by Jake Logan
“My name is Antonieta. No ma’am, please?”
“Yes,” he said as she exited the room with a high-handed wave. It made him shake his head in disbelief. He undressed, slipped into the tub, and held his breath—the water was hot. The heat from the small open fireplace reflected off him. He closed his eyes and savored the water’s warmth seeking his tense muscles. Damn, this might be his best bath ever.
He got as low down as he could in the tub made for smaller men than him. Then he lathered and rubbed the bar of fine-smelling soap over every inch of his hide. When the water began to cool, he finally called to her. “Antonieta.”
She slipped into the room with a pail of water. “I hope this is warm enough.”
“It’ll be fine,” he said, and rose up out of the water, which brought on gooseflesh. Then she tipped the hot water over his head and it cascaded down him.
“Use the robe and bring the chair. I’ll cut your hair and do it in the living room. It is the warmest room I have.”
“My clothes?”
“Ruby will wash them.”
“Yes, ma—I mean yes.”
She smiled and went to the doorway before she turned back. “I will be waiting.”
“Not long.” He laughed and dried himself briskly. Then, in the robe, he padded out with the high-back chair for the living room. He found her ready with a pan of steaming water, a shaving cup, and bristle. She stropped a strap with a razor. “Ah, you are clean at last.”
“Yes, for the first time in two months.”
“You’ve been buffalo hunting?”
“No other reason for staying out there that long otherwise.”
Busy lathering his face, she smiled at him. “I’ll be anxious to see what you look like.”
“Homely as anyone else.”
“I doubt that.” She finished the task of sharpening her blade and began to test it. Then, cleaning her blade of the white foam and hair on a towel over her arm, she set in to shave him.
“Married? Widow?” he asked.
“My husband left three years ago with a fourteen-year-old mistress. He was never heard of again. The courts have declared him dead. Of course, I have thought all along that the Comanche got him and her.”
“So you remained?”
“I remained because this is all that was left of my husband’s inheritance.”
“The rest?”
“The rest he must have taken with him when he ran off.” She smiled looking at his close-shaven face for anything she’d missed. “The girl”—she lowered her voice—“was Ruby’s only daughter. She was pregnant at the time according to him. Something I couldn’t give him—an heir.”
When she handed Slocum the small mirror, he nodded in approval. “Get my mane trimmed, I may look human.”
“That’s next,” she said, and threw the sheet over him.
In a short time she finished, and he looked at his image in the mirror and decided he did look human again.
“No wife? No family?” she asked.
“None. The war and what happened following it sent me off. Got in some scrapes. No place for me to plant my feet now.”
She shook her head. The locks of blond hair waved like drapes around her face. “Such a shame. You look very nice cleaned up.”
“My clothes will be dry—”
“You are in a hurry?”
“No—no, Antonieta. I am in no hurry to leave your company.”
“Your clothes are a mess. Ruby is going to patch your britches with deerskin. The knees and seat are out. The elbows in the shirt are gone. You can wear a dead man’s clothing for a while?”
“I’m not superstitious.”
“Good, I’ll get you some.”
He watched her move away like a small dust devil, turning on her heels for the back of the house. Watching her move made his guts roil. What a lovely sight. Or was he so starved for a woman’s body, he couldn’t see her flaws? Damn, he felt clean outside, but his mind still wasn’t thinking clearly. How could he ever open all his senses again?
Huddled against the cold, day in day out, night in night out, every waking hour watching over his shoulder for some slinking Kiowa or Comanch buck who wanted his hair, rifle, and horse—damn would he ever get back to normal?
“Here.” She held out the pants and shirt. “They may be a little large, but they’ll do.”
He nodded and waited for her to turn away so he could dress.
“I want to see how bad they fit,” she said, and handed him the shirt.
What the hell? He shed the robe and took the shirt. The heat from the fireplace sought his bare butt as she helped him into the shirt. It was big, but no problem. Obviously an expensive shirt. He took the pants next, and they proved much too big at the waist. She winked and began to put suspenders on them while he held them up by the waist. “This will keep them up.”
“Yes.”
“I have sent Ruby home. I hope you like lamb chops?”
“Sounds wonderful.”
“You are too easy to please.”
“No, I appreciate the clothing and all you have done for me.” He followed her to the kitchen, where the table was set for them with wine poured in crystal glasses.
“To your good fortune with your sale of hides,” she toasted him.
He nodded and they clinked glasses.
“You get many customers?” he asked passing her the plate of browned chops.
She laughed. “No. Arturo is very particular. Last one was a U.S. marshal looking for a murderer. That was last spring.”
He shook his head, “I merely wondered.”
“Of course, the crazy black widow who kills her prey, huh?”
“I’ve never a seen blond Spanish woman before.”
“Come to northern Spain. I have many counterparts.”
He nodded. The food melted in his mouth, the red wine washed it down, and he ate more—not believing he was really in her house looking into her blue eyes, which looked deeper than any ocean.
Then, as if someone unseen had begun to play a violin, they both rose and he took her in his arms and they swung around the kitchen to the inaudible music. Who needed the music? It was inside each of them. Finally, he released her hand—he leaned forward and kissed her pouty lower lip. Their arms flew around each other as they sought each other in a hard hug. His need for her was so blinding he couldn’t hold back.
She pushed the suspenders off his shoulders and the pants fell to his knees.
“Here?” he asked, holding her hips hard against his.
“No, in my bed,” she said, looking sleepy-eyed at him and pushing back his short bangs.
Long pear-shaped breasts capped with brown pointed nipples sent him into a frenzy he tried to control. But their eagerness was shared, and they rolled locked in each other’s arms under the down covers in the high bed. Then she parted her long shapely legs under him and he raised up. He slid home, and she cried out when he stretched her ring.
“Oh, take me, take me,” she cried with her head thrown back and her throat exposed.
He did, and they became a wild machine. His knees were on fire from the friction as he fought to go deeper and deeper. His erection sensed every nerve ending. They went forever and ever, until at last he felt the needles in his butt and grasped her in preparation.
“Yes, yes,” she huffed, and looked down between them as if watching for him to finish. Her chin flew up when the fire started, and she dug her fingernails into him. Her legs straightened and she cried out when he came. They lay in each other’s arms exhausted and content.
They woke each other up and made love off and on all night.
Dawn came through the frosted windowpanes in a prism of gold, orange, and red and the wind was down. A rooster crowed, and Slocum sat up rubbing his face with his calloused palms. He could smell her musk on him. The soft perfume tickled his nose, but he at last could see clearly—his mind was working. He snuggled against her warm body, reached over, fondled her breast,
and smiled to himself—he was well again.
6
“Wake up,” Belle said, and shook him with a grin. “Don Jeminez just rode in.”
“Oh,” he said, and threw his legs over the side of the bed. It was late afternoon and the shadows from the house extended way past him. He stood up and stretched, stealing a kiss from her. It caused her to blush.
“There is a room in the barn. Juanita and I cleaned it this afternoon for us.”
“Good. I better go see my friend.”
She agreed.
He strapped on his six-gun and adjusted it. Halfway around the house he heard the ring of someone running with spurs.
“Mi amigo.” They hugged and beat each other on the back in a cloud of dust.
“When did you get here?” Don Jeminez asked.
“Earlier.”
“Where are you going?”
“To Texas, to find a man who killed Belle’s husband.”
“You look good. I wonder often where you are and how you are doing.”
Slocum swept off his friend’s hat to look at his head. “A little snow on the mountain but there must be fire inside.”
“A big fire,” Jeminez said, and put his arm on Slocum’s shoulder.
“These Texans are pushing you.”
“That is a nice word. Our land has no fences, so we can’t keep them out, but they will eat all the grass and then sell their cattle and we will have no grass left for ours.”
“What has the law done?”
“They sent a deputy up here, but he can’t do anything but complain to them when we show him that their cattle are on our land. He says we must fence it, and then when they cut it he can arrest them.”
“How would he catch them?” Slocum asked amused.
“He couldn’t. Every day I drive their steers back east, but there are many I can’t find and send back.”
“I’ll see if Belle can wait a few days and maybe I can help you.”
“They have many gunhands. I think they will use them when they want more range.”
Slocum nodded and they took seats on the porch bench. “Maybe we can discourage them.”
“These men are killers. You kill them, more will come.” His knees spread apart, Jeminez leaned forward and began to whittle on a piece of red cedar with a long-bladed jackknife. “You said a woman is with you.”
“Her name is Belle Nelson. She’s from Wyoming. Bounty hunters shot her husband thinking he was a wanted man. She wants the last one’s hide nailed to the outhouse wall.”
“He is in Texas?” Jeminez sat up and straightened. Slocum noticed he was thinner than in his buff-hunting days. He had more lines around his eyes and the look of an old wolf—wiser too.
“I’m not saying call them out for a shoot-out. I’m saying tie a tin can on their tail and send them home.”
Jeminez blinked his brown eyes at him. “How would you do that?”
“Oh, load some of their firewood with explosives. Cut some cinches in two. Replace some good whiskey with bad. You make a man wonder if ghosts are after him, he can come to believe it after a while; even tough gunslingers take notice. They can’t shoot the air full of holes.”
With a soft chuckle, Jeminez nodded. “When do we start?”
Slocum looked across the rolling country beyond the wall. “A scarecrow. You know where we can find a skull?”
His brows furrowed, Jeminez shook his head as if that would never work. “No.”
Slocum rose, stretched. “I’ll ask Juanita.”
“How would she know of such a thing?” Jeminez folded up his jackknife and slid it in his pocket, getting up to follow Slocum inside.
“A skull?” Juanita said when they found the women in the kitchen.
“We need a skull for a scarecrow.”
“How about a small melon carved like one?” She looked to Belle, who nodded.
“Good,” he said. “A sombrero and an old sheet. I’ll make the note to pin on it. You have an old holster and belt?”
“What will you do with it?”
“Scare some Texans,” he said with his arm over Belle’s shoulder.
Belle smiled and then frowned. “You’re going to scare that bunch of Texans with a scarecrow?”
“That and other things. Make a man nervous enough and he might shoot himself in the foot.” Slocum grinned at her.
While the women worked on the head and sheet, Slocum and Don Jeminez went to the barn to select three sticks from Jeminez’s stock of fence stays to make a tripod, and a short stick for the dummy’s shoulders. In a few hours, the scarecrow was assembled in the backyard with a melon face painted white, the cuts for eyes, nose, and mouth full of charcoal. They made a sign that read MUERTE, MUERTE, TEJANOS, to pin on him after they set him up.
“Where will we put him?” Don asked.
“Just outside of their base camp where they can’t miss him.”
“How will that scare them?” Juanita asked with her hands on her hips.
“All we need to do is start to unnerve them,” Slocum said. “Then they’ll scare themselves.”
“I hope it works.”
“It will. Let’s look at your wood supply.”
“Sure, amigo, what do you need?” Don Jeminez asked with a frown.
“Some pieces that have a hollow center.” Slocum went with him to the woodpile.
“Ah, you are going to make a bomb. I have a small keg of gunpowder I refill my pistol with.”
“Good. We plug the ends of the hollow sticks and make them look natural, then fill them with gunpowder and that will wake the Texans up.”
Slocum selected the wood sticks, finding several.
A newspaper plug was inserted several inches inside each hole so it was not obvious, then the granular black powder poured in and the other end plugged discreetly too. With a bundle of the sticks bound up, Slocum nodded and clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Where can I find a case of blasting-powder sticks?”
“Maybe at the mine?”
“And that’s?”
“Oh, on Blue Mesa. I know the owner, Frank Keating. He’ll sell us some. I bought some before to blow up a beaver dam. What will we do with that?”
“Save it for later.”
Jeminez nodded slowly and scratched his ear. “And if this does not move them—”
“Then we get tougher.”
“I must tell my neighbors tonight what we plan. They will worry, but they know if we don’t stop the Texans soon, we won’t have any grass for our cattle and sheep.”
“Then we need to make some wide sweeps and head their cattle back east,” Slocum said.
After the festive fandango, when they were in their bed in the tack room, Belle asked, “How can I help you?”
“I guess you can ride along if you want to.”
“Good. I want to go too.” She snuggled closer. “Now we have a bed—” Her hand rubbed his belly and drifted lower. Soon she was waking his dick.
He rolled over and scooted closer. “Yes, now we need to play.” He kissed her until anxiety had him wild with desire and they made love.
At dawn they started for the mine, Don Jeminez talking sharply to his stiff-legged red saddle mule named Tonto, which meant “stupid.” Jeminez was doing lots of scolding to keep it from bucking as it danced on eggs out the gate and across the grassland headed north.
Belle was amused and chuckled. “Bet he can buck too.”
“He ever thrown you?” Slocum asked aloud.
“Sí, plenty.” But Jeminez managed to settle him down and they rode for the distant mesa.
“This a gold mine we’re going to?” she asked as the three rode abreast.
“No, it’s a coal mine.”
Jeminez’s mule was in a stiff trot, flicking his long reddish ears all around as if listening for bogeymen. Slocum’s bay was in a long trot he could hold all day, and Belle’s good gray was in an easy slow lope. They managed to move at the same ground-eating speed, and the coolness of the da
y swept Slocum’s face as they flushed meadowlarks and bobwhites and darting long-tail chaparrals.
As they came over a rise, several longhorn steers raised their heads.
“Their cattle,” Don Jeminez said, and made an angry hard face at the lot as the riders moved away in a trot.
Slocum nodded, looking the longhorn crosses over. “They need those four-year-olds fat to ship them this fall.”
“On our grass too.”
“When will you tell the others?”
“Tonight, I called for a meeting.”
“Good. Let’s lope.” They set out, and by mid-morning reached the mine.
Keating was a big man with coal dust in his skin. He came outside the clapboard office, took off a felt hat, and wiped his face on a blue shirtsleeve. “Hey, Jeminez, what brings you up here?”
Slocum didn’t miss his careful look at Belle. Most men didn’t miss her good looks and shapely figure, even when she was in men’s clothing.
“Ah,” Jeminez said, “I need to do some blasting, Frank.”
“Got them damn beavers again?” Then Frank shook his head and looked hard at her. “Sorry, ma’am. I don’t get many lady folks up here.”
“No problem.”
“I got beavers,” Jeminez said, and dismounted.
“I’m Tom White and this is Belle,” Slocum said as he and Belle both dismounted, anxious to stand on the ground after the hard ride.
“Well, Tom, any friend of Jeminez is a friend of mine.” They shook hands and everyone went in to the office.
Slocum had noted the piles of coal outside. The man had a large supply on hand. “Coal business good these days?”
Keating shook his head. “I need rail lines to ship it. Only way I can get a spur up here is give them twenty-five percent of my mine.”
“Don’t they need coal?” Slocum asked.
“Say they can get it up in Colorado. All they want. And I can’t freight enough coal out by wagons to make a living.”
“What does that mean?”
“Guess I’ll give them a quarter of it. They asked for sixty percent the first time.”
“A spur would mean we could ship cattle from here,” Jeminez said, looking pleased.
“If they don’t ask for a quarter of them,” Keating said.
