to sell them in El Paso.”

  Lucia closed her eyes and spoke through her teeth. “If I ever get a chance, I’ll blow his balls off.” She shuddered and dropped her chin.

  “Lucia? Lucia?” Slocum said to get her attention. “We’re going to get your mine back and settle with them.”

  “Oh, Slocum, I know that—”

  “We’ll do it.”

  She looked up at them with wet lashes. “They have killed so many.”

  “Tell us about someone we can trust in the government.”

  She shrugged and turned her hands up. “I don’t know who to trust.”

  “Vegas, Little Britches, and me for one.”

  She tried to smile. “I had prayed and prayed and when you came for me, I knew God had sent you.”

  Vegas was on his knees holding her against his chest. “Señora, you will be safe with us.”

  She pushed him back so she could peer into his face. “Vegas, my name is Lucia. Call me that, please?”

  He hugged her tight and rocked her in his arms. “Lucia. Lucia. We will care for you.”

  “What should we do?” Little Britches asked Slocum.

  “First, we must find an official we can trust.”

  “Is the general you took her from in with them?”

  “If he isn’t, he’s getting paid to keep the real officials away from the mine.”

  Silver frowned at him. “Does he have that much influence?”

  “Way too much, I fear.”

  In the predawn, their horses were saddled and the packhorse made ready to go as the soft purple of sunup touched the peaks above them. A shot rang out. Slocum felt the burning sting in his shoulder. It staggered him.

  Little Britches screamed, “He’s hit.”

  “Get the hell out of here,” Slocum shouted, and grabbed for his left arm. The pain sent lightning chills to his cheek. “Go!”

  Vegas tossed Lucia on his horse and leaped in the saddle behind her. Little Britches gave Slocum a hurt look.

  “Get out of here,” he screamed.

  She obeyed and caught the spooked packhorse. Slocum was in the saddle and bullets were whizzing all around him. He bent over the saddle horn, his stirrups flapping, his good hand grasping the horn to stay in the saddle. Red needed no urging. He soon caught up with Little Britches and the packhorse. Behind them the shooting had silenced.

  “How bad is it?” she asked as they raced side by side through the open timber.

  “Don’t worry. I’m still ticking.”

  “For how long?”

  He shook his head. He was grateful that Vegas and Lucia were farther ahead of them—maybe they’d escape. “Can you see anyone back there?” he asked.

  “Yes. I caught sight of something.”

  “Stop,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “Stop and help me.”

  “Do what?” She reined up and bolted out of the saddle. Gathering reins, she moved in to help him.

  “I’m—fine.”

  “You don’t look fine. What’re you doing?”

  “We—got to stop them—” He jerked the rifle and stick out one-handed. “Shells in my saddlebags.”

  He laid the rifle over his leg and cocked it.

  She had the cartridge. “Now what?”

  “Open the block and put it in.”

  She obeyed and closed the rolling block. He released the hammer carefully and recocked it.

  “Put it in the forks and hold it steady.”

  He looked through the telescopic sight. Slick warm blood was seeping into his shirt. Twice, he blinked to get his eyes to focus. Don’t fail me now. Then he could see the lead rider.

  “You all right?” she asked, holding the stick in one hand, the reins in the other.

  “Yeah. Get ready to get another cartridge.”

  “I have two more.”

  “Good.” He squeezed off a shot, and at the blast she had to let go of the stick to control the horses.

  He knew the lead rider was gone. He needed one more of the four taken down. Dizzy-headed, he swung the rifle over his leg one-handed and cocked it. She opened the block, ejected the casing, and put a fresh one in.

  “I have the horses tied together, they won’t go far,” she said.

  He knew. He nodded. Could he even see one more? She put the rifle in place and held the stick in both hands for him. With the stock to his shoulder, he tried to see the other riders dodging through the trees toward them. With care, he found one in the crosshairs and shot. In the blinding smart smoke, he saw the rider throw his arms up, hit hard, and cartwheel off his horse.

  “They’re leaving,” she shouted in his ear. “The others are turning tail and running.”

  He blinked. Maybe he’d stopped them—he hoped so.

  “Get on the horse, Slocum, I can lead you.” Her words brought him out of his dizziness.

  “I’ll try—”

  “No! Get on that horse! Oh, damn, you’re all bloody.”

  She put her shoulder against his butt, and he found himself in the saddle.

  “Hold on. I’ll lead you.”

  “Yeah,” he said, the lights in his head going on and off.

  He had no idea how far they had ridden when she began beating on his leg for him to get down. Where were they?

  “Slocum. Slocum, I can help you. But I can’t carry you.”

  “I—know.” The sound of his own weak voice shocked him. He grasped the horn as he eased himself down. Oh. God—

  “Slocum. Slocum. You passed out on me. Can you hear me? I want you over there in the shade.”

  “Sure.” Couldn’t walk. He could crawl. Pain in his left arm caused him to consider throwing up. “I don’t think I can go over there.”

  “Stay here then,” she said, and ran for the bedroll.

  At last he was facedown—the world went black.

  She woke him again. “How can I stop the damn bleeding?”

  “See—see how deep the—bullet is.”

  “How can I do that?”

  “Feel for it.” Oh, damn, he could hardly stay awake.

  “Feel how?”

  “Small pointed knife. Get it out, then—then cauterize it.”

  “What is that?”

  “Get some gunpowder, pour it in the wound, and set it on fire . . .”

  “Oh, my God. What if I can’t do that?”

  He fainted again.

  When he awoke, his shoulder felt on fire. She held an object between her fingers in front of him—a lead bullet. Bent over close enough for him to see it, she said, “I got the bullet out. Did it all. You have to live now.”

  “I’ll try,” he said.

  “Try? No, you have to live.”

  It was dark when he awoke again. She rushed over when he tried to sit up. “I’ll help you.”

  Sitting up at last, the pain in his left shoulder still cob-webbing his brain, he nodded woodenly. “Where’s Vegas and Lucia?”

  “I have not seen them since we rushed away. Maybe he went on to the hideout.”

  “It could be. Any sign of those others?”

  She shook her head and sat down beside him. “Just you, me, and some old lobo wolf that’
s been hanging around.”

  “I doubt he’ll bother us.”

  “I wish I was that sure.”

  “Thanks,” he said, and she hugged him lightly. “Been a helluva day.”

  “A damn long one.” She shook her head. “What else do I need to do? I reloaded your pistol, too.”

  “Thanks, I may need it. Wait and see is all I can think about doing right now. Keep our guns close.” His six-gun and holster were wrapped in the belt close by his bedroll.

  “You won’t be able to travel for a few days.”

  “Morning we better move on.”

  Wrinkles of concern crossed her smooth forehead. “You’re in no shape to ride anywhere. Besides, where will we go?”

  “We need to try to find Vegas. I figure if he’s alive, Vegas will come back when he has Lucia secure someplace.”

  She nodded.

  “I never figured they’d jump us that soon,” he said. “They really must have pushed hard to find us.” The fact that they’d made that big of a push meant they didn’t want Lucia to escape. Maybe they feared St. John’s reaction over their loss of her. No telling.

  “Did you recognize any of those men you shot?” she asked.

  “No, they all looked like strangers.”

  “Someone is coming,” she said, and sprang to her feet. The .38 Colt in her fist was cocked.

  Slocum had heard the horse snort off in the timber to the south.

  “Hold your fire, amigos.”

  “It’s Vegas,” she said, and reset the empty cylinder under the hammer before she holstered the handgun.

  On foot, the vaquero crossed into the fire’s light with a look of relief written on his bronze face. “Thank God you two are all right.”

  “How is Lucia?” Slocum asked.

  “I have her safe with an old woman who is a doctor. Lucia had bad headaches all day. She thinks it is from all the dope they gave her.” He squatted down and looked over at Slocum. “They shot you?”

  “Yes. Doc here got the bullet out and stopped the bleeding.” He gave a nod toward Little Britches.

  Vegas drew his head back and frowned. “You are a doctor?”

  She laughed at his reaction. “Today I had to be one.”

  “I see. What should we do now?”

  “Move on in the morning,” Slocum said. “I took out two of them with my rifle this morning. The other two could still be out there, or they’ve gone back for more help.”

  “I will guard you tonight,” said Vegas.

  “No,” she said. “I can do some of it.”

  Vegas nodded in agreement. “I will sleep a few hours then.”

  “Fine.”

  “I’m going to sleep,” Slocum said, anxious to escape his throbbing shoulder. “Be careful, both of you, these are desperate men.”

  Sleep came hard and his dreams were all bad. Then he awoke in the night and realized there was a tough unfamiliar voice talking in their camp.

  “Listen, boy. I’m going to cut your throat. Where is that damn woman?”

  Facedown, Slocum edged his hand slowly for the Colt beside him on the ground. Boy? They must have Little Britches. Where in the hell was Vegas?

  “I-I don’t know—”

  Then there was a scream by a man.

  On his knees, Slocum looked up. He could see a man under the sombrero hugging his guts and stumbling toward him. The intruder was gasping about being killed. He dropped to his knees, and then Slocum could see he was clutching a knife in his guts.

  Where was she? Then a gunshot cut the night and the big man jerked up, obviously struck in the back by a bullet. He fell belly-down on the knife and groaned.

  “You all right?” she asked Slocum, out of breath, holding her pistol in both hands while standing over the man.

  “Fine. Where’s Vegas?” Slocum asked.

  “I don’t know.” She dropped down beside him in tears. “There was nothing else I could do.”

  “I know. Are there any others?” He laid down his gun and sat back on his heels. His back throbbed. “We have to find out if there’s more. That shot will bring them.”

  She looked around in the starlight filtering through the pines. “I don’t see anyone.”

  “Good. We need to find Vegas.”

  “I’ll look for him.”

  “I’ll be behind you.”

  “I was asleep when that man jerked me up. When he looked around, I took the knife you gave me out of my belt and used both hands—I didn’t know what else to do but shoot him.”

  “That must be Vegas.” Slocum pointed to a prone figure on the ground.

  “Oh, is he dead?”

  Slocum knelt down beside the man and turned him over.

  Vegas gave a groan and blinked his eyes. “Who hit me?”

  “I think the man she shot. You all right?”

  “I have a bad headache.”

  “You notice anything? I mean, obviously he jumped you, too.”

  “Nothing. He must have been part Indian. I thought I had heard a horse down the way and got up—then the lights went out.”

  Slocum sat on the ground beside the recovering Vegas. “There were four of them. I shot two. This big one makes three.”

  “One more is out there?” she asked, finally holstering her revolver and squatting beside him.

  “Hell only knows, but my count is three down, one to go.”

  Vegas rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll go check on that sound of a horse I heard before he slugged me over the head.”

  “Better wait till you have your wits about you.” His own head felt light and his shoulder was on fire.

  “What will we do about—him?” she asked.

  “Let the buzzards have him. He made his own fate.” Slocum looked off in the night at the peaks above them. Lucia would sure be upset that they had not returned. He could only hope she was still in safe hands.

  “I’ll be all right.” Vegas rose, and discovered his pistol was gone. “He must have gotten it.”

  “Here, take mine,” Slocum said, and handed it to him. “I’ll get yours off him.”

  Vegas moved off in the night. Slocum raised up on his knees, then she steadied him to stand. They walked back to the prone outlaw. He didn’t move.

  Slocum put out his good hand and motioned for her to give him her pistol. Even dead rattlers sometimes struck. When he had the six-gun in his hand, he nodded. “Now roll him over on his back careful-like.”

  On her knees, she reached over and tried to turn the big man over. With the .38 cocked and ready, Slocum watched her, wishing he was the one struggling to flop the outlaw on his back. With much grunting, she at last managed get the outlaw on his side. Then, in limp fashion, he fell on his back.

  She snatched a revolver out of the man’s holster and tossed it aside. Then she moved on her knees and jerked out the one stuck in his waistband.

  “Must be Vegas’s.” She handed it to him.

  “Yes, it probably is his,” Slocum agreed, and slipped it in his own holster. “Maybe when Vegas gets back, he can tell us who this one is.”

  “What will we do next?”

  “Maybe make something to eat, then we can load up and ride out.” He reached out with his good arm and hugged her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I know this has been tough on you. But you saved our lives.”

  He could feel the revulsion in her about the events that had happened as she quaked under the arm draped over her. “You’ll make it,” he said. “Sorry it had to happen.”

  “I—I know I’ll make it.” She hugged her arms as if cold. “It is just getting there that bothers me.”

  He closed his eyes. He owed St. John another one for what this did to her. First Lucia, now her. Damn that worthless outlaw anyway—The sound of footsteps cut off his thoughts. His hand went for his gun butt.

  “Get moving,” Vegas ordered, and marched into the clearing with a prisoner.

  “Who’ve we got here?” Slocum asked, easing himself to the ground. He had l
ost a lot of his own strength, and the discomfort in his back made him even more restless.

  “I think you know him,” Vegas said. “Freddie Fine.”

  “Who’s he?” she hissed under her breath.

  “White slaver, gunrunner, whiskey peddler. Who else is with you?” Slocum asked Fine.

  “Oh, no one. I swear there ain’t no one and I didn’t know what Tigre was up to coming up here. He said watch the horses. That’s all. I thought he had diarrhea or something like that.”

  “Quit lying. You came for the woman, too.”

  Fine spread out his hands in protest. “This wasn’t my deal. I swear this wasn’t my deal. I got caught up in it at the mine and it was help them or get killed. Nothing I could do. I swear. You ask her. Where is she?”

  “In safe hands. Now what did the old general back there have to do with this?”

  “He-he wanted her. The señora. But he couldn’t get his pecker up when we got there, and he wanted to try her or I guess we’d been gone.”

  “You were taking her where?” Slocum asked, thinking about what Donada had told him about this worthless piece of shit.

  “Not me. I was just going along or die.”

  “You can quit lying. Tigre told us before he died that you were in charge.”

  “He lied. I swear he lied.”

  “Dead men don’t lie.”

  “Well, if I got her sold—they were going to let me live. See, that’s what he meant.”

  “Fine, you’re the lying’st bastard I’ve ever met. Tie him to a tree,” Slocum said in disgust. “We’ll use him for mountain lion bait.”

  “No!”

  “You better hush up. They hear you screaming, they may swarm in here thinking they got a real good meal.”

  “I’ll make us some food,” Little Britches announced.

  “Good,” Slocum said.

  Vegas moved his prisoner over to the horses and secured a rope. Then he marched him to the nearest pine and tied the protesting outlaw to the trunk. He finished by stuffing a rag in his mouth.

  “That’s much better,” Slocum said when the vaquero rejoined him.

  “That makes four.” Vegas sat cross-legged on the ground.

  “No rush,” Slocum said. “Get her knife out of Tigre and you can have the money on him.”

  Vegas nodded toward Fine. “What about him?”

  “We can leave him tied up there for all I care. We’ll take their horses, guns, and supplies with us.”