Slocum and the Snake-Pit Slavers

by Jake Logan

  “Why didn’t you just tell me this when we were having dinner last night? Might’ve been able to . . .” He stopped himself, but the implication was there. They could have saved the old man’s life, maybe even the lives of the four bandits. Who knew?

  “I did not know you. I did not trust you. You weren’t there, in the dark. Big Gabe . . . it was no good.”

  “Did he hurt you?”

  “He did, yes. And the others. They said it was to make sure I would keep my mouth quiet about going to the law.”

  “What about last night with me? You seemed to trust me then.”

  “That sort of thing is different. It had nothing to do with anything else.”

  Slocum swung down from his horse and helped her down. This was a complex girl, no doubt.

  A narrow stream of cool, clear water cut through thinning sage and scrubby pines. Slocum led the horses to it, let them drink their fill. He nodded to the girl and she crouched down, managing despite her bound hands, and sipped just upstream from the four horses. When she was finished, she stood and it seemed to Slocum that he was seeing her for the first time, the real Tita. She regarded him with a level gaze, no bitterness hidden in her eyes, no fake smile, no veiled villainy or anger.

  Without taking his eyes from her, he slipped his Bowie knife from its sheath and sliced through the rope binding her wrists. “We need to work together on this thing.”

  She nodded and rubbed her chafed wrists, then soaked them in the stream. “Do you have a plan?” she said as she waggled her hands in the water, flexing her fingers.

  He smiled and tossed her a strip of jerky, watching the horses as they nosed around the sparsely covered ground for something edible. “Me? A plan? I thought I might send you back to Minton, scare up some law. Meanwhile, I’ll mosey on in there, see what’s what.”

  “If you will excuse me for saying so, that’s not much of a plan, John Slocum.”

  “You are free to make it into something we can both be proud of—or at least something that might not get us both killed.”

  She chewed the tough leathery meat. “How about you take me in there as your prisoner? That would put you in good standing with the boss of the ranch.”

  “That would be that colonel, the one you referred to as a ‘bastard,’ if I recall.”

  “Yes, him. That way you will be one of the guards or whatever they have there—lots of men, that much I can tell you. They have lots of men with guns there.”

  “Great,” said Slocum, rasping a hand across his stubbled jaw.

  “It is as if they are guarding something of great value.”

  “I don’t doubt that. Gold usually breeds men with guns like a thin hound breeds lice. Tell me, why would you want to do this? Give yourself over to them just like that?” He leaned close to her face, but she didn’t flinch, didn’t back away.

  “You sure there isn’t something you’re forgetting to tell me?”

  “John Slocum, I don’t want to go to Minton to find the law. I don’t think the law would listen to me. I think they would find all the dead men you’ve left behind and they would blame me, maybe even my grandfather. They might even blame us for Miss Meecher not being around. In case you haven’t noticed, I am not like you, eh? I am a Mexican, and that means I am not treated the same way you are.”

  Slocum tightened the cinch on their saddles and said, “First it’s being a woman that’s so godawful, then it’s being a Mexican. What’s next with you, girl? You keep on like this, life will be nothing but one sour apple after another.”

  “I am not going back to the law alone. I don’t care what you say.”

  “I could just tie you up and leave you here.”

  “You could, but you will not.”

  “Oh?” He leaned against his saddle. “And why not?”

  “Because we have one more night on the trail and you will get cold. It is the way of all men.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her and swung up into the saddle. “Mount up. I want you riding in front of me.”

  “Of course you do.”

  “Hmm.”

  “You don’t trust me?” she said as she rode by him.

  “Not yet.” He watched her back, then said, “Maybe I will later.”

  Ahead of him, facing forward, the girl smiled.

  6

  For the rest of the day, the girl gave Slocum no trouble, even offered a handful of half smiles and coquettish looks—all reasons that made him more inclined than ever to sleep with one eye open and the other one half-shut. He didn’t make it this far as a wanted man since the war not to recognize when he was being strung along. This girl had more she wasn’t telling—he just hoped it didn’t get him into hot water once he got to the Triple T.

  “We’ll camp here,” he said late in the day. They had descended into a misty little glade beside fresh water. It looked to be a spot others had used for just that purpose, though not in a while. Good thing, since the last thing he wanted was to be stumbled upon as they rested up for what he guessed was going to be a hard next day.

  They spent a quiet time readying their meager camp, and built a decent cook fire since he reasoned unless they were overrun by a dozen emissaries from the ranch—the land of which they might well be on now anyway—he could probably talk his way out of whatever sticky situation might arise, if the girl played along. He still wasn’t sure of her and her intentions. Since they made camp, she had left off being exceedingly nice and resumed a more moderate temperament, which suited Slocum just fine.

  After a decent meal of biscuits, beans, bacon, and coffee, they discussed vague plans for the next day. It didn’t much matter to Slocum what she had in mind, as long as she complied with what he wanted to do. She’d not proven herself to be trustworthy and he let her know such in no uncertain terms.

  “Then I will go in as your prisoner, as I said earlier, and you can try to become one of them.”

  “The first part of that is what bothers me,” he said, setting down his cup on a flat rock by the fireside. “What will you do once they have you in their hands, girl?”

  “I can take care of myself, John Slocum.” She poked at the fire with a stick.

  “No, you’ll pardon me for saying so, but I don’t think you can. You are a kind young woman, but you are no match for them. If what you and your grandfather said is true, and I have less reason now than ever to doubt you, then we are talking about some mighty bad men. Men you don’t want to fall in with again.”

  “You forget, I have already, as you say, ‘fallen in with them.’ Now it is just a matter of falling in again. It will be worth it if we can get Miss Meecher back. She’s the only person I have left in the world who means anything to me. Do you understand that? Have you ever felt that way about anybody?”

  Slocum looked at her for a long moment over the shimmering heat and drifting smoke of the small fire. Finally he said, “Yes, as a matter of fact, I have.” Then he said no more, his mind for the moment irretrievably lost on a trail he’d not intentionally traveled very much at all in years.

  His family, taken from him so long ago, and yet sometimes it felt like yesterday that he’d lost them. The war had a way of smearing itself into a person’s life, of blotting out whole weeks and months and years. He wondered if other people who’d been through it felt the same way.

  How did such things begin in the first place? Arguments among neighbors blossomed into bigger and broader disagreements until weapons were raised. And soon, people who wanted nothing more than to be left alone were caught up in the midst of the madness, too, and they were hurt . . . or worse.

  “It’s the innocent people who need the help every time,” he said, almost in a whisper.

  “What did you say?”

  He spun on her, his hand already grabbing for a Colt. She had somehow crept close to him while he sat there like a fool, casting for
old, worn-out memories and staring into the fire.

  She drew back in alarm, her eyes showing genuine fear of him for the first time that he recalled. Innocent eyes, and his first reaction was to defend himself with violence. He settled the gun back in the leather. “I’m sorry about that. You startled me. I never heard you creep up like that.”

  “No, it is I who am sorry. I should not have come up to you like that, but you seemed so sad all of a sudden.”

  They sat like that for a few more minutes, then she shivered.

  “Don’t you have any more clothes?”

  “I’m wearing them.”

  Slocum hopped up, and in a moment came back with his wool blanket, wrapped it around both their shoulders, and pulled her to him. She set her head on his chest and soon he heard her quiet, steady breathing that told him she had fallen asleep.

  He didn’t mind it in the least. It was a nice evening, stars were out, the horses were safe, his belly was full, and he had coffee at hand. A quirly would be nice, but he could forgo a trip to the saddlebag for that. He needed time to think things through. He’d never intended to ride into such a hornets’ nest, but here he was, and there, up ahead at the ranch, were supposedly a whole lot of people who weren’t able to help themselves. He had no idea what help he might offer them, but he had to try something. Anything would be better than letting them live as slaves.

  The girl shifted in her sleep, brought a hand just under her chin. He pulled the blanket tight around her. It was a nice feeling. She seemed like a good person, pretty, intelligent, headstrong, and bent on some mission that she wasn’t yet ready to tell him about, of that he felt sure. Maybe it was as simple as flat-out revenge. Maybe she really did just care for Marybeth that much. Lord knows she had that effect on people.

  A finer woman than Marybeth Meecher he’d not come across in a long time. He’d thought of her often on the trail, wondering what life would have been like with her had he stayed on as she’d asked him to. He’d been sorely tempted and had remained with her for far longer than he’d intended at the outset.

  But in the end, his fear of bringing his troubles as a wanted man to her doorstep led him to move on. He vowed to her he’d be back. But one thing let to another, and before he knew it, nearly three years had passed. Life had a way of doing that—entire months or years seemed to pass in a finger snap.

  Just then a coyote wailed not that far off, then another closer in. Soon it seemed they had the camp ringed. The girl tensed, looked up at him. “Are we in danger?”

  “Nah, they’re just singing. To my mind, they are mostly musical creatures. Lots of folks will kill them just for the sake of killing them, but I like them. Good company on the trail when it’s dark and lonely at night.” He looked down at her, smiled. “As long as they don’t get too friendly, that is. After all, they are wild creatures.”

  “Me, too, John Slocum.” Her hand snaked down his belly and rested on the buttoned fly of his denims. “But you let me get close, eh?”

  7

  The next morning, they had forked leather and were pounding the dust trail an hour before sunrise, leftover biscuits and bacon in their hands. A bellyful of hot coffee was the one concession to slowing down—Slocum liked to start his day with hot coffee whenever possible, and today it just didn’t seem to matter if they waited another twenty minutes for the coffee to boil.

  “Do you always travel this way?”

  “What way is that?” Slocum said through a mouthful of biscuit and bacon.

  “Up early and going fast.”

  “Only way I know to keep one step ahead of whatever it is we’re all trying to outrun in this life.”

  “You have a funny way of talking, John Slocum.”

  “So you said. Listen, I expect we’ll be to the ranch headquarters before noon. Any of this look familiar to you? After all, you’ve been along here and I haven’t.”

  “Yes, this is the way to the ranch. You should tie my hands before we get there and make sure you can explain the extra horses.”

  “I will, don’t you worry. But I’m not going to lie.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m going to say I shot the men. They attacked us first, after all. Gave me no reason and no choice.”

  The girl said nothing, but Slocum noticed that she looked troubled and unsure of herself, something he’d not seen on her face before.

  By midmorning, with a high sun and no breeze threatening a few more hot hours in the saddle, Slocum reined up and fetched his telescope from his saddlebag. He extended it and raised it to his eye. “Yep, a welcoming party, I’d say. Two men headed this way. Must have seen our dust.”

  He handed the device to the girl and she looked through it.

  “I expect they’ll be on us inside of twenty minutes. We best get you trussed up—if you’re still up for it.”

  “Of course I am. It’s too late now anyway.”

  “No, no, it’s not. We could figure out something else.”

  “Like what?”

  “I have no idea,” he said, “but I’m sure something will occur to me.”

  She closed her eyes and sighed. “No, I must be seen to be your prisoner if this is to work.”

  “I don’t like the idea of you going in there alone, as a captive. Those men aren’t to be trusted—they’ll try to hurt you.”

  “No, they won’t. I know someone that will help protect me. Trust me, I can’t explain it right now. But trust me. Besides, it is the fastest way I know of to get inside with the slaves. Only . . . promise me, John Slocum, that you will come for us.” She looked away and Slocum realized that any odd behavior he’d seen in her since yesterday was probably nothing more than nervousness.

  He tied her wrists and they didn’t speak again until the riders came close enough that they could take in their appearance—the riders weren’t impressive.

  “For as vast and rich a ranch as this, you’d think the owner could afford a better caliber of man than what we’ve seen so far.”

  The first to ride up, a tall, reedlike man sitting ramrod straight on a bay, reined up to within ten feet of them. The other, a short, young man with a chaw bulge in his cheek, ambled up on a splay-legged buckskin. He spoke first. “What you doing here, mister? This here’s Triple T land and you are trespassin’.”

  “Shut up, Harley.” The thin man narrowed his eyes and looked past Slocum. “Looks like he’s done more than trespass, looks like somehow he’s got Gabe’s and the Pole’s horses in tow.”

  “And no Gabe nor Pole,” said Slocum. “So those were their names.”

  The young, chubby ranch hand reached for his pistol. “What do you mean, ‘were’? You didn’t kill them, did you?”

  Slocum already had his Colt drawn and sat shaking his head.

  The older, thin man watched all this. “Leave it be, Harley. I’ll do the talking, you do the shuttin’ up. How ’bout it, mister? How you come to have possession of their horses? Where they at?”

  “About a day’s ride south of here, laid out on the hillside where they ambushed us.”

  The tall man didn’t show much emotion, just sat there regarding Slocum and the girl. Harley, behind him, had turned a deep shade of purple and worked his chaw in a furious manner. Finally the tall man said, “The girl. I seen her before. Why’s she trussed up?”

  “Tried to kill me.”

  “Sounds like everyone’s out to get you.”

  “That’s a truth, I haven’t been having the best run of luck lately. Far as the girl goes, I had no choice. I’d come too far to take her back to the law.” Slocum glanced at her. “And she’s too pretty to shoot, so I brung her along, figured that with a ranch the size of the Triple T, there might well be some sort of use for such a creature as this. Scullery maid or some such.”

  The pudgy youth sluiced a long rope of brown chew juice, then d
ragged a cuff across his begrimed whiskers. “Oh, we’ll find something for her to do, you can bet on that.”

  “I just bet you will. Just so you know, she stays with me. I don’t find the job I was promised once I get to the ranch, we’re leaving together. She may have tried to kill me, but she has her uses.”

  “What’s this about a job?” Harley glared at Slocum.

  “Harley, is it? Do as the man says and shut up.”

  The thin man nodded, almost smiled, then said, “So what’s this about a job?”

  “No offense, friend, but unless you’re the owner of this here ranch, I suggest we just get moving along. I am expected.”

  The man’s jaw muscles tightened but he nodded, flicked a finger toward Harley, and said, “That side. I’ll ride here, beside Mr. . . .”

  “And it’s a pleasure to meet you, too,” said Slocum, not offering his name. The tall man didn’t press it.

  They rode for another hour. The only sounds were the horses’ shod hooves occasionally striking a stone, the creak of worn saddle leather, the soft rubbery snort of a horse blowing. Anytime Slocum glanced at Harley, the chunky youth had his eyes focused on Tita’s bobbing breasts. He was going to be trouble—and there was probably a whole bunkhouse full of Harleys up ahead. Slocum regretted agreeing to the girl’s plan, but now there truly was no way out of it. They had to go forward. He hoped like hell she had something up her sleeve that she wasn’t telling him about. Or she was going to have a rough time of it.

  When the ranch came into view, it was as impressive as Slocum had been led to believe. The buildings were all painted white, stick-built, not log—at least the fronts. And the ranch house itself was a massive affair with columns and two full verandahs that would look more at home down South, where he’d spent his youth in Georgia. He did note that everything looked as though it could use a fresh coat of paint.

  A third rider rode out to meet them and halted them at a second decorative gate that led to the buildings proper. He was a well-muscled, tousle-haired man who Slocum was sure was a hit with the ladies even when he wasn’t trying to be. He kept glancing back over his shoulder. Slocum followed his sightline and saw, beyond the barns, a four-mule team pulling a heavy, shrouded wagon away from the buildings toward the craggy low peaks in the near distance.