by Jake Logan
Half-asleep, she rolled over and kissed him. Her hand pressed his palm against her right breast. “You need me?”
“Maybe....”
Small drops of rain began to splatter on their canvas cover. He kissed her again and tasted her tongue in the inky night. Deep in the cocoon warm with their body heat, they snuggled in passion’s arms. He savored her silky body as they became connected and pushed as one for their pleasure. With him buried deep inside her, her contractions became stronger and she slipped into a dreamy world that must have rocked her brain. Moaning softly, she savored each thrust.
The rain let up, and he dared to view the world around them. More rain in the form of a tall dark cloud and strong lightning were coming out of the northwest at them.
“What do we do?”
“We better get dressed and get ready to move before the big one gets here.”
“Fine.” She sprang up and began dressing. In a few minutes he had the horses gathered and speedily saddled, and he undid the slickers tied on behind them. He slipped into his and then helped Meagen with hers. With panniers fastened on the crossbuck packsaddle, they whipped out the canvas and diamond hitch to cover their load. A stiff wind had begun to bring in the new rain. In the saddle, he led the way southwest under the stars. Tascosa was in that direction. He’d be glad to get this Bridges business over with. He looked back into the lightning-illuminated wall of rain encroaching on their vision—where were Barr and his men?
19
Barr was suspicious, watching the storm gathering, and also listening to the nice-nice chatter between Erma and that damn drawling idiot, Kittles, the next morning after breakfast.
“I got that team hooked up, Mr. Barr, fur you.”
“I can see.” He wanted to ask if they were still full of fire, but wouldn’t dare. Kittles’d make a major speech out of that, and he’d have to listen to it all.
“Get your ass going, girl,” Barr said under his breath as he went by her.
“I am, I am.”
“You need some help, little lady?” Kittles asked, going to her defense.
Before he puked up his breakfast, Barr moved away from the two of them. He’d kill both of them if they planned to abandon him out here. How many more days was it to this Texas outpost? No communication. Exasperated, he paced around as the other two loaded the buckboard.
“Mr. Barr, she’s all loaded.”
He didn’t dare speak and climbed on the seat. Kittles handed him the reins and then took off his hat and nodded at Erma. “I think they’ll be all right.”
Sitting on the seat with the lines in his hands, Barr’s stomach went sour. The stunted ponies acted ready to spring. He let out on the tension of the lines and the horses danced. Were they going to balk? To his relief they began to move the wagon from a standstill. A jerk on the tugs forced him to reposition his butt on the board seat as he braced his boots against the dashboard.
Erma sucked in her breath, but the team settled in and started moving at a trot.
Kittles said aloud, “Now, ain’t they nice?”
Barr heard him all right and didn’t answer. His attention was focused on the still-tense team as they climbed the steep grade. All he wanted was to get what was left of his money—Bridges could not have spent it all in the places he’d been at. But they needed to catch him, and soon. Were Doss and his crew doing it? He leaned back to slow down the horses.
Erma pulled on his sleeve. “Who are those men out there?”
Barr blinked at the four riders. They were out a good distance across the open grassland, but they were obviously interested in the three of them. Something he didn’t like—two of them were bareheaded. They might be renegades, breeds or even some reservation jumpers. All he needed at this point was some freebooters looking for weak or easy targets to attack and rob.
Kittles brought his horse alongside Barr’s side of the rig. “You seeing them riders out thar?”
Barr nodded. “Who the hell are they?”
“Damned if’n I know, but they look like trouble.”
Barr agreed with a nod. But what could they get behind to fight them off? There wasn’t a pimple to take cover behind. The team became his least worry.
“Keep your eyes on them and let me know if they move to intercept us,” he said to Erma.
He heard Kittles, riding beside him, load his rifle. “Mr. Barr, I’ll sure be with you when all hell breaks loose around here.”
Hell breaks loose? Did he know that they were really some outlaw gang?
Barr nudged her with his elbow. “What are they doing?”
“Riding along as if sizing us up.”
“Sizing us up?”
“Oh, they want to know who we are and whether they can run over us.”
He shook his head. “They can’t.”
She shrugged like she wasn’t as certain about that and hugged her elbows tighter to the sides of her body. Then, upset as she was, she started biting her short nails back to the quick. Glancing over at her made him sick to see her doing that.
How had he gotten into this mess? He had wanted to simply ranch. Honyockers were filing homesteads on his range. Most couldn’t even speak English. This was American land, not meant for foreigners. They’d starve, plowing up the damn prairie to plant crops. He should be at home, sniping them off with his needle gun one by one.
It was a shame he didn’t have that deadly accurate rifle with him. He could pick these bastards off with it like they were sitting ducks on a prairie pothole. His own Winchester was on the dashboard in a scabbard, but it wasn’t anywhere near like his gun at the line shack.
Bastards! He slapped Erma’s hand. “Quit biting your fingernails.”
She obeyed and looked at him, shocked.
“I hate you doing that. You already have your fingers bleeding.”
If somehow they lived through this day—he’d be damned surprised.
What were they waiting for? Come on you sneaky devils. I want to kill you.
20
Slocum and Meagen traveled hard for a day through the storm. Later the next day, Meagen used Slocum’s field glasses to study the distant town. “It sure ain’t much, is it?”
“Tascosa started out as a buffalo hunter’s trading post when the big hunt was on up here, and it went downhill from there. Lots of rustlers and outlaws like Billy the Kid used it as a place to sell their stolen stock out of New Mexico. Horse trading was brisk and no one asked questions. Some twenty-four-hour poker games went on seven days a week. A man named Rojo brought two wagonloads of shady ladies up here from El Paso and he did a grand business. Gambling, wildcat whiskey and lots of prostitutes made this the party capital of West Texas. Mix men, whiskey and wild women, and you add lots of shootings to the list. I told you they don’t enforce the law much out here. Businesses like a reckless boy’s money. So it thrives. You caught sight of anyone you know?”
She dropped the glasses on the strap around her neck. “Not a one, but we’re going in after dark, aren’t we?”
He nodded. “Now is when I wish I had that boy. He knows Doss and many other riders who work for Barr.”
“I only know the ones who raped me.”
“That’s Bridges and Horace whoever.”
“Them I’d know.”
“We’re going in after sundown, and you’re going to cover yourself with a scarf and a blanket so they don’t recognize you.”
“Easy enough.”
“It is just a dusty little town of adobe jacals, fighting chickens, cur dogs, bare-assed brown children and lots of wanted men hiding out.”
“It will be dangerous?”
“Oh, yes, but all we have to worry about is Bridges and his henchman, as well as whoever is with Doss.”
“You don’t think Barr beat us down here?”
“I doubt it.”
“Good.”
After sunset, the two rode their horses to the edge of town and tied them to an old, broken-down wagon on the outskirts of the ja
cals. Some cur dog discovered their intrusion and began barking.
“What about him?” she asked about the dog’s loud barking.
“These dogs bark so much, no one takes them serious.”
“Good.” She tossed the blanket over her head as a hood.
Slocum chucked a rock at the barker. The dog yelped like Slocum had hit him and ran off. They were rid of him anyway.
They walked past a row of adobe houses. Light streamed out the open front door of one along with wild Mexican music from the musicians inside. The very recognizable laughter of some puta sitting, no doubt, on a customer’s lap rang out. Another bare-shouldered woman came to the door, drew a last mouthful off a marijuana cigarette and flipped the glowing pinched butt out in a high arc to land in the dust.
“Where is that big gringo?” she asked someone over her shoulder.
“Ah, Bridges. . . .”
A little ways farther, Slocum pulled Meagen off into the shadows. He whispered, “You hear her?”
“Yes, she said, ‘Bridges.’”
“Sounds like we are damn close.”
“Where is he at?” She searched around in the darkness.
“I expect him to come back here unless he found a better subject to entertain him.”
“Was she pretty, the woman in the doorway? I only got a quick look at her.”
“Wasn’t a princess, but she’d do in a pinch.”
She hit his arm lightly. “You men can tease about the damndest things.”
“I only want to get this job over with.”
“Look, Slocum. That’s him—Bridges.”
“You see Horace anywhere?”
She peered around in the starlight, then shook her head. “He’s not with him.”
“We better go find him, then.”
Looking perplexed in the faint light, she asked, “What about Bridges?”
“I think that puta will keep him busy all night.”
“I agree. But they usually aren’t that far apart.”
“Where is your amigo, my lover?” the woman asked when Bridges appeared beside her. She jumped up to kiss him and he caught her, holding her off her feet as they kissed.
“Oh, he’ll be coming along,” Bridges said to her between kisses. Then she made a loud shout, and he swept her up and carried her inside.
Outlaw number two was coming as well. Slocum and Meagen nodded at each other.
“Let’s walk up this street and find a place to ambush him.”
“Go.” She turned him in the direction of the square and clung to his left arm as they walked toward the center of town, in and out of the shadows, around a few scrubby trees. When he saw a man coming on the opposite side, he swung her around and kissed her. They were kissing hard when the man went by them. She gave a slight nod—it was him.
“Oh, señor, por favor?” Slocum said in his best Spanish.
“What do you need, grea-ser?” Horace began, but then stood shock faced, staring at Slocum’s six-gun as Slocum jammed the muzzle in his big gut.
“I want your ass. One word, one shout and you’re dead. Now be real quiet-like, turn around, and we’re going back uptown. Make one wrong move, and the loose pigs will eat your carcass.”
Meagen removed the Colt from his holster and nodded that she had it.
“I-I-I—”
“Shut up,” Slocum ordered.
They walked with him back toward the center of town. Slocum recalled a merchant who had a hay storage shed on Royale Street. It was isolated enough, and no one would be in it until long after dawn. If they bound and gagged Horace good, he’d be there when they came back for him later.
Slocum jerked Horace up in his face so he could smell the whiskey breath on him. “Where’s Bridges keep his money?”
“I don’t know.”
“You better get to recalling where it’s at, or I’m pouring kerosene all over your privates and setting them on fire.”
“You son of a bitch, you wouldn’t do that to me.”
“She would, if I don’t.”
“Oh, hell, I know who you are—you’re Slocum. And that’s the whore from—”
Slocum bashed him over the forehead with the barrel of his handgun and shoved him inside the barn’s dark interior.
“Say one bad thing about this lady, I’m sticking this gun up your ass to the chamber and blowing your brains out the top of your head. You hear me?”
“I was only spoofing you about her. Damn, I’m bleeding.”
Roughly, Slocum shoved the fat man down on his knees. “Now, where is this money you all stole from Barr?”
“I swear—”
“You’re going to swear with your balls on fire. Meagen, look around in here. There’s bound to be a can of coal oil and some good rope.”
She lit a lantern and then blew out the match. “Now maybe I can find something. There’s some good rope over here.”
Slocum half dragged his prisoner by the collar over to where Meagen was and quickly bound him up. Horace screamed that Slocum was killing him when he set the knots on his wrists behind his back. To shut the man up, Slocum crammed his kerchief in the fat man’s mouth. “I’ll tell you when you can speak. You hear me?”
His prisoner nodded. The blood on his face looked worse than it actually was. Slocum had no use for this ruthless killer. He looped the rope’s tail over the rafter and soon had a noose made around Horace’s throat.
“When he’s on his boot toes, tell me,” he said to Meagen as he made Horace stand on the nail keg.
She bent over to look at the outlaw’s feet and finally nodded at Slocum. Horace’s neck was well stretched, and he was mumbling around the gag. Slocum ignored him, tying the neck rope off on a barn post across the aisle. He made certain the knots held tight on the neck rope.
“What’s next?” She blew out the lamp and dropped the glass’s lever. With the lamp hung on a nail, they went outside the stuffy barn.
“Bridges next?” she asked, having to half-run to keep up with him until they reached the house where they’d seen Bridges. “You weren’t really going to cook that part of him, were you?”
“He and Bridges don’t deserve one ounce of your sympathy. They’ll tell me where the money is or suffer the consequences. Men may think they’re tough as nails, but by damn they won’t be half as mean when they’re smelling coal oil and feeling a cool liquid sliding off their bare bellies.”
The piano man, playing some Southern music, joined with the sounds of some half-drunk whores, whose loud remarks escaped the jacal quarters.
Slocum, with Meagen behind him holding Horace’s Colt .45, stood nearby where the doorway’s light spilled out into the night. Six-gun in his fist, he charged through the entrance. The shocked women raised their hands in the air. Meagen made them be quiet and stand against the wall.
Satisfied that she had them under control, he went down the hall and listened.
When he heard that the woman in the room was talking to his man, Slocum used his boot to kick open the door. Then with his six-gun cocked and ready, he charged into the room. Slocum caught Bridges pulling up his pants, with the candle lamp showing that Bridges’s erection was still swollen as he raised his hands high. His pants dropped to his ankles.
“Don’t move an inch,” Slocum said and shouldered the outlaw’s holster and six-gun from off a ladder-back chair. “Horace is securely bound in a hay barn. So forget him. Put on your shirt.”
“My pants ...”
“You’re fine. You won’t need them where you’re going.”
The woman huddled on the bed, holding the sheet up to cover her nakedness. “What are you going to do to us?”
“You mind your own business,” Slocum said to her, emptying Bridges’s pants pockets. Then he discovered the money belt lying underneath the pants. Good. This must be Barr’s money. He swung the canvas belt around his neck and then made the outlaw step down the hallway and into the lighted room.
Meagen looked shocked at the sight
of his prisoner, then shook her head, holding the gun on the women. “You’ve got him.”
Her eyes filled with anger and hatred. Slocum thought she was close to gunning him down right there.
“Don’t sh-shoot me,” Bridges begged.
“Slowly walk to the door,” Slocum ordered. Meagen held the women back at gunpoint as Slocum and Bridges left the house of ill repute.
“You come running out screaming, you can expect to die.” Then Meagen hurried after him to catch up. Looking back to check, she saw that no one came outside after them. “They’re listening to me.”
“Good.”
When they reached the barn at last, Slocum tied Bridges’s hands behind his back. Meagen lit the lamp and held it for Slocum to see by. Red faced and frightened standing on his toes on top of the keg, Horace gazed at them in shock. The gag muzzled his words. There would be justice dealt in this town for the pair of rapists and killers. Nebraska was hundreds of miles away, as was Kansas law for the killing of Meagen’s husband and her rape.
Slocum made Bridges kneel on the floor while he made a noose. When he completed it, he put the rope around Bridges’s neck and tossed the tail over the rafter.
“Who hired you to rape my friend’s wife?”
“I ain’t saying.”
Slocum swung on the rope, jerking Bridges to his feet, and screamed at Bridges, “I said tell me!”
“Barr’s man. Barr’s man, Doss.”
“Then you robbed Barr?”
“The sumbitch was holding out on me.”
“Stand on this keg.”
“No.”
“You want your head caved in with my gun butt or are you going to stand on this keg?”
Bridges obeyed, and with the noose around neck, he stood on the keg, his hands tied behind him.
“You got anything to say for yourself?”
“I’ll see you in hell!”
Slocum kicked away the small barrel. The rope creaked. Bridges made a gagging sound, then his feet paddled the air before he died.
Slocum never looked away. Next he went to where Horace was standing on his toes on the other barrel, breathing hard in and out of his nose with the scarf still stuffed in his mouth.