Slocum and the Tonto Basin War

by Jake Logan

  “I want to go after him, and I want you two to come with me,” Slocum said. “This is as much your fight as mine.”

  “More, Slocum, it’s a damn sight more!” Tewksbury prodded one of the dead sheep with the toe of his boot, much to the sheepherder’s consternation. “I got to pay the Daggs boys fer ever’ one of the sheep what’s killed.”

  “Twenny, they kill twenny,” the Basque said.

  “That’s gonna cost me a small fortune if they keep it up. Caleb, you up for some killin’?”

  “Sure thing, Pa,” he said, but he didn’t sound too enthusiastic about it.

  “I go with you,” the sheepherder said. “My friends . . .” He pointed to each of the sheep shot down by Blevins and Cooper.

  “Stay here,” Slocum said. “Watch over the rest of the flock. The Tewksburys and I’ll stop the slaughter.”

  “Make food for you,” the Basque said, his eyes fixed on a large sheep.

  “Do that. We’ll be back before you know it,” Slocum said.

  “I . . . I can stay with him and make sure nuthin’ happens,” Caleb suggested.

  “Do whatever you want,” Slocum said. He had no time for cowards. He found his mare and mounted, getting his bearings. Blevins and Cooper had ridden straight north toward the boundary of the Blevins spread. To the east was Graham’s ranch land and west and south was all Circle T property.

  “You ready?” Slocum asked as he reloaded his six-shooter. He checked his saddlebags and saw he had a spare cylinder with all six chambers charged and ready to pop into his pistol to save time reloading.

  “We’re ready,” Tewksbury said. He nudged his son, who reluctantly mounted. Slocum wondered if they would be any help at all when he ran Cooper to ground. All he could hope for was that Caleb didn’t shoot him in the back by accident.

  He set out on the trail, with Tewksbury and Caleb struggling to match the pace he set. But as hard as he rode, he not only failed to overtake the two sheep killers, but lost their trail entirely not two miles from the pond.

  “It looks like they turned to smoke,” Caleb said. “We better git on back.”

  “Blevins’s spread is ahead?”

  “Five miles more,” Tewksbury said. “It’ll be past dark when you git there, Slocum. Cooper’s not gonna ride away, not while his pa needs him.”

  “Not while there’s a back waiting to be shot at,” Slocum said angrily. He knew Tewksbury was right. There would be another day for another fight. Continuing into the heart of the enemy ranch was foolish since Blevins and Cooper had plenty of time to arrange an ambush. Without knowing how many gunmen he faced, Slocum was willing to concede the point to Tewksbury.

  “We can try some of that mutton,” Caleb said. “I don’t know about you two, but my backbone’s rubbin’ against my belly.”

  “Fancy that,” Slocum said. “You actually have a backbone?”

  “Slocum,” Tewksbury said sharply, “there’s no call insultin’ my boy.”

  Slocum ignored the rancher and headed back to the pond, but as he drew closer uneasiness turned to caution.

  “What’s the matter, Slocum?” asked Tewksbury when he saw how Slocum slowed to a walk.

  “Something’s wrong.”

  “What?” Caleb was anxious again. “I don’t see nuthin’ wrong.”

  “Take a deep breath. What do you smell?”

  “Well, nuthin’,” Caleb said.

  “That’s the problem. The Basque said he was going to cook up some sheep meat. I don’t even smell a fire, much less roasting mutton.”

  “Might be he’s takin’ longer’n we thought to slaughter one of the woollies. Did you see the way he treated ’em? Like they was kin,” said Tewksbury.

  Slocum rode faster through the gathering gloom and reached the pond ahead of the Tewksburys. He dropped down and walked to where a body was stretched out on the ground. The Basque’s sightless eyes watched nothing at all. Slocum closed the man’s eyes and looked him over. The sheepherder was dressed in wool clothing, hot for Arizona but probably all he had to wear.

  The clothing would be his shroud.

  “What happened?” Tewksbury finally reached a spot where he could look down from horseback.

  Slocum rolled the sheepherder over to expose the bullet hole in the middle of his back.

  “Andy Cooper came back,” Slocum said. “He might as well have left a signed confession.”

  In the distance sheep bleated and then fell silent as they returned to their grazing. The Basque had had no more chance against a man like Cooper than did the sheep when it came time for the slaughter.

  11

  Cooper would show up eventually. Slocum was sure of it as he paced back and forth like a caged animal. He had left his horse out of sight in a small forested area while he stalked a hill from one side to the other alert for any trace of dust showing riders coming this way. Slocum stopped his pacing and stared down the hill at the watering hole where dozens of sheep drank. Not twenty feet away was a small grave, a simple one with a crude wood above it where Slocum had buried the sheepherder. There should have been more, but there ought to be more for any decent, law-abiding man.

  Any man other than Andy Cooper—Andy Blevins. Him Slocum would gladly leave out in the hot Arizona sun for the buzzards and hope they wouldn’t choke on Cooper’s vile flesh.

  The sheep scattered around the pasture hardly kept Slocum occupied, as a herd of cattle would. There was something dull about the docile creatures where a cow was more active and had more character. Slocum knew neither animal was too bright, but he dealt with cattle better than sheep. How the Basque sheepherder had learned to love the woolly animals was beyond Slocum, as was a fate that brought the man from the northern part of Spain across an ocean and a continent to be murdered by a bullet in the back.

  Slocum kept looking northward toward the Blevins spread—or where Tewksbury said it started. There weren’t fences in that part of the Tonto Basin, and Slocum suspected any man could claim grazing rights. Since the sheepherder had been so brutally murdered, Tewksbury had been gone from his ranch. Lydia had been evasive about her father’s whereabouts, but Caleb had let it slip that John Tewksbury was rounding up allies for the fight with Blevins. The feud hadn’t ended with Graham’s murder.

  “Who killed that son of a bitch?” Slocum wondered aloud. About anyone could have since most had a motive. Slocum knew whoever had shot Graham had been trusted by the man. Either that or the killer had been good at sneaking up to catch him in his own parlor room without a six-shooter at hand. Slocum found it hard to believe Tewksbury had the skill or patience or courage to simply walk into that den of murderous thieves, shoot Graham and then leave. If Tewksbury had been responsible, he would have burned the house down or taken the stolen horses back. Slocum had found them in the corral.

  “Lydia and Graham,” he said, shaking his head. That was almost more than he could understand unless she wanted to get back at her pa. With the Tewksbury family anything was possible.

  Slocum stopped his restless patrol and stared across the pasture to the east. A tiny speck moved faster than a cow might. He picked up his field glasses and watched almost a minute before he made out the solitary rider coming his way. Slocum checked his rifle to be sure it had a full magazine, then sank to the ground in a prone position and sighted in on the rider.

  A a sudden glint stopped Slocum from squeezing off a shot. He grabbed his field glasses and studied the rider more carefully. When he made out the lawman’s badge on the rider’s vest, Slocum cursed. He wanted to handle Cooper in his own way, without a sheriff butting in.

  He put his field glasses away and rested the rifle against a rock where he could grab it fast, if the man proved to be an impostor. But as he made his way up the hill, muttering under his breath, Slocum got a better look at him. After a lot of years, Slocum could spot a lawman immediately. Something about the way he carried himself, or the tacit assumption everyone would obey if he gave a command, or maybe just outright ar
rogance. Slocum had seen cowardly marshals and brave ones, and they were all cut from the same cloth.

  “Howdy,” Slocum called.

  “You must be Slocum,” the lawman said. He wiped sweat off his face and dismounted.

  “How do you come by that?” Slocum asked.

  “Been over at the Tewksbury house,” the lawman said. “I’m deputy sheriff over in Prescott. Name’s Drury, Slick Drury.” The lawman cocked his head to one side, squinted a little and studied Slocum closely. “You heard of me?”

  “Can’t say that I have.”

  “Well, mister, Deputy Sheriff Drury don’t take kindly to bein’ lied to.”

  “Then you’ll find yourself in a world of misery around here,” Slocum said. He edged toward his rifle when the deputy reached for the six-shooter hanging at his side.

  “Don’t go mouthin’ off to me,” Drury said, color coming to his already florid face until he looked like a stewed tomato. “I hate it and have cut down men because they didn’t know when to stay quiet.”

  Slocum said nothing.

  “So?”

  “What do you want, Deputy?”

  “I can see I’m gonna have trouble with you.” Drury looked around at the sheep. “These your woollies?”

  “No.”

  “You don’t say much, do you? What’s your name?”

  “Slocum, and you made it real clear you don’t cotton to anyone running off at the mouth.”

  “I got a murder to look into.”

  “The sheepherder’s grave is down there by the pond,” Slocum said.

  “What? I don’t know nuthin’ about any sheepherder. I’m here to find who killed Tom Graham.”

  Slocum studied the deputy and sized him up as a blowhard probably being paid by someone in the Blevins camp to kick up dust around Tewksbury and his family. From all Slocum had seen, this wouldn’t be too hard, but the deputy had to overlook a powerful lot—like Blevins’s son, Andy Cooper.

  “What do you know about Graham getting himself killed?” Drury was getting mad.

  “That’s about it. Graham’s dead. You don’t care that a Basque was shot in the back?”

  “I don’t know anything about that,” Drury said. “Might be I ought to run you in. What’d you say your name was?”

  “Slocum.” This caused Slocum to fall into a deadly calm. If the deputy meant it, even an incompetent lawman could find a wanted poster or two with Slocum’s likeness.

  “Let’s start over, Slocum. I’m Deputy Sheriff Drury and I’m here to find who murdered Tom Graham. Mr. Graham was a decent, law-abiding man, and not finding his murderer would be a terrible blot on my escutcheon. And my escutcheon’s damn good runnin’ down killers.”

  “I don’t know who killed him,” Slocum said.

  “But you got an opinion on who might have. What is it?”

  “From what I hear, Graham wasn’t the most likable cuss. Might have been a lot of people.”

  “I’m thinkin’ it was John Tewksbury. You work for him, don’t you?”

  “Can’t say that’s exactly right,” Slocum said. “He owes me money for work I did breaking mustangs. I’m watching his sheep after the sheepherder was shot in the back.” Slocum saw no interest flare in the deputy’s eyes at the mention again of the Basque’s murder.

  “You might have plugged Graham for him. You have the look of being mighty familiar with that six-gun of yours.”

  Slocum considered what to do, since Drury already had his mind made up about Graham’s death and was only looking for someone in Tewksbury’s camp to pin it on.

  “You ever hear of Andy Cooper?”

  “That’s one of Blevins’s boys, isn’t it?”

  “His son. Cooper changed his name after a shoot-out down Texas way.”

  “Not my worry. I’ve got a murderer running around the Basin needin’ to be brought to justice. Why don’t you ride with me, Slocum?”

  “You arresting me?”

  “Nope, not yet. But you’re mighty high on my list of possible murderers.” Drury stared hard at Slocum, then glanced away. “It’s to your benefit to help me find who done shot Graham.”

  “Otherwise, you’ll figure I did it and arrest me?” Slocum asked.

  The deputy shrugged and looked back. He couldn’t match Slocum’s cold stare.

  “You cooperatin’ or you need some persuadin’?”

  “Looking after a pasture full of sheep’s not my idea of a way to spend the day,” Slocum said. “Where are you going to start looking for Graham’s killer?”

  “Need to talk to Matt Blevins. His spread’s not far from here. Saddle up and let’s ride.”

  Slocum almost balked at the deputy’s assumption he would go along with him, but then he relented. Looking after Tewksbury’s sheep wasn’t a fit job for anyone, unless you were a Basque sheepherder by birth. More than this, Slocum wasn’t likely to do anything to find Andy Cooper waiting for him to come kill more sheep. Better to ride into the Blevins ranch with a lawman beside him, even if the deputy had already convicted Tewksbury of the crime.

  Slocum reached for his rifle but saw the deputy whip out his six-shooter.

  “You want me to leave my rifle here?” Slocum asked the deputy.

  “Reckon not. Be careful how you swing that around,” the deputy warned.

  Slocum got his mare and joined the impatient deputy.

  “You been a deputy long?” Slocum asked.

  “Why’re you askin’?”

  “You seem to know the folks in these parts pretty well,” Slocum said. “How long did you work for Matt Blevins?”

  “Six months,” Drury said before he realized he was telling Slocum things that he shouldn’t. “I only worked as a hand, chasing strays.”

  “That seems to be mostly what cowboys do in the Basin,” Slocum said. He wondered how many of Tewksbury’s cattle Drury had rustled while working for Blevins. Even if he had been pure as the wind-driven snow, Drury had to be beholden to his former employer. Slocum began to wonder how smart it was riding anywhere with Drury.

  “I got hired as deputy over in Prescott a couple months back, and I take my job seriously.” Drury pursed his lips, then glanced at Slocum. “Who found Graham’s body?”

  “Never heard who reported it to the law,” Slocum said carefully. For all he knew, he wasn’t the first one to come across Graham’s body. But if he had contacted the sheriff’s office, he would have been thrown in jail so fast his head would have spun until they dropped the noose around his neck.

  “You know a gent named Murphy?”

  “He was Graham’s foreman,” Slocum said. “Him and me locked horns early on.”

  “Do tell.”

  “He and two others tried to ambush me when I stopped them from rustling Tewksbury’s cattle.”

  “Hadn’t heard that part of it,” Drury said. He sucked on his gums awhile longer. “That makes sense from what I know of Murphy. He’s had quite a history of liberatin’ other people’s cattle.”

  “Liberating?” Slocum laughed harshly. “That’s a mighty fancy word for stealing.”

  “Murphy said he thought maybe you had killed his boss. Said you were stealing horses when Graham caught you, and you murdered him.”

  “What horses are these? Check Tewksbury’s corral. All have his Circle T brand—and it’s easy enough to see if someone’s run the brand. I don’t even know what Graham’s brand was. All the cows I ever saw on his spread were stolen.”

  “Graham used the Double Bar G. You’re right. That’s hard to change into Circle T, but one thing I’ve found, where there’s a cow or horse to be stolen, there’s determination on the part of the thief.”

  Slocum mulled over what the deputy had said. Murphy might have killed his employer, but the motive was unguessable. Had Murphy seen Slocum taking the horses that had been stolen earlier or was the man guessing? He might be doing nothing but accusing wildly because he had nothing to lose placing blame on Slocum and ultimately John Tewksbury. Somehow, Slo
cum thought Murphy had seen him taking the horses and fixed him for killing Graham.

  “What about Murphy’s story don’t you believe?”

  “Everything. He couldn’t look me in the eye when he was tellin’ his story. Sounded like something he had been schooled to say, too. Got real confused when I asked questions.”

  Slocum saw the main gate leading to the Blevins spread ahead. He slid the leather thong off the hammer of his Colt, just to be ready should the lead start flying.

  “Don’t go touchin’ that pistol of yours again,” Drury warned. “And stay in front of me where I can watch you.”

  “I won’t let any of Blevins’s men throw down on me,” Slocum warned.

  “I won’t let ’em,” Drury said sharply. “I’m a deputy sheriff.”

  Slocum didn’t have that much confidence in Drury awing Blevins—or Andy Cooper.

  “You check wanted posters at your office before you came here?”

  “No need. The only crime I’m interested in is Tom Graham’s murder.” Drury pulled hard on his reins, stopped a dozen yards from the front door of Blevins’s house and waited for Old Man Blevins and three of his cowboys to come out. Slocum pulled down the brim of his hat to block the sun so he could get a better look at the men. None was Andy Cooper.

  “Afternoon, Mr. Blevins,” Drury said loudly. “You got a minute or two so we can talk?”

  “I know you,” Blevins said, stepping out so his men could spread to either side of him. All of them looked nervous, hands twitching and fingers tapping nervously against their holsters. If one of them got spooked and started throwing lead, there wasn’t a chance in hell of Drury and Slocum escaping. Even Matt Blevins looked uneasy that the deputy had shown up on his doorstep.

  “Used to work for Tom Graham,” Drury said. “That’s why the sheriff sent me. I’m familiar with the people and the lay of the Basin.”

  “Don’t know nothin’ ’bout Tom’s death. Don’t know anything other than I’m not going to let it go unpunished.”

  “No good takin’ the law into your own hands, Mr. Blevins,” Drury said. “I’m here to make it all legal.”

  “Then why isn’t he in shackles? And why’s he still got his gun?” Blevins pointed straight at Slocum.