Slocum and the Lone Star Feud

by Jake Logan

  “Slocum, where did you learn all these tricks at?”

  “I guess I was a mean boy growing up.”

  She hugged his arm and laughed. “You must have been a very mean boy.”

  “Feel that breeze coming up?” he asked, looking at her with a smile.

  “Still feels hot as hell to me.”

  He took her in his arms and looked into her eyes.

  “You’re just a hot woman, Sam Cottrel.”

  “Oh, God, do you think I am?”

  “Nothing wrong with that.”

  She buried her face in his shoulder. For a long moment an uncomfortable silence settled on them.

  “Luther said that you were ducking bounty hunters,” she began.

  “I am, yes. Why?”

  “I wanted you to stay here when this was over.” She turned her face to rest her cheek on his shoulder. “You and me—we could build these places up. It has to rain sometime.”

  “It always does. Sometime.”

  “And the men that are after you—do they always come sometime?”

  “So far they have, yes.”

  “I have some food cooked, but it’s too hot in there to eat it.”

  “We can come out here and eat on the porch.”

  “Maybe that breeze you bragged on will come back.” He hoped it would. It had to rain. It always did. The only thing, it grew hotter every day. He felt relieved that they were doing their work at night. Still, roundup was only three days away. He figured that maybe the sheriff would show up then to arrest him, and that that would cause her to cancel the roundup completely. Unless—unless he could throw the fear of God into some of the others.

  Hours later, he crept inside the chicken house undetected. Good thing for him Irene’s dogs were asleep. Sam had been certain that Ira’s horse was in the barn. Then Slocum had sent her back down the draw to keep their own horses ready for a fast escape. The sharp ammonia smell of poultry manure ran up his nose and burned the lining as he spotted the row of birds on the roost. He laid his sack arrangement on one of the box nests nailed on the wall. Then he slipped stealthily over and captured two big hens by their legs.

  The birds were awakened by his actions and began to squawk in protest; the rest of the flock broke into a loud chorus of screams and complaints as he shook the ones in his hands and pushed some others off the roost with them. The interior of the coop quickly became filled with flapping wings and feathers as the birds tried to escape this enemy. All the chickens in the place, desperately squawking, set out to save their own lives.

  Outside the door, the dogs began to bark. They sounded ready to eat up a bear or lion inside the coop, but Slocum figured most of that was bravado and would cool if they found anything bigger than a house cat attacking the flock.

  “Get that damn coyote!” Ira shouted to the dogs as he rushed from the house.

  Slocum tossed the ruffled hens he carried into the melee, and slipped over beside the door. His gunnysack ready, he pressed his back to the wall and waited.

  His nose itched from the flying dust and feathers. He fought back the urge to sneeze as Martin tore open the door, jammed a double-barrel shotgun inside, and raised the lantern higher.

  “Where are you, you hen-killing bastard?” His bare leg below his short-hemmed nightshirt came in next as Martin cautiously advanced into the henhouse looking around the floor for the varmint upsetting the flock. Inside the doorway, he was totally unprepared for the sack that was flung over him. The shotgun went off with an ear-splitting blast of fire into the litter at Martin’s feet. The loads of shot sent a cloud of sour dust into the already foul air of the henhouse. His coal oil lamp shattered on the ground, and flames quickly ignited the spilled fuel as Slocum drew the drawstring tight below Martin’s butt. A perfect fit.

  “What the hell is going on! I’ll kill you, you son of a bitch!” Martin swore as Slocum dragged him from the blaze out into the yard. He drove the kicking Martin facedown on the ground and then bound his feet. When Slocum finished, the flames were licking at the chicken house door and the frightened hens were popping out the open windows on the sides to escape.

  “Your days are numbered. This is your last warning. I could have cut your throat as easy as this,” Slocum said in a deep voice. “You better leave Green Hopper County and quick, if you want to go on breathing.”

  “Who are you?” Ira said in a high-pitched voice that shattered the sound of crackling wood.

  Slocum didn’t bother to answer as he rose to his feet. He heard the woman up at the house begin to holler for help. Time to leave. Like a cat, he eased his way out of the yard. The flames were shooting up into the sky when he headed behind the barn. The chicken coop would be a total loss.

  “Thank God, you’re all right!” Sam cried as she led up his horse.

  “We need to ride.”

  “I thought he shot you.”

  “Came close. My ears are still ringing. When I sacked him, his shotgun went off. He’s lucky he didn’t shoot his foot off. Sure raised a big stink in that coop.” The sour smell was still embedded in Slocum’s nostrils.

  “Did he get the message?”

  “I think so.”

  “What now?”

  “We need to look around town for a house cat,” he said.

  “But what if we’re seen?” she hissed.

  “No, we won’t be. Everyone’s going to be too busy fighting that chicken house fire. Let’s circle back.”

  “What are you going to use it for.”

  “Remember all those hounds of Franklin’s?”

  “Yes.”

  “Reckon they wouldn’t chase a cat into his bedroom?”

  “You’re mean.”

  “Let’s find a tomcat if we can.”

  The townspeople were up and running about in the night with buckets in hand on their way to the chicken house to put out the fire. Slocum made Sam stay in a draw, and he came up on foot behind the saloon and the other buildings across the street from the jail. Then he heard a yowl in the starlight. There, on top of a pile of crates, was a proud tomcat that walked back and forth, making cat calls for Slocum to come pet him.

  “Kitty, kitty,” he called, smiling at his good luck.

  After getting acquainted some, the tom proved to be friendly, and with him tucked up his arm, Slocum headed back for the horses and Sam. The torn-eared male could probably whip ten of Franklin’s curs, but that remained to be seen. The feline acted very calm as they moved across country, satisfied to ride in the crook of Slocum’s left arm and purr over the attention he gave him en route.

  “How are you going to do it?” Sam asked.

  “I recall that yard around his house don’t have a tree in sight.”

  “No cover to hide behind for certain.”

  “All I need is for old Tom here to get inside that ring of dogs and he’s going to the house right through the first open window.”

  “And so will the dogs?”

  “I sure hope so.”

  It was close to four A.M. when Slocum and his newfound partner rode up slowly toward the house. Slocum figured the shuffle of his pony’s hooves would not disturb the dogs since range critters often came at night to the windmill tank for water. He rode up almost to the side of the dark house.

  “Good night, Mr. Tom. This is your new home.” He pitched the cat easily on the ground not ten feet from the open side window. Then he let out a hog-calling yell and shot the sky full of holes from his Colt as he whirled the horse around on his hind legs.

  In the starlight he watched the cat hop up on the windowsill, and that was the last time he saw him. The dogs, jarred awake, climbed over each other in sheer panic at the shooting. One spotted the cat and jumped to catch it. Tom was too fast for that. The shrill voice of Franklin’s wife and the snarl of a tomcat cut the night. Then the other dogs began to bound in through the window casing to fight the intruder.

  Slocum short-loped the bay back to where Sam sat her horse on the rise.

&nb
sp; “Did it work?” she asked.

  He glanced back and listened to the cursing of Franklin, his wife’s protests, and the dogs yelping as Franklin cleared them out of the house. Then Slocum turned and nodded.

  “We’ve done lots of good tonight. Let’s go get some sleep.”

  14

  Soaked in his own sweat, Slocum awoke groggy, lying on the narrow cot on his side of the unfinished room. Across the way, he could see the back of her shirt, dark with perspiration as she slept on her side in the big bed. Like a typical bachelor, her uncle had never finished the inside walls of the shack. He had tacked newspapers between the studs, no doubt to keep the winter cold out. The windows were small and except for the doors front and back, little heat was allowed to escape the room. Strange, Slocum thought. What had happened to the hot wind that had been blowing earlier?

  He threw his legs over the side and sat up. With his fingers he combed his wet hair back and tried to shake the dullness from his brain. Then he bent over and pulled on his boots. The damn insects outside were sure loud enough. His bladder was about to burst, and that must have been what woke him. Something had taken him from his troubled sleep. He shoved up his galluses and went outside into the oven-heated air on the porch. Then he stepped around the corner, undid his fly, and began to vent away the pressure in his bladder. Too hot again to soundly sleep, he mused over the weather as his hard stream struck the brittle weed stems and made a dark spot on the parched ground.

  Done at last, he shook it and stowed it in his pants. Then, as he turned to go back inside, he blinked in disbelief at the towering row of clouds on the horizon to the south. Thunderheads. By God, they were thunderheads, and someone would get some rain out of the anvil-shaped formations. Then, above the crisp fiddles of a thousand cicadas, he heard the distant cannon boom of thunder. Filled with newfound hope, he rushed inside and shook Sam awake.

  “I believe it’s raining south of here.”

  “Really?” She blinked her sleep-crusted eyes and tried to open them as she sat up. She was braced by her arms behind her, and the unbuttoned shirt fell open and the right brown nipple nosed out in the light of the room.

  “My,” she said at the discovery of its appearance. Then, with a flush of embarrassment, she clutched the shirt together to shut off Slocum’s view.

  “Come on outside and see the clouds,” he said, taking her hand away as she fumbled with the buttons.

  “I’m coming,” she said, and hooked three of the buttons before he pulled her to her feet and she padded behind him to the porch.

  “Will it get here, do you think?” she asked, peering at the growing cloud bank.

  “Good chance.”

  “If it would only break this drought,” she said warily, standing in her stocking feet and tucking in her shirttail.

  “I don’t know about that. But even a shower might help.”

  “Maybe cool things off. In two days, we start the roundup.” She raised her face to the fresh gust of wind. “I can smell it. Can’t you?”

  He agreed, filled with anticipation over the pending storm. More thunder rolled in the distance.

  “I think I’d do a dance in it if it gets here, I’d be so happy,” she said. “It hasn’t rained in eight months.”

  “I know.”

  “Oh, Slocum, it is coming, isn’t it?”

  “It’ll get close at least.”

  “No, it’s coming!” She hugged his arm, filled with growing excitement as the storm swept in. “I can hardly wait!”

  Deep shadows spread over them like the wings of a great predator preparing to dive. The booms grew louder. Then the first cool breath struck, tinged with sharp grit that stung his face and forced them both to turn aside.

  Then a large drop hit the porch roof hard, followed by other drops that drummed on the shakes. Her arms flew around him and squeezed him tight in her jubilation. They kissed with abandon until she tore her mouth away from his.

  “Come on, let’s get in it,” she shouted, and dragged him into the hard downpour. “Oh, thank God, it’s raining, Slocum.”

  The deluge blinded him. He smiled at her as they stumbled into the deluge. He felt the cold chill quickly penetrate his underwear top as she nestled in his hug as if they were in some secure place and not being blinded by the strokes of dancing lightning and deafened from the nearby thunder. Their lips sought each other with a newfound hunger. Her tongue searched his teeth and tasted him.

  His hand sought the firmness of her right breast, and she fumbled with the buttons to expose it for him to fondle. Driving rain forced him to keep his eyes closed as the fire of passion engulfed them despite the icy torrent that spilled upon them. Wind threatened their balance, but still they sought each other with a fury greater than the storm itself.

  Shattering lightning stuck a nearby cottonwood tree in a furious ball of fire that turned the air to a sulfurous hell; he shook his head in disbelief that they were still out in this bone-chilling deluge making love.

  “We need to go inside,” he shouted above the storm, concerned for her safety as rivers ran down his face.

  “I know,” she said dreamily.

  “Go!” he shouted, and they sloshed together through puddles toward the porch.

  He caught her in the doorway and again they kissed deeply, both shaking from the cold. Their furious lovemaking soon warmed them, and swept him up with the burning need for her body. Without speaking, they rushed across the room. In haste, they peeled their wet clothing away until they stood stark naked facing each other.

  The sounds of the storm battering the house surrounded them for a long moment as they paused, suspended, consumed with a fever for what lay ahead. Her full breasts were slick with moisture, the puckered dark nipples strained to a sharp point; the sight of her sensuous hips caused him to swallow hard as her snowy arms reached for him. The next flash of lightning blinded him for a second; then they were in each other’s arms.

  As their cool skin met, his growing manhood rested against the stiff hair of her triangle. His fingers clutched the flesh of her firm butt as his hips ached to pump against her. Their mouths were on fire as they sought each other.

  “Let’s get in bed,” she said, out of breath. “I can’t wait any longer.”

  They settled on the down bedding, not hearing the wind lash the eves of the cabin, nor minding the leaky roof spilling water in various spots on the uneven floorboard worn smooth by grit. Her creamy legs parted, and he moved inside them. Hardly able to contain himself from going too fast, he nosed his rod through her gates and she cried out loud in pleasure. He paused, kissed her tenderly on her petal lips, and then lost all restraint.

  She raised her knees higher to accept more of him. The muscular contractions began in her tunnel, and he lost all sense of time. Her moans of pleasure only spurred on his desire. Like a candle blown out by the wind, she fainted away under him with a long “oh.” He looked down at her pale face, eyelids closed in peace, and eased his actions. At last, she began to stir. He enjoyed her groggy recovery, then began to speed up as her contented smile returned.

  “Oh, oh!” she cried, and thrust her hips toward him. He braced himself over her and pounded her harder than before. His hips ached to go faster and deeper. She paused, strained against him, and then cried out again. A hot rush of her fluids spilled out of her. Her eyes went glassy and she slipped away again.

  He waited, braced above her. Dreamily, her thick lashes parted, and she looked up at him with surprise as he began again. She was barely recovered from her spent lust, but he drew her back again, higher his time, to the full fury of their lovemaking. She clutched him. With her legs extended skyward, she rocked on her back to the tempo of their fury. Her fingernails dug like talons into his back.

  “Yes, yes!” she cried aloud.

  Then he felt the rush of a volcano surge forth, and they crashed together pelvis to pelvis. They strained for the longest time, savoring the moment. Then they fell, still joined, on the billowy feather
mattress, and slept to the pitter-pat of the leaky roof and the distant growl of thunder.

  15

  “You better not stay at the ranch,” Sam said, looking across the table at Slocum with disappointment etched in her face. They had eaten supper and were preparing to go back to her place. “Knotts is liable to be there looking for you there, isn’t he?”

  “He may try to stop your roundup.” Slocum figured his problems with the law would be one way to keep her from holding the roundup. No doubt Knotts and Taylor had thought of that.

  “He won’t stop me,” she said. “What are you going to do?”

  “I may ride up to the Red River and learn all I can about Wayne Devereau and his bunch.”

  “You think he and Dayton are in cahoots?”

  “Hard to tell, but those rustlers said someone tipped him off about your cattle being the ones they could rustle. I also need to find a place to wire Captain Spencer.”

  “But... what will you do about Knotts and those bounty hunters who are after you?”

  “Knotts isn’t any problem. He’s more of a nuisance than anything else, and the Abbott brothers may not find out that I’m in Texas for months.”

  “They’re the ones after you? The Abbott brothers?”

  “That’s them. A rich man pays them to keep on dogging my tracks. It’s an old, old warrant from the Fort Scott, Kansas, sheriff’s office.”

  “Wouldn’t they forget it after so long?” She peered at him hard.

  “Statute of limitations, they call it. But it doesn’t run out on a murder charge.”

  “Did you kill ... whoever it was?” Her lashes narrowed as if she could not fathom the entire business.

  “No, but it’s been too long ago to ever correct. A man swears I murdered his son, and he pays the bills for those two to hound my tracks.”

  “Will they come here looking for you?”

  “Yes, eventually.”

  “How much time do you have left?”

  “Maybe six months, or they could ride up tomorrow and I’d have to ride on.”

  “Dammit, Slocum, it isn’t fair.”