Slocum and the Cow Camp Killers

by Jake Logan

  Day nodded. “You think they went up there?”

  The bartender nodded.

  “It’s a large operation across the river,” Day told Slocum.

  Deep in thought about Rensler’s purpose, Slocum nodded, unfamiliar with this outfit. They left the Texas Palace and Slocum fed the lawman lunch. They decided to ride out to the beef contractor in the morning.

  Slocum parted with Day after the meal with plans to meet him at the livery at six A.M. to ride out to the operation and learn what they could about Rensler.

  Three o’clock that afternoon, Slocum waited in the alley for the waitress from the café. She was talking a mile a minute to another unseen worker when she emerged from the back door of the café. Shocked to see him, she put on a pleased smile, then ran to hug him like a longtime friend. “Damn, I thought you’d—”

  He kissed her and about had to stand on his toes to accomplish it. When they parted, she clutched his arm and looked at him, impressed. “You’re real as hell. Wow, well, big man. Let’s go talk to Granny Wren.”

  “Who’s she?”

  “Anyone lives in the shanty town in the Platte River willows, she knows them. If this Penelope is down here, Granny can tell us where she lives.”

  He observed how athletic this tall woman in her plain dress was as they strode down the dirt street, headed for the river. She definitely had muscles and acted like physical things were simply movable objects, demonstrated as she swept up a good-size stick and flung it at a barking dog. Slapped with the force of her throw, the cur left, yelping that he’d been hurt. Slocum smiled as she caught the crook of his arm again.

  “I don’t even know your name.”

  “Slocum.”

  “Hannah’s mine. I had a husband once. He ran off with a much smaller woman that he could beat the hell out of.”

  “Where did you hail from?”

  “Oh, hell, my family came out of Tennessee to Arkansas and then went to Kansas, but they hated us there ’cause we drawled. I ran off to marry this guy, who later left me. It was either become a whore or a waitress.”

  “No suitors?”

  “None worth much. Who wants a woman whose feet hang over the end of the bed?”

  He shook his head with no answer.

  “That’s Granny’s place.” She pointed it out.

  A small ramshackle shack covered with tar paper stood in the head-high, swaying willows. The old lady seated in the rocker out front puffed on a clay pipe and nodded at their approach.

  “Granny, this is Slocum. He’s looking for a woman named Penelope Granger.”

  “Nice to meet’cha, sir. The name Penelope don’t bring—oh, her name is Granger, huh?” The dried apple–wrinkled face shone at her internal discovery. “She lives over on Wood’s Island.”

  Slocum frowned at Hannah.

  “Oh, that’s west of here.”

  “She is a nice woman with too many kids,” Granny said, shaking her head. “Have a seat, my manners are so poor.”

  They drew up some wood kegs and nodded to her.

  “You must be careful. I see trouble coming for you, sir.” Granny beat the ashes out of her pipe in her wrinkled palm to be sure they started no fire.

  Slocum nodded. “Are these men coming for me killers?’

  She nodded. “Did they kill family or acquaintances?”

  “One killed a friend in Texas. The other one had two of my hired cowboys executed.”

  “Be careful,” she repeated and looked at him with grave concern.

  “I need to go find these men. I appreciate your warning. Hannah has been working all day, and I imagine she’s tired.”

  “Bless you two.” Shakily, Granny rose and held out her arms to hug each of them.

  He slipped twenty dollars into her apron pocket. She noticed, smiled, and shook her head. “You are way too generous.”

  “You deserve it. Thanks for your warning.” He straightened and she looked wet eyed. “Bless you two.”

  Swinging on his arm, Hannah led him back toward town. “Satisfied?”

  “Yes, you were a big help. I’d never have found Penelope Granger if you hadn’t taken me to Granny. I am in your debt.”

  “Good, come to my place. I can fix some supper. You need to eat.”

  “All right.”

  “You’re too easy to sway.” She threw her head back to laugh aloud. “I am such an evil woman. My reputation is terrible and my plans for you for tonight would make a dove blush.”

  “One thing for certain. You don’t need much coaching.”

  She looked around at the willows. “If the ground wasn’t so damn sandy here, I might not wait.”

  “Oh, we’ll make it back to your place,” he assured her.

  “Will you stay all night and hold me afterward?”

  “I can.”

  “That’s wonderful.” She bent over in his face and kissed him hard on the mouth. They paused to savor the sweetness for a short while, then went on to her small house.

  He found the one room a neat, clean, organized space with a table and a dry sink. Some blue china on the shelves, a few cast-iron skillets, and a Dutch oven. A small store of meal, oatmeal, and flour and lard all orderly in a row.

  She stood before him and looked at the kitchen range, then at the patch quilt that covered bed. “What are you the most hungry for?”

  He pushed off his boot with his toe and she laughed. Unbuttoning her dress down the front, she continued laughing, almost beside herself. “I am too.”

  In minutes, naked, she turned back the covers. Undressed, he admired her snowy body, and when his palm ran over her back, she swallowed hard and straightened.

  “No rush,” he said to settle her.

  “Good, I really am pleased—”

  His mouth silenced her. His chest full of her large pearshaped breasts and the hunger in her efforts all told him he had lots to enjoy. They soon fell into the surf of her sheets and waves of pleasure swept over them. The calmness soon became a deep desire that drowned them in a fire of passion and physical strength.

  My God, what a woman. . . .

  16

  A cool morning wind swept his freshly shaven cheeks as Slocum saddled the livery horse in the lamplight. He was pleased that Hannah had to be at work so early. It gave him time to have an early breakfast before renting a pony and being ready for Joe Day when he rode up.

  “You must be an early riser,” Day said when they met.

  “I can get around early, though I am used to a camp cook’s bell ringing.”

  “I checked a little more at the office yesterday. Those men riding with Rensler may be wanted too. I have five warrants from Marshal Hindman in Vinita for five other men who may be connected to him.”

  “Good, we can clean up the whole gang,” Slocum said. “If we can find them.”

  “I thought the same thing. I wonder if they’re out at this Ward Provisions Company. I have never been to their operation. I understand it is quite extensive. They gather large herds of beef there to drive to the reservations.”

  “Someone said an Eastern state senator owned the firm.”

  Day nodded as they crossed the new long bridge across the sluggish Platte River. “I don’t know his name either. Why?”

  “Rensler was in the beef procurement business for the railroad that they are building across the northern tier of the Indian Territory. You reckon there’s a connection?”

  Day simply nodded. “We may find out.”

  The Ward Provisions Company operation was expansive, as Slocum and Day found when they reached the vast corrals, barns, hay operation, and buildings. All painted bright red, they were impressive. The two men dismounted in front of a building marked General Offices and hitched their horses, and Day led the way to the French doors.

  Once inside they removed their hats. A balding man wearing square-cut glasses came into the room and frowned at them.

  “May I help you?”

  “U.S. Deputy Marshal Joseph Day, si
r. This is my posse man, Slocum. We are looking for a Ralph Rensler.”

  “On what sort of business?”

  “I have a warrant for his arrest from the federal court in Fort Smith, Arkansas, for murder and rustling.”

  “I am sorry. There is no such Ralph Rensler here.”

  Day’s back rose with indignation at the man’s words—“no such here.” “I have the authority of the federal court to examine your books, sir. Rensler works either for you or for a subsidiary of this firm. Now, where is he?”

  “You will have to speak to our lawyers in Washington, D.C.”

  “Listen, I’m not messing with no far-off lawyers. That man is here.” Day pointed at the polished hardwood floors.

  “Sir, I will have to send for my security if the two of you don’t leave immediately.”

  “You won’t dare shoot a federal marshal or his posse man. Now, where in this place is our man?”

  “You have no authority—”

  “Slocum, search the house.” Day gave him a head toss.

  Slocum agreed and went through the room full of wide-eyed accountants and on into the back rooms stacked with boxes. No one there.

  “Where do the men sleep?” he asked a young man seated at a desk, who looked worried.

  “Bunkhouse.” He pointed across the manicured lawn to a building near the barns.

  “Thanks.” Slocum went back up front and told Day that if they were on the place, they might be at the bunkhouse across the lawn.

  “We’ll go there next. His name is Pritchard,” Day said indicating the stubborn man they had met first. “You too, Pritchard. You go ahead. If they shoot at us, they’ll get you first on this deal.”

  “You have no authority to do this. You will lose your jobs over this matter.” His voice rose a little higher with each threat. “I will have you fired!”

  “Keep walking—”

  Slocum grabbed Day’s arm and jerked him back at the tinkling of breaking glass. “There’s someone got us in their sights.”

  The two of them made it to the side of the office unscathed. Someone in the second story of the bunkhouse was shooting a rifle at them. The smoke of the shots was boiling out of the window. Pritchard was running the other way and screaming, “Don’t shoot, for God’s sake!”

  The man tripped and fell facedown in the grass. Slocum and Day emptied their pistols at the window and then crawled back to safety to reload. Pritchard’s crying could be heard from where Slocum, along with Day, sat on his butt. What in the hell is he crying for? He isn’t even shot. Guns ready, Slocum and Day rose and ran for the barn.

  There were enough bushy evergreen trees to give them some cover. They slid one of the double doors open, and the wine smell of stabled horses reached Slocum’s nose. Running to the other end, they found a walkway through a door on the west side at the back. Plenty of fine-smelling hay in the tall stack, Slocum decided, looking around the shadowy barn’s interior for signs of anyone.

  Then he heard the sounds of horse riders and hooves drumming the ground. Day looked over at him, shocked. “They must be getting away.”

  They crossed the grounds in time to see two fleeing riders cross it, whipping their horses to escape. Slocum ran inside the bunkhouse and looked at the open staircase, satisfied that the shooter might still be up there. His loaded six-gun in his fist, he eased his boot sole on the whipsawed pine step. It only gave a small creak, and Slocum made a “be silent” sound to Day as the marshal burst through the open door.

  “Hell, I don’t see anyone in here. Let’s go get our horses,” Day said, to make the suspect upstairs think they were leaving.

  “Sure,” Slocum agreed, easing up the staircase.

  “Let’s go,” Day said and slammed the door shut, remaining inside. Slocum advanced silently toward the second floor landing. He thought he heard the scuffle of feet coming toward him, and he paused, pointing the pistol’s muzzle at the opening. His heart thudded under his breastbone and he listened so hard his ears hurt.

  Then a cough told him the shooter was about halfway between the north window and the exit stairs. Slocum would have to charge him when he drew much closer. He removed his hat and set it on the step. Then, after he gathered himself up, he charged up the stairs and looked down the room to where the gunman sat on his butt, holding his bleeding leg.

  “I’m shot.”

  Slocum took the man’s gun away from him and shook his head. “I really don’t feel sorry for you. Where did Rensler go?”

  When the man didn’t answer, Slocum kicked him hard in the side with his boot toe. “Where is he going?”

  “Damn, you busted a rib.” He bowed over, holding his side. “I’ m shot and bleeding to death on the floor.”

  “Yeah, you’d’ve done worse than that to me if you had the upper hand. Where’s Rensler going?”

  “I guess out of the country. He never told me.”

  “I’m not a patient man and I’m not above cutting off your ear.”

  “All right, all right. Cheyenne.”

  “Who will hide him out there?”

  At the sight of Slocum’s hunting knife, he put up his hands. “I don’t—No, no, I’ll tell you. There’s a railroad headed north from there.”

  “It must be close to Douglas by now, huh?”

  “I need a doctor. I don’t want to die.”

  “What’s your name?” Day was squatting down on the floor.

  “Casey McDonald.”

  “Good,” Day said, nodding his head. “I’ve got a Fort Smith warrant for him. At least we’ll get paid for today,” he said to Slocum.

  Slocum holstered his knife. “We want all their things. They won’t need them.”

  When he turned he saw three men wearing some private badges with rifles standing on the steps. Their leader demanded, “Who in the hell are you two?”

  “U.S. Deputy Marshal Joe Day and my posse man, Slocum.”

  The older of the men frowned. “What are you doing on this property?”

  “Looking for who’s harboring criminals on their property. Two got away. You want to face those charges?”

  “Hell no.”

  “Then get this man to Ogallala and the doctor. Then I may not consider your part in this a crime, as I do now. Well, don’t stand there. Get him to the doc!” Day shouted at the men.

  Slocum and Day went through the men’s war bags for any evidence. They did find some letters from Ward Provisions addressed to Ralph Rensler. At last, Slocum and Day were ready to go back to Ogallala. The wounded man they’d had hauled off to town would be there when they got there.

  “How’s it all tied to the senator?” Day asked as they rode back in the midafternoon.

  “Damned if I know, but we do know Ward Provisions has some hand in these beef contracts.”

  “Shit fire, there ought to be a way to lock them all up for doing it.”

  “Hell, Joe, nothing is that easy.”

  “Guess you’re right. What’re you doing in the morning?” Day asked.

  “Going after a woman whose brother murdered a good man down in Texas.”

  “Where’s she at?”

  “Wood’s Island.”

  “Who’s she?”

  “I don’t care about her. I want her brother, who’s on his way up here to stay with her.”

  “I’ll ride along. I want to see how you handle a damn woman.” Joe laughed.

  Slocum went by the livery and paid for another day’s rent on the horse. He went by the butcher shop, stood in line with some housewives, and picked up some beef, then rode over to Hannah’s cabin and unsaddled his pony. She must have heard him because she came running around the corner of the house. A high-pitched scream in her throat, she about took him down tackling him.

  “You came back. Oh, Slocum, I never expected to see you again. I was afraid I wasn’t handy enough to suit you.” Kissing him, she looked taken aback and surprised when he handed her the wrapped package of steak he’d bought for them.

&nbs
p; “Silly. Why, you’re handy enough for any man.” He flathandedly spanked her on the rump, and she straightened while trying to unwrap the package.

  “Well, good.” She gave up short of opening it, and they headed through the cabin door with his arm on her shoulder.

  “I bought us some fresh cut steaks in that package.”

  “That may be better. Then my bacon and eggs idea won’t be needed. Tell me about today.” She led him inside.

  “We have one of Rensler’s men, Casey McDonald, in jail. He was shot in the leg but his boss and another man got away. They fled the place fast, and I told Joe Day we’d look for him later.”

  “I don’t know McDonald. And tomorrow?” She set the meat package on her dry sink and undid the bindings, then approved of his purchase with a nod.

  “We’ll see if we can learn if Rensler really fled the country and then check on the Hudson brothers’ sister.”

  “Penelope, huh?”

  He nodded. Before he sat on the straight-backed chair, he took off his hat and put it on a wall peg. “I figured some suitor might be here by the time I got back and I’d have to cook them on a stick for myself.”

  She laughed, peeling potatoes, and shook her head. “I told you once. Who wants a woman whose big feet hang over the end of the bed?”

  “I don’t mind.”

  She put down the potato in her hand, then came over and kissed him on the cheek. “You sure know how to flatter a woman. But I’m too tall. I scare most men away.”

  “It’s a damn shame.”

  “Well,” she said, going back to her peeling and looking at the underside of the cedar shake roof, “I could do this food fixing later and nothing would rot. You dying hungry?”

  He grinned at her. “For what?”

  “Damn, why didn’t you say so when you came?” The peeled whole spud dropped into the cold water, and she quickly dried her hand. “This is going to be lots better than food.”

  “Yes.” He rose and began to toe off his boots. She was undoing her dress. He hung his gun belt on the chair’s post, admiring her long legs as she took the slip off over her head,

  In seconds they were kissing. Mouth to mouth they about fell on the bed, magnetized tightly to each other. He let her loose to sit on the bed, and she scrambled to the far side to sit up and hugged her legs in the shadowy light of the room.