Slocum and the Lone Star Feud

by Jake Logan

  “Oh, I bet. Most men would rather herd sheep than work for a female.”

  “Not these men. They can ride and shoot both. By the way, where’s your saddle stock?”

  “West in the brakes, I guess. I saw some of them a day ago. You intend to go ahead and hold the roundup?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll have to send the word and let the others have a rep.”

  “Send them word. We ride in a week. I figure we can get your horses shod and in shape by then.”

  “Whew, you are all Luther said you were,” she said, sounding impressed.

  “Now come meet the crew.” He led her across to where they waited with their hats in their hands.

  He drew a deep breath. He could see their admiration for her as she shook each man’s hand. One thing for certain. They’d have no problem working for her now.

  Before daylight the next morning, he stood in the coolness, dreading the new day’s heat, and blew the steam from his coffee. Sam rattled pots and pans in the kitchen as the men dragged themselves from the bunkhouse to wash up on her porch. Young Teo had gone for more water from the tank. The pump on the house windmill must need to be pulled, Slocum decided, for there was no water in the high tank that served the house.

  “Everyone is up early,” she said from the doorway, smiling at the men as they washed and dried their hands and faces. “I’ve got it cooked if they want to eat.”

  “Good. We may need to take some time and pull that well. There ain’t a drop of water in the house tank.”

  “I simply figured the well went dry. It hasn’t rained in so long,” she said with a shrug.

  “After breakfast, Ray, go up and turn off that windmill. It isn’t pumping anything.”

  “Sure thing. I’ll do it now.”

  “No, breakfast is ready. You’ve got all day to figure out if it needs leathers or if the well went dry.”

  “I’ll fix it,” the youth said, passing him and following her into the house.

  “We can eat outside the house,” Lopez told Slocum, stopping in front of the others. “We do not have to eat in her casa.”

  “No, she wants you to eat at her table. Her casa is yours.”

  “She is a good woman.” Lopez smiled and acted relieved that they were welcome as they filed inside. He said something in Spanish over his shoulder to the others. They nodded and acted impressed as they went inside.

  Slocum sipped some of his coffee and studied the brown hills. They damn sure needed some rain. The cloudless blue sky offered no hope of anything other than another hot day.

  “You coming to eat?” she finally asked behind him.

  “Just thinking about a ground-soaking rain,” he said, and turned to follow her into the table.

  “If thinking about it did any good we’d’ve already had floods.” She looked at the ceiling. “I’ve prayed and everything else, and it hasn’t worked yet.”

  “What do they do in Mexico when it doesn’t rain?”

  Slocum asked Lopez, taking a seat beside him.

  “Wait for it to rain.”

  “We’re already doing that,” he said, reaching for the platter of fried steaks.

  After breakfast, he saddled her a sorrel horse and chose a big roan for himself; he left his road-stiff bay in the corral to rest. Miguel and Lopez rode their own horses, and the four of them set out to round up the remuda. The other men were left to help Ray pull and repair the leathers on the windmill.

  “Keep an eye out,” he shouted to the young man high up on the platform. “They backshoot folks around here.”

  “We won’t leave our guns.”

  “Good,” he said, and booted the goosey roan after the others.

  At mid-morning they spotted the herd, and she stepped down from her horse.

  “Here, Miguel, that big long-necked brown mare will leave the country with all of them if you don’t rope her. You take my horse, he can catch her,” she said.

  “Gracias,” he said, impressed, as he dismounted with his rope in hand and exchanged reins with her.

  “You may need to shorten the stirrups—”

  But her words were too late, for the small man was already in full pursuit of the mare on Sam’s red horse. He swept down the wide swale, then swinging the wide loop over his head, closed the gap on the leader while riding hard past the others.

  Slocum headed down the ridge to cut off their escape to the south as he watched Miguel sail the noose to settle around the mare’s neck. Then the man turned the sorrel off to the side in a precision capture as he dallied around the horn.

  Slocum turned the roan downhill. The other horses were acting as if they were already penned as Miguel led out his captive. Obviously the roped mare was the remuda leader.

  Slocum saw the grin on Sam’s face as she sat the small pony and waited for him. He fell in behind the herd, whistling at them to bunch up and head for the ranch headquarters. Lopez came off the hill to the north and helped him.

  “They are very good caballos,” he said, falling in beside Slocum.

  “Yes, we get some shoes on them and the burrs out of their tails, they’ll be a good bunch of ponies.”

  “Ah, sí, and these men that have killed her family, they are close by?” the man asked, waving his hat at a wide-eyed bronc that was thinking about escaping. The blaze-faced gelding dropped back in with the others.

  “They live in this country.”

  “You know them?”

  “I met them once. Two of them, Dayton Taylor and this Martin fella.”

  “When do you think they will try to kill her?” Lopez tossed his head toward Sam, who was busy riding and talking to the peacock-proud Miguel, who was showing her his special rope and how he used his wrist to throw it as they rode along.

  “When she announces the roundup is about to begin,” Slocum answered.

  “Oh, so we have time to pray yet?”

  “A little time, I reckon. They don’t know that you and the others are here yet.”

  “Who will tell them?”

  “They’ll know before sundown, I’d venture to say.”

  “These same men killed your best friend?”

  “Yes.” Slocum studied the far-away hills, and a knot formed in his stomach. He’d miss Luther. He’d never made all that many real friends in his life. His killers needed to be brought to justice.

  “Slocum?” Sam shouted, and then reined her pony back toward him. “I figure we get these horses back, it’ll be time for lunch. Then we can ride out and give the other ranchers the news of the roundup.”

  “Fine.”

  “You’ve never met Taylor, have you?”

  “Oh, yes, I watered my horse at one of Ira Martin’s tanks on my way south and met both of them.”

  “You tell them anything?” she asked, looking amused.

  “Told them it was damn nice of them to let me water there.”

  “Nothing else?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Won’t they be surprised?”

  “You get lots of surprises in your life. I’m ready whenever you are.”

  “We’ll go as soon as we eat.”

  “Want your good sorrel back?” he asked, frowning as she fought the barely broken Mexican horse.

  “No. Miguel earned the sorrel today.”

  “You’ll spoil them.”

  “I’d spoil anyone that stayed and helped me,” she said in a subdued voice, and then she turned to look away from him.

  “Sounds interesting,” he said softly.

  She whirled in the saddle and stared hard at him. “It’s not what you think.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, and then looked ahead at the backs of the remuda as they churned up plenty of dust. He wondered what he had said to set her off. She’d been the one who made the first intimate offer. Oh, well. Women—who ever knew about them anyway?

  They were in sight of the ranch house when he noticed that the blades on the house mill were twirling in the hot wind. Ray must
have fixed it. But if the well was dry ... He’d talk to the boy. He dismounted in the yard and stretched his back as Sam rushed by him.

  “I’ll go make something to eat,” she said, and then hurried into the house.

  “Hey, Boss Man!” Ray shouted as he came from the corrals.

  “What’s up?” Slocum asked as he listened. It was obvious both windmills had been oiled.

  “There’s water in the house tank.” Ray grinned broadly.

  “It had worn leathers is all. Lots of sweet water left in that well.”

  “Good job. You ready to shoe horses?”

  “I guess. We mended the corral today too. It was kinda limber in places.”

  “Good. This place needs lots of work. Sam and I are fixing to go break the news to the other ranchers about a roundup.”

  “That might not go over too big. You need me along?”

  “This time they’ll be in shock. Next time I’ll ride out with the whole crew.”

  “Should I show the other boys how to shoot in the meantime?”

  “Wouldn’t be a bad idea.”

  “I’ll do that. Teo, he ain’t never shot much before.”

  “Good. Save some ammunition, though.”

  Early that afternoon, Slocum and Sam rode out at a long lope.

  A few miles south they let their blowing horses catch their breath and walk. He wondered how many ranches they would reach before dark. No matter. She knew the country and he was busy learning it as they went.

  “I’m one of two things to men,” she said, looking intentionally away from him as she spoke.

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m either ‘ma’am’ or ‘Miss Cottrel’ or I’m some kind of dove they want to—well, you know.”

  “Want to what?’ he asked, leaning on the saddlehorn to stretch his stiff back and enjoying her obvious discomfort.

  “You know.” She drew in a deep audible breath and when he didn’t answer her, after a long silence she spat out, “They want to screw me!”

  He listened to the soft clop of their horses’ hooves on the dry ground. Then he undid his bandanna and wiped his hot gritty face as he tried to fathom her upset. It was deeper-rooted than her sharp words when they were driving in the horses. She acted on edge at anything that—well, made her out to be female, and she obviously was a whole bedful as far as he could ascertain.

  “How would you want men to treat you?” he finally asked.

  “I’d simply like to be Sam—be one of the fellas, I guess.”

  “I’ll try to remember that, Sam.”

  “There you go again.”

  “You never went to a dance with a boy?”

  “Been to lots of them.”

  “Can you dance?”

  “Why, of course.”

  “We need to go to some of them.”

  “I won’t wear a dress,” she said in a quick retort.

  “Don’t bother me.”

  She dried her palm on her pants leg as she rode beside him. Then she switched the reins and dried the other hand.

  “Ain’t much bothers you, is there, Slocum. If you’d go to a dance with a gal wearing men’s britches, ain’t no telling what else you’d do.”

  “Ain’t no telling,” he agreed as they topped the rise and he spotted the distant sprawling outfit under some cottonwoods. They were about to break the news to the first rancher.

  5

  “You ain’t serious, girl!” the grim faced rancher declared as he stood on the porch of the ranch house. He was hatless, and the bald portion of his snow-white head contrasted with the leathery color of his face as he squinted one-eyed and held his hand up for shade to peer up at her.

  “I’m serious, Buck Martin. I have a crew and I intend to start roundup next week.”

  “But you can’t in this here heat. My gawd, it’s too hot fur a lizard to cross the ground out there in the daytime. Wait till fall, we’ll all go.”

  “You ain’t got a rep at my place next Wednesday, I can’t insure you a thing,” she told him like a man.

  “Fella, you’re her new foreman?” Martin asked, still looking out of his right eye.

  “Slocum’s my name.”

  “Glad to meetcha, Slocum. I told her it’s too hot to be a driving them cows this time of year. You ain’t no wet-behind-the-ears kid. You tell her too.”

  “I tried. She said we go to roundup in six days.”

  “Surely you don’t have a hand wants to ride out in this heat and all.”

  “Mr. Martin,” she said, interrupting his whining. “I have hands that will work, and I don’t believe they will run the first time that someone shoots up a cow camp.”

  “I don’t know what you mean by that, ma’am.”

  “I mean if your bunch thinks they can smoke out these men, then they better think again,” she said.

  “Aw, Miss Cottrel, you ain’t gone and hired you a bunch of gunfighters, have you now?”

  “You better tell the rest of the backshooters to be ready. These men are tough.”

  “Ain’t nothing here that we can’t work out.”

  “That’s right! My own daddy, his brother, and my last foreman Luther are all waiting for the next rain to push up some bluebonnets over their graves. That’s how you all have handled the matter before in this county,” she said, and spurred her horse up close to the man.

  “This time, by gawd, I’m ready to strike back!” she said.

  “Hold your horses. Let bygones be bygones, girl. Dayton was just a boy when you two tangled. He never—”

  “You son of a bitch! Your boy Troy was there!” she swore. Then she furiously drove her horse at him. Standing in the stirrups, she began to flail him with her reins. Martin tried to ward off her lashes with his hands over his head. Then he stumbled backward and fell on his butt under the barrage of her blows. Slocum pushed the roan in close to stop her.

  “That’s enough,” he said, and pulled her upright in the saddle. For a moment, she looked at him in disbelief. Then she spurred her horse away and left him there with Martin.

  Martin struggled to his feet and rubbed the red mark on his face.

  “She’s gone plumb crazy!” he raged.

  “No, she’s upset about things around here, and she has a right to be the way I see it. She’s not crazy. You have a rep at her place in six days or forget it. Hot or cold, we intend to have a roundup,” Slocum said. Then he whirled the roan around and set out after her.

  When he finally found her, she was standing apart from her ground-tied sorrel. Her arms were folded over her chest, and she ignored his arrival. The gelding hungrily snatched the dry grass through his bits as Slocum dismounted.

  “What was that all about?” he asked, squatting down on his heels and selecting a seed stem to suck on.

  “Nothing,” she mumbled, and looked away as the sun moved toward the western horizon.

  “I told him to have a rep there,” he said, and stared at the hilltops to the east.

  “Good, let’s ride on. We’ve got three more stops to make before we get back tonight.”

  “They all going to be as tough as that one?”

  “So? I lost my temper. You never lose yours?” she asked, whirling around to gaze at him.

  “Sometimes, but there’s more to this than I know, right?”

  “Let’s ride, there’ll be moonlight to see by tonight. I’m not in a mood to talk much about it now.”

  “You’re the boss.”

  “Don’t give me that.”

  “All right, Sam, you lead the way.” He went for his horse. At times, her ways could truly try a man. Too many things were going on here that he didn’t know about. Luther, you should have told me. The rascal would have probably told him everything if he hadn’t gone and gotten in front of three .44 slugs.

  They rode the next hour in silence as the sun dipped low in the west. Dogs barked, and a woman came out, at Ira Martin’s place. She was slender and her gray hair was tied back in a bun. Her calico
dress looked new and pressed, as if she expected company.

  “Nellie Mae,” Sam began without dismounting. “You tell Ira to send a rep to my place in six days. We pull out for roundup.”

  “Gracious, girl, won’t you come in? It’s been a long time since we just visited, and who’s that with you?”

  “My foreman, Slocum.”

  “Pleased to meet you, sir. Sorry, my Ira’s in town. But I don’t know what he can do about a roundup this time of year. We let most of the hands off earlier. It’s been so dry and all.”

  “I’m going to roundup in six days.”

  “I’ll sure pray for your safety, girl.”

  “Thanks, Nellie Mae,” Sam said, and with a nod to Slocum, she was ready to go. She turned her horse aside to leave; he followed her.

  “Poor woman,” she said on the road as they left the last barking dog behind. “Ira has a younger kept woman in town. He seldom comes home anymore except to see about the ranch.”

  “Does she know?”

  “Of course she knows, but what can she do? Move out? Why, that old boar has three young children by Irene Bircher.”

  “I’ve met him. He looks more like a businessman than a rancher.”

  “Hmm,” she said. “He has an office in town and calls himself a cattle broker, but he don’t have any business. He’s kind of work-brittle, I guess you’d call him that.”

  “I see. We’re going to tell another?”

  “Yeah. Franklin Martin’s outfit is over that yonder ridge. He’s—the youngest....”

  Why did he keep thinking there was something very wrong in this country? This wasn’t only a range war. If he only knew what she wasn’t telling him. But he’d only aggravate her more by pressing for an answer. In time she’d tell him the whole story.

  It was full dark when Franklin Martin came out on the porch as they rode up. He was a tall younger man in his twenties. Beside him stood his short wife, who nursed a small baby that squalled whenever it lost the nipple on the small breast. The pair stood together in the light of the doorway as Sam spelled out the need for them to send a rep to her place.

  “Shut up!” Frankklin shouted at a yapping dog. Then he turned back to face Sam. “You told Taylor yet?”