Slocum and the Sonoran Fugitive

by Jake Logan

  He decided to leave town going north and cross the low mountains up a little farther, before they really turned into the Santa Ritas. Mountain climbing with Apache was one thing, but with three other horses in tow? That was a whole different kettle of fish.

  He followed the dry bed of a river, once he got clear of Tombstone. He didn’t remember when the river’d had water, but he’d been told that it had once fed a swamp that used to be next to Tucson, miles to the north.

  Rivers were off again, on again things in the Territory. Seemed like it was either feast or famine with them. The Rio Salado that ran through Phoenix was dry as a bone for the better part of the year, but during rainy season, it regularly flooded seven miles wide. Most rivers ran underground most of the time, like the one he was following. The only way you knew it was there was the narrow line of deep-rooted foliage that rose from its path.

  Monkey Springs, where he was headed, had a real spring, too. Sometimes. He supposed it’d had monkeys, too, once upon a time. He reminded himself to ask somebody, once he got there. Somebody might remember the old days.

  Somebody usually did.

  After a couple hours, he came to the pass that scooped out the space between this range and the next. He turned west and started toward it. He’d make Monkey Springs before nightfall, he guessed. And then he wondered if they had such a thing as a hotel.

  Course, he could always just bed down in the livery, such as it was. He’d had a lot worse.

  He clucked to the horses, moving them across the desert in a soft jog.

  24

  Slocum rode into Monkey Springs in the early evening. The ride had been uneventful and the day hadn’t been too warm, which was appreciated by Slocum—and probably most of the other people in the Territory.

  He took the horses to the stable and asked about lodging for himself. As he had suspected, there wasn’t a hotel, but he got permission to sleep in the livery. With Apache. The hostler—who Slocum wouldn’t have trusted to clean out a spittoon, let alone take care of his horses—offered the lodging free, so long as Slocum slept in the same stall with his horse.

  Slocum agreed. He’d slept in worse places, and Apache could be counted on not to step on him. He hoped.

  He stripped all four horses of their tack while Apache stood and waited patiently, and then he pulled Apache’s tack and gave him a good grooming.

  While he was currying Apache, the town sheriff stopped by—Slocum was amazed to find him still upright—and reclaimed his horse, giving her a big, sloppy kiss on the nose. Luckily for Slocum, all he got for bringing her back was a nod and a “Thankee!”

  Apparently, he stopped by the bar and the dry goods store on his way up the street, because it wasn’t long before the bartender and the storekeep came down to collect their respective horses and shake Slocum’s hand.

  Frankly, he had liked the sheriff’s attitude better.

  He told the barkeep about the other horse getting shot, and asked whose it had been.

  “Oh, that was Lucy Gillis’s gelding. Flair, I think she called him. Shame about him gettin’ kilt.” The bartender shook his head. “I’ll tell her, iffen you like.”

  Slocum thought it over for a few seconds, considered the possibilities, then said, “No, I’ll tell her.” He nodded toward Red and added, “I brought her a replacement mount, and I’d like to know who he’s goin’ to.”

  The bartender shrugged. “Fine by me. She lives across the street, over the dry goods. A real nice little old lady.”

  “Thanks,” said Slocum, with a rapidly deflating sense of hope.

  “You betcha,” the barkeep said, much too jovially.

  Shoulda broke your neck the last time I was through here, Slocum thought, and turned back to working on his horse. Behind him, he heard the bartender leave.

  He finished up, patted Apache on the neck, then went to Red and stroked him. “Sounds like you’re goin’ to a nice little old lady, buddy,” he murmured. “Sounds like you won’t be doin’ much work from now on. Big change, huh?”

  The horse bobbed his head, and Slocum laughed. “Nice timing, boy.”

  Before he did anything else, he had dinner. There was a tiny café across the street, and he ducked into it. He ordered steak and potatoes with all the trimmings, and apple pie with cheese for desert. It was all delivered, in a reasonable amount of time, by an old man in a stained white apron. He was the only other soul in the place.

  “You do the cookin’, too?” Slocum asked as the man laid his dinner in front of him.

  “Yup,” the old geezer said. “Own the place, too, so if you got any complaints, I’m the man to see.”

  Slocum stuck out his hand. “Howdy. Name’s Slocum.”

  The geezer took it. “I’m Arthur Gillis.”

  Gillis? Hadn’t the bartender said that Lucy Gillis had owned the horse that was shot, and so was now Red’s new owner? If so, this was likely her husband.

  Well, business later. Food first!

  He dug into his dinner like he hadn’t seen nourishment for a week.

  After all was eaten—literally—he belched loudly and got himself another cup of coffee. It was pretty good, and he figured to savor it with a smoke. As he lit his ready-made, he noticed movement in the kitchen and stepped toward it.

  “Mr. Gillis?” he called.

  “That’s me,” Gillis said as he looked up from the floor he was sweeping. “Need somethin’ else?”

  “No, no.” Slocum shook his head. “Supper was real tasty. You fixed the steak just right. Just wanted to talk to Lucy for a minute, that’s all.”

  Gillis frowned. “Lucy? What business you got with my Lucy?”

  “Her horse was one a’ the ones stolen by the Dugan gang?”

  “So they say.”

  “Well, it got shot. I’m real sorry, and I brought her a replacement. He’s over at the livery now. Bright sorrel gelding, trained up real nice.”

  “You shot her horse?” The old man was still stuck on that.

  “No, sir, I didn’t, but he got shot while we were roundin’ up the Dugan gang. My partner put him out of his misery.”

  Slowly, the old man shook his head. “Poor, poor Lucy. She’s gonna be right hurt.”

  “I brought her a new horse,” Slocum said again, although he knew what it was like to love a horse, only to have some idiot rip it away. “Would you like me to tell her?”

  “No. I’ll tell her tonight. Reckon you can show her the new horse, come mornin’. Poor Lucy. She was just crazy about that Flair horse a’ hers.”

  Leaving Gillis to sweep away his woes, Slocum went back to his table to finish his coffee and smoke. Somehow, they didn’t taste as good as they had just a few minutes ago. He felt awful sorry for Lucy Gillis. He imagined her, sitting upstairs, knitting by lamplight, oblivious to the fact that her husband was about to give her the awful news about poor Flair.

  He put his smoke out in the remaining coffee. He needed a beer. No, a whiskey.

  He was just starting his third beer—and had just finished his second whiskey—when the idea struck him. If Lucy Gillis didn’t want Red, he’d just take him and pay her for her horse. Maybe she didn’t ride him at all. Maybe he was just a pet, an irreplaceable pet. But he could take Red up to Prescott and give him to Mandy. Mandy liked a good horse. Course, Prescott was pretty far away, and he’d rather be moving on to his next job, but . . .

  “Mr. Slocum?” asked a melodious female voice at his left.

  He turned toward it, and couldn’t help taking a step back in abject shock. She was beautiful! And she was in a saloon in Monkey Springs? The only women he knew of that lived in Monkey Springs were the storekeeper’s fat wife and old Lucy Gillis.

  “Can I help you, miss?” he asked, touching the brim of his hat.

  “If your name’s Slocum, you can.” She had blue eyes, fair skin, and long, dark, silky hair that hung almost to her tiny waist.

  He was enchanted. He said, “At your service, miss. What can I do for you?”


  She took a deep breath. “I understand you have my horse?”

  “Beg pardon?”

  “Do you have my horse?” she repeated slowly, as if he were feeble. “I’m Lucy Gillis.”

  He turned toward the barkeeper, who was laughing behind his hand. “I’m gonna kill you.”

  “Oh sure, a man in the hip pocket a’ the Earp boys is gonna kill me.” This time, the bartender laughed out loud.

  “Shut up, Gary,” Miss Lucy Gillis said sharply, and damned if he didn’t do it!

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Lucy,” Slocum said. Monkey Springs had suddenly taken on a whole new aspect for him. “Would you like to be seein’ your new horse now?”

  She shook her head, and her hair wafted slowly, like the current in a sluggish river. “Go ahead, Mr. Slocum. Finish your beer.”

  She pulled up the stool next to him and ordered a sarsaparilla. She sipped it while he sipped his beer—and tossed back his whiskey in one gulp, when she wasn’t looking. He said, “I’m real sorry about your horse, Miss Lucy. But I brought you a real nice one to replace him. If he can be replaced at all, I mean.”

  “I’ll need to see him first. And is he trained? Broke good? I don’t want someone tryin’ to foist a half-broke bronc on me that’s gonna break my neck the first time I try to ride him.”

  Slocum grinned. “Oh, he’s broke way better than that. I can vouch for him.”

  She hopped down off her bar stool. The soda pop glass in front of her was empty, and so, Slocum realized, was his beer mug. She said, “Let’s go see him.”

  While Slocum was showing Lucy Gillis her new horse, Will was back in Tombstone, finally getting laid. She wasn’t as pretty as Mandy, but she was close, he thought. Real close.

  Her name was Gillian and he had picked her up down by the cribs with an offer of three dollars and a night in a hotel bed. She’d been more than willing and had given him two rides instead of just one. He thought maybe he’d tip her in the morning. Make it an even five. No, five wasn’t even, was it? It’d have to be four or six. But he liked the sound of five better.

  Oh, what the hell. He shouldn’t have bought champagne to impress her. She would have been just as impressed with a mug of beer or a gin fizz. But right now, as she lay sleeping beside him, naked as the day she was born, he would have bought another bottle of champagne just to wake her up and start the evening over.

  Gosh, she was pretty!

  “Well, what d’you think of him?” Slocum asked.

  Lucy said, “Hold the lamp higher, please?”

  He did, and she cooed to the horse. “Hey, Red. How you doin’, fella? C’mere, boy. Come to your new mama.” She filled her hand with corn, held it out, and the gelding took the last few steps to lip it from her palm.

  Slocum was still staring at her. She had a small, heart-shaped face, with tiny yet swollen lips—the kind they called “bee-stung.” She asked him, “Do you know what his breeding is?”

  It took him a second to formulate an answer. “No, Miss Lucy. Horse traders don’t usually have time to fool with stuff like that if they’ve got the sense to know it in the first place. You ask ’em for an Arab, and every horse in their string just came over on the last boat, y’know?”

  She laughed a little. “Yes, I’m afraid I do. And please, do call me Lucy. Just Lucy.”

  He touched his hat, tipping it slightly. “Fine. Lucy then. And I’m just Slocum.”

  “No first name?”

  “John, but it’s easier not to use it.”

  “All right then, Slocum.” She pointed toward the horse. “I’m guessing part Morgan. What do you think?”

  He smiled. “Woulda guessed that way myself, had I been asked. I’m thinkin’ maybe a touch of English Thoroughbred or Arab, and a whole lot of grade stock. He’s too light and thin-skinned to have any cart horse in him, and he’s too fine around the edges, too. Got those little Arab tipped-in ears, too. Carries his tail high like an Arab, as well.”

  Lucy leaned against the side of the stall, which was to be his bedroom tonight. “Sounds like he’s a pretty nice horse.”

  “I bought him to ride myself, after somebody made off with my Appy,” he said. “I don’t ride junk.”

  “I can see that,” she said, a smile working its way to the corners of her lips. “What Gary said about you and the Earps. That true?”

  He shrugged. “I s’pose. Known most of ’em since back in Kansas.”

  “You from there?”

  “No. From all over, I guess. Met Doc first, up Laramie way. Course, he ain’t an Earp, but he’s the next best thing.”

  This brought out the full-fledged grin that had been working its way across Lucy’s lips for the past few minutes. “I’ve met Doc, too. He’s quite the Southern character, isn’t he?”

  Slocum grinned back at her. “Yeah. That he surely is. He was outta town when I was through Tombstone this time, though.”

  “Shame,” she said, still smiling.

  A thought occurred to him. “You know, you kinda remind me a’ somebody. Can’t say who or when, but . . . Boy howdy, it’s messin’ with my mind.” Then something went click, and he said, “Did you ever dance? No offense or anything, but on the stage?”

  She threw her shoulders back and lifted one skirted leg straight out before she brought her knee to her nose. She wiggled her foot, saying, “Miss Tansy’s Terpsichore Temptresses.”

  “That’s it!” Slocum half-shouted. “I seen you gals a year ago March, up in Denver. Say, you were swell!” He didn’t mention it, but he’d had a private “dance” from two of the girls after the show. Neither of which had been Lucy, unfortunately.

  She put her leg back down, and for a long moment, they just stared at each other. He knew what he was hoping for, but he couldn’t tell about her.

  And then she approached him, coming across the stall. She stopped before him and opened her arms wide, putting a hand on either side of him on the rail. “I like him, Slocum,” she whispered. “I believe I’ll keep him.”

  “Good,” he whispered back, and lowered his mouth to within inches of hers. “Glad to hear it. Care to stay over awhile?”

  “Now that you mention it, I don’t mind if I do,” she whispered. “Don’t mind it at all.”

  They kissed long and hard before they slid down into a soft bed of straw.

  And Red didn’t step on them once, the whole night.

  Watch for

  SLOCUM AND THE WOMAN SOLD TO THE COMANCHE

  373rd novel in the exciting SLOCUM series

  from Jove

  Coming in March!

  DON’T MISS A YEAR OF

  Slocum Giant

  by

  Jake Logan

  Slocum Giant 2004:

  Slocum in the Secret Service

  Slocum Giant 2005:

  Slocum and the Larcenous Lady

  Slocum Giant 2006:

  Slocum and the Hanging Horse

  Slocum Giant 2007:

  Slocum and the Celestial Bones

  Slocum Giant 2008:

  Slocum and the Town Killers

  Slocum Giant 2009:

  Slocum’s Great Race

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