by Jake Logan
Short of the front door, she planted her feet. “Now I ain’t eating no damn dog in there.”
“Don’t worry, Frisco won’t fix that. Come on.” Lane said with a chuckle.
The overhead lamps flickered on the table, casting long shadows of the four on the sod walls. Lane showed them the washbasin on a side table and told Rory to go first.
“Guess soap would taste better than horse,” she said, and laughed while lathering her hands.
“It might.” Slocum used the second bowl beside her, and soon they were drying their hands on feed sacks while Lane and the kid washed up.
Slocum saw Frisco bringing in a platter of oven-brown biscuits. The aroma of sourdough chased lots of the horse sweat stink out of the room. Then Frisco served a browned haunch of antelope, mashed potatoes, gravy, and cooked greens.
“Man, I’ll be looking for Indians more often,” Lane said, and they laughed.
“Has he attacked you before?” Slocum asked, passing his plate for some sliced meat.
“Usually made raids on my horses. Last summer he had several bucks following him, and we had a standoff here for three or four days, then they left. Army ran him down and put him and the top ones in the stockade in irons. But the Indian Bureau said they had no authority to do that and made the army free all of them.” Lane put a large slab of antelope on Slocum’s plate and they exchanged a nod. “Didn’t make much sense to me. They’ve got the army out here to keep them under control, but they can’t hold the bad ones?”
“Sounds like Washington to me.” Slocum put gravy on his potatoes.
Rory sat back with her plate full and shook her head. “Them Eastern papers keep saying these raids are all made up out here and the poor Injun is being picked on.”
“I don’t guess we’ll change their policy. They’ve twice threatened to arrest my wife to make her move to South Dakota, since she’s full Sioux. That’s why I’m looking for a buyer for the ranch.”
Slocum nodded and used his empty fork to make his point. “That’s why she wouldn’t ride out herself and look for you, isn’t it?”
“Exactly. She’s plumb afraid they’ll arrest her if she gets away from the house.”
“So what’re you going to do about it?” Rory asked Lane.
“Move to South Dakota,” Woman said, coming in the room and refilling their coffee cups.
“I reckon we’ll have to,” Lane said, and shook his head warily. “I’ve hired some high-priced lawyers in Omaha to stop them, but I doubt they get anything done about it.”
Good enough reason as any to sell a working ranch. What he’d seen of it—it was grass heaven. “What about wintertime up here?” Slocum asked.
“We keep the cattle out of the river bottoms in the summer. After roundup, we mow and stack the hay off of them. Takes us most of the season to get it all done. But if you don’t feed up here, you lose too much stock. We’ve also got several stacks that are fenced. We carry those over in case of a dry year.”
“Cowboys switch to hay hands, huh?” Slocum asked, knowing full well the iron seat of a mower, or a rake or gatherer, was not a cowboy’s dream.
“It’s part of the job,” Lane said, sipping on his coffee. “We pay top wages year-round, but besides cowboying, you put up hay and in the winter feed it, too.”
“And the food’s durn good, too,” Rory said, and wiped her mouth.
“You two are welcome to stay in the house,” Lane offered.
“We’ll be fine,” Slocum said, and looked at her for approval, then turned back “See you all in the morning.”
In a short while, their horses were hobbled, their bedrolls flung out, and they were under covers to the sound of the crickets.
“I damn sure won’t need to be rocked to sleep tonight,” she said, and backed up against him.
“Good,” he said, and flung an arm over her to snuggle closer. “Here’s to morning and the Sioux.”
“Amen, brother, this has been a day.”
A long one for both of them. He closed his eyes and sleep quickly captured him.
6
The triangle ringing up at headquarters awoke both of them, and Slocum’s hand closed on the .44 gun butt. He felt something was amiss, and restrained her from getting up.
“What’s wrong?” she hissed.
“Lay still. Something has me wondering.”
She soon had her hand filled with a smaller revolver. “See anything?”
“No, but I think I heard something a moment or two ago.”
“I’d like to know where it is,” she said, sounding disgruntled.
“Might not be anything.”
She twisted over on her stomach. “I can see the packhorse. He’s watching something to the south.”
“Good, keep an eye on him.” He struggled to put on his pants under the covers and not rumple the covers too much so someone observing them might notice. At last satisfied, he swept the blankets back and searched the dark cottonwoods. Something moved, and he scrambled to a crouch.
“There’s someone down in the trees,” he said. “Get dressed and don’t move till I get back.”
“You be careful. It might be a trap.”
He nodded and quickly pulled on his boots. Then, pistol in hand, he headed for the trees as the golden shafts of light crossed the eastern brow. He saw the doughnut of gun smoke around a rifle muzzle beside a tree. The whine of the bullet went past him. Damn you.
Angry at being shot at, he charged after the hatless shooter, who was already running away. No doubt an Indian. Slocum made long strides to draw closer to him. Then he stopped at the edge of the grove when he had a clear chance to shoot. Sighting down the barrel, he squeezed the trigger.
His shot struck the buck in the back. Hit hard, he straightened and dropped his rifle. Then he caught himself and looked back, but never bothered getting his gun. Despite the wound, he ran on. Two others on horseback came yipping off the slope to rescue him. The wounded one ran toward them.
Slocum took aim, knowing the range was too far. The .44 kicked in his hand as he thumbed back the hammer for each shot.
“Here,” Rory said, and handed him the rifle.
“Thanks.” He holstered the empty Colt and dropped on his knees. The rider on the black piebald had the wounded one behind him. They were sure enough getting away; he took aim at the piebald. He took the largest target and his best chance to stop them.
Slocum downed the horse and the two bucks went ass-over-teakettle in the pileup. The one riding the downed pony got up and ran to the second rider, who had circled back. In an instant, he was behind the other one and they were beating their mount for the ridge. Too far away to bother to shoot. There was no sign that the first one Slocum shot was still alive. Slocum’s eyelids narrowed as he surveyed the downed pony on the slope.
She caught his bare arm. “It’s a trap. He’s up there waiting for you.”
“I’ll be careful.” He handed her back the rifle. Then he reached for the Colt and considered the wounded one as he punched out the empties and reloaded the cylinder. The buck didn’t appear to be wearing a holster.
He was about to start in that direction when three cowboys came on the fly.
“You all right?” Ryder asked, sliding his horse up short.
“Fine. Some buck was sneaking up on us and I shot him. Then his pals came to his rescue and I downed the one horse. He didn’t get away.” Slocum motioned in that direction.
“We’ll go see about him. You and her better get your horses and gear moved up to the house.”
“Thanks, guys,” he said and holstered his six-gun.
They rode on past him, touching their hat brims for her. Slocum put his arm on Rory’s shoulder and laughed. “Guess that’ll wake us up.”
She looked back after them for a second, then turned to the front with a disgusted scowl. “Just what I always wanted. Being hemmed in by some damn redskins.”
“Look at it this way. We have about a dozen well-armed tough men
here to help you.”
She shook her head. “I liked it better when it was you and me.” Then she drove a soft punch to his midsection. “How about you?”
“Ain’t no question. But I like living, too.”
“That’s first.”
They brought the dead buck back slung over one of their horses, the two of them riding double. Slocum had the pack loaded, and nodded when Ryder told him the Indian probably broke his neck in the wreck.
“You see his rifle?” Slocum asked.
Ryder shook his head.
“I’ll go find it,” Slocum said. “It looked new to me.”
“Probably some gun runner sold it to him.” Ryder and the other cowboy shook their heads in disgust.
“Thanks,” Slocum said. “We’ll be along.”
With a nod, they rode off leading the horse with the dead Indian.
“I’ll go run up there and get it,” she said, and took off in a jog before he could stop her. A smile crossed his face as he admired her fine derriere in the tight-fitting canvas pants—lots of woman in there. She might not be the right date for the Presidential Ball, but she’d damn sure do to ride with and fill a bedroll.
There was no need to throw a hitch over the pack; it was less than a quarter mile to the ranch headquarters, and the leggy horse was well broke. Slocum mounted Turk, gathered reins and lead rope, then headed to meet Rory.
She held up the rifle. “It’s brand-new. I can still smell the packing oil on it.”
“Some conniving no-good sumbitch sold them new guns,” he said, and looked around at the grass waving in the wind. No sign of Indians, but they could be on their bellies watching him and her from some nearby ridge. He and Rory better get to the headquarters.
“Can’t they stop the sale of guns to them red devils?” She swung up on her roan and they short-loped for the ranch.
“Too much country to look after and too few soldiers and U.S. marshals.”
Lane came out and met them. “Glad you two are all right.” “We’re fine,” she said. “Here, look at the damn new gun he had.” And she tossed him the new rifle.
Lane caught it and shook his head as he looked it over. “It is new. I wonder where Pony Boy got the money for them.”
“No telling. Did Woman know that young buck they brought in?”
“Yes. His name was Red Hawk. His mother was kin to her.”
“Sorry, but he shot first.”
“It’s war with them. Don’t apologize. If he’d killed you, he’d sure’ve bragged about it.”
“Well, he damn sure ain’t doing no bragging now,” Rory said, and dismounted.
“Where can I stow our stuff?” Slocum asked Lane.
“Third door down is a small room. You and her can use that.”
“Good, we’ll go and unload,” Slocum said. “Guess we’re here for a day or so.”
“Thanks,” she said quietly.
Lane nodded and looked grim. “Sorry, they were all supposed to be gone. I sent a message this morning to the army at Camp Douglas. They should be on their trail in a short while, I hope. I need to get roundup completed. Tie your horses up. Frisco has breakfast on the table.”
“Good idea,” Slocum said, and looked at Rory for a nod. When she gave it, he tied up Turk.
In the main room, Frisco shouted hello to them, and waved them over to the serving table loaded with food. The cowboys filling their faces all around the long table smiled at Rory. With a tin plate heaped with browned meat, fried potatoes, biscuits, and gravy, Slocum and Rory found a place to sit side by side and listened to the small talk. The young cowboy beside Rory was beaming to be that close, and they exchanged some words about the morning’s experiences.
Lane at last rose from his chair. “We need to maintain a lookout on the roof around the clock. I expect Captain Nichols and some soldiers to be down here in a day or so. Keep your guns handy and don’t go far without a pard.”
Everyone nodded.
“They were trying to sneak up on Slocum and the lady this morning. They paid for that. But they haven’t quit. They need horses and lots of them to make any raids. And we have them.” He looked his men over with a grave face. “From now on when that triangle rings, it means we’re under attack. Any questions?”
The cowboys either nodded or sat silent.
“Good, be ready for hell.” Lane sat back down.
Hell it might be, too. Slocum wondered about the army. They could be out on patrol and not in the area. Springtime meant to many young bucks that it was time to go on the warpath. It was a way of life while they were growing up, and when they were old enough to go on such adventures, reservation boundaries and agency rules meant nothing to them. They were raised to be warriors and no paleface was going to deny them that opportunity.
After breakfast, Slocum and Rory unloaded their panniers. There were two bunks in the room and no bedding on them, which suited her.
“Less chance for fleas,” she said, making up the two beds with their things as he tried to repair a girth on the packsaddle. The light coming in the small window made the job tougher, and he turned toward the shaft of sunlight to better see. Observing his problem, she lighted a candle lamp and dropped on a chair close by him.
“You know what I’d like to do?” she said in a soft voice.
He looked up at her, half-finished with his task.
“Get you in that damn bed and keep you there all day.”
He turned back to his work and chuckled. “Better wait till tonight.”
She swept the hair back from her face. “I wouldn’t give a big damn if all them cowboys knew what we were doing.”
The latigo laced on, he put the packsaddle on the floor and looked into her eyes. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
She returned his stare. “I told you I was.”
“Close the door then. I’ll blow out the light.”
A pleased smile swept over her face. “Well, I never—”
He pulled her up and kissed her hard on the mouth. She molded against his body and when he let up, she gasped for breath. “My Lord, you are serious.” Then she hurried to close the door. “Yes, sirree. Right here and right now.”
Leaning over the lamp’s chimney, he blew out the candle. When he looked up, she was standing before him, easing the suspenders off her shoulders. He could imagine her long breasts underneath the flannel shirt, and reached out to undo the buttons one by one. Her creamy cleavage began to show as he was undoing the buttons. She straightened so her breasts pointed up under the cloth. At her waist, he undid the top button of her pants and pulled the shirttail out to expose her treasures. She stood with her eyes closed as he gently fondled them. Her breath was hardly a whisper, but it increased as his hand hefted them and felt their firmness, teasing the large brown nipples with the pad of his thumb. They responded and pointed at him.
She cocked her head to the side and their lips met—the triangle began ringing.
“I’ll be a no-good son of a bitch,” she swore, and frowned at him. “Guess this stops for a while.”
He nodded. “I better go up front and see what’s the matter.” She agreed, buttoning up her shirt and tucking in the shirttail with a look of disgust written on her face. “Damn Indians anyhow.”
Slocum laughed and stuck his head out their side door. Lane and the cowboys were looking at a riderless saddled horse.
“Loose horse arrived,” Slocum said over his shoulder.
“I’m coming,” she said with her pants unbuttoned and tucking in her shirttail.
He hurried down the side of the log house and could hear Lane talking. “—well, that was our chance to get the army down here.”
“What’s wrong?” Slocum asked.
“See all the blood on the saddle?” Lane made an angry face. “They must have gotten Curly. He’s the young cowboy I sent last night to Camp Douglas to tell the captain about our problems.”
“Who’s going next?” Slocum asked.
Lane shook
his head. “I don’t know who could get through.”
“Draw me a map,” said Slocum. “How far is it?”
“Thirty miles.”
“Make the map. I’ll saddle my horse.”
“I’m going, too,” Rory said.
“Oh.” Lane looked taken aback. “One guy might make it—”
She was already on Slocum’s heels. “Two can sure make it. Draw the map. I think I know the way up there, but a map might help.”
Slocum paused at the corral gate to shake out a lariat. “You don’t have to—”
“I know what I have to do. I’m going.” She looked around at them. “You can catch the horses. I’ll set out our saddles and gear,” she said to Slocum. She turned and started running for their side door.
Slocum drew in a deep breath, watching her tight-encased butt in the beech-colored pants. Damn those renegades anyway. He could have had his tingling dick buried deep inside her and been enjoying himself if it weren’t for them. As he built a loop, the hard erection in his own pants reminded him even more about what he was missing. He shook his head at the notion and tossed the rope on Roan, Rory’s horse.
He hoped he was there when the army caught the Indians. With a second lariat, he made an overhand toss at Turk’s head over the milling horses. Jerking his slack, he brought the big horse around. No sense in arguing with her about going along. He’d never win that. Leading Roan and Turk out of the pen, he saw that she had their saddles and pads out on the ground. Lane was there speaking to her.
“I can’t talk her out of going,” Lane said, holding out the map he’d drawn for Slocum.
“Douglas is on the White River Road short of the Dakota border,” Rory said. “I’ve been there. In fact, my freight wagons are up there or close to there now.”
“We’ll be fine,” Slocum said. “I’ll get this captain to send some troopers down here as soon as possible.” He shook Lane’s hand and went to saddling Turk. Rory almost had Roan saddled. Then she brought out two blankets, each wrapped in a ground cloth, to tie onto their saddles as he stuck their rifles in the scabbards.
Several cowboys had joined them to hold their horses. Rory stuffed jerky, crackers, and dry cheese in each saddlebag. Frisco brought a box of fresh ammo in case they needed it. She thanked him and loaded it in the bulging bags.
