by Jake Logan
If things progressed as they had so far, he might make the goal he’d set to beat the winter. Three days later, they parked, set up camp, and he let half the crew go into town to raise billy-hell. The forage there would strengthen his animals. The fenced-in grass was super, and the well water a little slack tasting but it was much better than mud.
The last mile marker said OMAHA—THREE HUNDRED FIFTY MILES. When they’d gone in through the fenced pasture gate, he knew they’d make it before any serious weather erupted.
“You look pleased,” she said after he dismounted beside her.
“A couple of days to catch up and we’ll be back there before the snow flies.”
She looked around to be certain they were enough alone. “Catch up on what?”
He whispered in her ear. “You, too.”
She made a smug face. “That is good, too. I will smile.”
“We both will smile.”
With wagons parked and stock unharnessed, half the crew were on their way to spirits and angels—rotgut whiskey and whores. There’d probably be a few fights, but Slocum hoped none would be serious.
They’d all be ready to push on to Omaha after this layover and then burn that city down—but by then he wouldn’t care what they did. After the breakdown of unharnessing and turning the stock loose where Johnson said it was well fenced, Slocum and Snow retired to the wagon and undressed. With her sprawled under him on the cot, he was about to partake of her sweet body when someone shouted his name.
“Slocum! You ole sumbitch, get out here. I heard you was coming and I aim to clean your damn plow. Right now, get out here.”
“Who is that?” After he moved off her, she bolted up.
“Sam Clover, an old buddy of mine.” He shook his head as she began to dress. “I’m coming. Don’t burn the damn wagon. It ain’t mine,” he yelled.
She frowned at him. “He sounds funny.”
“Snow, he ain’t funny. He’s crazy.”
“Whatever.” She straightened her dress on her hips.
“Don’t you plan no big surprise party for me. I just got sober from the last one,” Clover yelled.
Slocum stuck his head out. “We’re coming, gawdamn you.”
“Hell, I didn’t know I was breaking up any baby making. Go ahead, I’ll just sit out here and drink this good bottle of hooch I brought to celebrate your homecoming with.”
Dressed, Slocum climbed out carrying his socks and boots. “Who told you I was coming here?”
“Aw, hell, everyone knew you were coming. Even them gawdamn snoopy agents from the Hawk Detective Agency knew you would be here.”
“What the hell do they want of me?”
“A bank robbery in Kansas.”
“Hell, when was that?”
“Month ago. Said you and your gang held up Abilene Bank and Trust.”
“Aw, hell, Sam, I was in Billings, Montana, a month ago and can prove it.”
“I got the newspaper report right here.” He handed the folded paper to him. “I wondered when you turned bank robber. I knew we’d cross paths and I’d get to jab you about it—well, let a bumble bee sting my old pecker. Why, she is cuter than a field of Texas bluebonnets in the spring. Who’s she?”
“Snow, the daughter of Man of Pipes.”
“Ah, hell, them Cheyenne can get in the sack with a squaw and make the prettiest women on this earth, can’t they?”
“She ain’t yours, and I’m not going to share her with you.”
“Since you robbed that bank in Kansas, you’re getting not only stingy, but inhospitable.”
“I was in Montana when this happened.” He began to read the newspaper Sam had handed him.
The First Bank and Trust was robbed yesterday just past noon. The gang leader was identified as John Slocum, a famous outlaw who with his gang of ten hardcore bad men stormed into the bank lobby. The men shoved around respectable ladies who were in the bank at the time. Their requests were so disgusting we can’t repeat them on the pages of this family newspaper, but you can imagine them in your worst moments.
Slocum, a longtime wanted criminal for dire deeds done elsewhere, swaggered around the bank and busted Billy Ushery, the cashier, over the head when he tried to stop him from sacking up all the gold, silver, and currency in his cashbox. After the outlaws rode out of our town, throwing hot lead at the innocent citizens in their way, Billy’s injury required five stitches by Doctor Blaine.
Sheriff Tom Kane sent a telegram to the U.S. Marshal’s office reporting the horrific incident and gave a list of the other known killers riding with Slocum. A posse was to be formed to chase down the criminals, but since these felons were so tough and well-armed, Sheriff Kane decided to leave their capture to federal officials, who are on their way here.
Bank President Aaron Hollis also wired the Hawk Detective Agency in Denver, Colorado, to pursue these bandits. We are awaiting word from that office on their plans to apprehend the gang.
In another note, the wife of rancher and businessman Edward Stokes has disappeared. Diane Stokes, age twenty-five, was reported missing an hour after the robbery. It is suspected that when the gang left on their escape route, they may have stopped at the Stokes ranch house for supplies and food, and then kidnapped her. No sign of the lady has shown up. According to her husband, Michael, his wife was of sound mind and never would have left her fine home unless taken as a hostage. He is offering a thousand dollars for her safe return. Mrs. Stokes is twenty-five years old, five feet nine inches tall, weighs 130 pounds, and has light brown hair and blue eyes. Anyone who knows her whereabouts can report it to the Stokes Mercantile or Sheriff Kane.
“Who in the hell is this gang, anyway?”
“The Slocum Gang, is all I know.”
“Sam, I was in Billings a month ago. Who do you think set me up?”
“Can you imagine ten men, plus the leader, in that small bank lobby? Why, they must have been falling over each other propositioning those fancy women in there to fuck them.”
“I can’t even imagine an eleven-member gang pulling off a robbery.”
“Well, the storekeeper’s wife ain’t showed up yet either. Where did you stash her?” Sam laughed.
“I bet she simply rode off with them.”
“I don’t know him, but I figure that was the case, too.”
“How did you know I was coming?”
“I met Buster Johnson when he came to rent this pasture. He told me you ramrodded this outfit, so I came to warn you.”
“Crap, I don’t have time to be hauled down to Kansas to prove I was in Montana when the robbery was committed.”
“That’s what I figured. You better pack a bag and shag ass out of here.”
“It won’t take them long to know I’m out here. I better go talk to Lacey and tell him he’s going to have to get this outfit back to Omaha.”
“Where does she need to go?” He gave a head toss at Snow.
“Fort Robinson. They’re holding her people up there until next spring. Then they’ll march them down to Fort Reno and the new agency there in the Indian Territory.”
“Oh boy, that will be a real nice trip.”
“I can’t help that.”
“I know that. How can I help you?” asked Sam.
“I imagine you have your own problems, but I appreciate the offer.” He turned to Snow. “Go find Lacey. We need to make new plans.”
She nodded and took off to find his man. In a short while, she returned with him.
“This is Sam Clover. He brought news that I’m being sought for a Kansas bank robbery, that happened while we were in Montana. I don’t need to let them arrest me, take me there, and then have to prove I was in Billings.”
“That makes sense. You want me to take the train on?”
“Yes, I do. I’ll contact them in Omaha and te
ll them where to send my share. I have records for my expenses, and there’s money left to buy supplies to easily get you back.”
“I’ll do my best. Hope I don’t have another prairie fire to fight.”
“It may be the search for grass to feed the stock that vexes you the most. I’ll be on my way in a half hour.”
“Damn nice to work with you. Snow, Jasper will cry when he learns you’re gone.”
“I’ll meet you north of the Platte River Bridge in an hour,” Sam said. “I’ll ride along, in case you get into any trouble.”
“That might work. Snow, do we need a packhorse?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll get them saddled and bring them over here,” Lacey said.
Slocum agreed and said to her. “Make us two bedrolls, too.”
She nodded and climbed back in the end of his wagon to get some of their things together.
Slocum shook Sam’s hand before Sam left to get his own things, in order to meet them north of the bridge as planned.
When Lacey brought the horses, Slocum already had the saddles out and ready.
His man had read the newspaper Sam brought. “You’re right. We were in Montana when that bank was robbed. Who said it was you?” he asked.
“He must have announced my name when he told them to hold up their hands.”
“Crazy world. But we turned a tough deal into a working arrangement. I’m proud I worked with you. And all of us love Snow.”
Lacey hugged her. “We hope you’re reunited with your tribe, and happy.”
“I will do what I must for my people.”
“Sure, but we’ll miss both of you.”
They wound up the loading, and Slocum shook Lacey’s hand. “I took two hundred dollars from this purse. I marked it down. They owe me more than that. Tell the rest of the men I’m sorry I missed telling them.”
He boosted Snow onto her horse and then swung up on Bull. The men nearby, knowing Slocum was leaving, wished him well. He waved to them. Snow took the packhorse lead, and they rode out of camp for the gate. No need to hesitate. They had to be gone before some snoopy detectives came around.
One thing Slocum knew for sure, they needed to slip across the Platte River Bridge. From rains upstream, the river was too high to swim across, so he sent Snow ahead, and he melted in among some ranch cowboys and a chuck wagon.
• • •
Across the river at last, he hoped unobserved, he short loped to catch Snow, and they eventually met up with Sam. On the road to Fort Robinson, they held their horses in a hard trot and made good progress north.
“How far away is it?” Slocum asked
“Two hundred miles,” Sam said, looking over his shoulder for any pursuit.
“We can make it there in a week or less.”
“I bet so. But our asses will pay the price.” Sam laughed. “I don’t see any dust back there, so we must have a good lead on them.”
They found a small store in late afternoon and bought some oats for their horses. The man’s wife offered to feed them supper for fifty cents. Slocum agreed, and they ate the meal in the couple’s living quarters. The food was favorable, and her coffee and apple pie delicious. They camped nearby on the prairie and left before dawn.
Slocum wanted to get Snow to her people, then they could take it from there. He felt grateful to have Sam along. An extra set of eyes always helped in an escape situation. He’d be glad to have her safely there. Damn, he’d sure miss her sweet body and company.
9
The road to Fort Robinson covered lots of rolling prairie. There were still remnants scattered around of the once huge buffalo herds that roamed all the West. Here and there, on a watercourse, a brave soul had established a farm or ranch. They stopped for the night at a Texan’s ranch. The rancher had built a huge sod house and barn to house his crew of cowboys, with their horses in one end to prevent thefts by renegade Indians.
Bill Borne had a half-black wife, Nelly, who stood six feet tall and towered over most of his dozen ranch hands they met later. A warm, friendly woman with several of her young offspring around her dress, she met them in the windswept yard.
“Get down. My man will be here shortly. He’ll love to talk to you and learn what’s happening in the world out there.”
Bill Borne was equally a giant of a man, with huge hands to shake and a drawl to his words. “We don’t get many folks to stop by here. Glad she got you to stop. Me and the boys get tired of our own company. The two thousand cattle we brought up here are doing good. But, hell, where else would they get this much grass in the world?
“Most of the Injuns are friendly, and we’ve raised plenty of potatoes and things for us to eat. But, like always, there’s some sour apples that steal horses rather than break mustangs. Plenty of good horses out here. We had to break several to replace the ones they stole. But we got them put up now, inside the back of our house, and enough hay inside to feed them for winter.”
“You brought cows,” Slocum said.
“Most of them are cows. I bought some Durham bulls to cross them and get some hair on my future cattle for winter, plus the crosses bring more money for beef.”
“How long have you been here?” Slocum asked.
“Three years.”
“Well, you look dug in here.”
“I think we are.”
Slocum told them about their plans to return Snow to her tribe, and where he had been through the summer. By the time he wound it up, Borne said, “She’s got food ready. We better go eat. She won’t run out, but those hands of mine eat everything loose.”
He laughed and herded them into the dining area, where he showed them seats.
“These folks are going to Fort Robinson. This young lady’s tribe is being held up there for moving to the Indian Territory,” he told his crew.
The crew nodded and told them, “Hello.”
One of the young ones rose and said, “No disrespect intended, but I’d keep her here and save you all the trip.”
His words drew laughter.
After the meal, they talked. Snow and Nelly visited on the side, and when they turned in, Snow told Slocum, “She is a powerful woman. He came up here to escape the prejudice of a white man’s and a black woman’s marriage in Texas. She misses her people, like I miss mine.”
Slocum nodded that he understood. They slept separately in the large room Borne had offered them and were up before dawn. Nelly had a big spread for breakfast. She spoke of the many hawks that threatened her poultry population. Her shotgun was kept loaded and handy, so she thought she was depleting their population. She’d fried some of her chicken’s eggs for her company.
They rode off in their slickers, under a thick cloud cover all morning and the threat of rain coming. It began with thunder and they sought shelter.
A deserted sod house half-fallen-in made a good place to stop. They used a room for their horses and found enough wood to build a fire, and the smoke escaped out the missing roof section.
“You find these places abandoned and wonder about the story behind them,” Sam said. “Where I was raised west of Fort Worth, the Comanches raided places in that area every fall. When I was four, my mother hid me when she heard them coming. They killed her, and neighbors found me wandering around the place calling for her. I didn’t know she couldn’t hear me.”
“Did your father take another wife?” Snow asked.
“He did, and she had kids. They’d killed her husband in another raid. Even though I was so young, it never was the same. I kept thinking my real mother would come back and take me away to a better place than the crowded one we had.”
“When did you realize she wasn’t coming back?” Snow asked.
“About when I turned twelve. I knew she was dead and never coming home, so I ran away.”
“Did they try to return
you?”
“No, I was one less mouth they’d have to feed. That woman had a baby every nine months. My paw must have turned more fertile. I was their only child, then here came this gal who was a baby factory. I never looked back. I was hungry lots of times, but good folks helped me. I soon was working ranches where you did things from horseback, and I never picked another boll of that gawdamn cotton.”
They laughed.
“I hate cotton so bad.”
“How does it grow?” Snow asked.
Sam said, “It is a stickery little plant you have to bend over to pick the bolls and cotton from and put them in a sack you drag between your legs down the row.”
“It only grows in the South,” Slocum said.
“Thank God,” Sam said with a shake of his head.
“Did you ever go back to see them?”
Sam shook his head. “When I left, I left for good. My real ma was my savior, and she was dead and her grave unmarked.”
Slocum nodded that he understood, as thunder rolled across the sky and more rain fell.
“How far are we from the fort?” Snow asked.
“We should be there in a week,”
The next day the sky cleared, and they reached a small settlement at midday. Kerry’s Corner—a store, two saloons, a blacksmith, and corrals. A few sod houses and some tents housed the people. The structures were all slapdash thrown-up. The raw cut lumber was mixed with salvaged wood from another time and place.
The three of them went in the Culpepper Saloon and ordered supper. Sam and Slocum each had a beer, and Snow had coffee. The bartender, Oscar, was polite and conversational.
“She’s pretty.”
“Yes, a real attractive Indian girl,” Slocum said.
“Not many of them are that pretty.”
Slocum was nodding in agreement when several horses arrived in the street and a rowdy bunch came in the saloon led by a big man in buckskin who needed a barber. The hard bunch of whites and breeds in frontier dress lined up at the bar, and the big man bought several bottles and ordered glasses for them.
