Slocum and the Teamster Lady

by Jake Logan

  “Your horse all right?” Hayes asked.

  “Yeah, he’s part Thoroughbred.”

  Hayes laughed, drawing his horse up beside him. “Which end? The front or the back?”

  “I’m not certain about that yet. I’ll let you know later.”

  “Cozzy, wasn’t that horse you secured for Slocum one of the best in the stables?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “See what we have to put up with?”

  “You go to Mexico on these New York street cop ponies and you’ll be afoot in three days. The horse I rode over here on from Bowie I bet never makes another trip.”

  “Oh, so you see the problem. Will you tell Crook I need better horses?”

  “I’ll tell him, but I don’t know the good it will do. Your own quartermaster bought these animals, I’d bet.”

  “And he buys stolen Mexican beef from Ike Clanton’s man as well.”

  “You want to sell beef to the army or Indian agents, you have to go through Ike.”

  “Part of the damn system. We’re fighting a fucking war with our hands tied behind our back.”

  “And Eastern newspapers say the army has overemphasized the entire Apache problem.”

  “Yeah, have ’em tell that to Randolph Taylor, who lives outside of Patagonia. They kidnapped his wife and teenage daughter two years ago and no one’s seen them since. Or the Cripps family over by the Dragoons. All of them tortured and then murdered. It goes on and on.”

  “All overexaggerated.”

  “I ever get one of their reporters out here, I’d overexaggerate him.”

  They arrived at the river crossing in late morning. Hayes led the fording. Swift water ran almost to Slocum’s mount’s knees in the deepest part. They were soon across, and the horses shook as hard as they could to throw off the water clinging to them.

  The series of adobe buildings marked the trading post and cantina. A tall man with a snowy mustache, wearing a gold-braid-decorated, tan civilian waistcoat, stood under the palm frond shade of the porch.

  “Good morning, mis amigos.”

  Hayes nodded. “We are looking for lunch.”

  “Come inside. I have some fresh barbecued cabrito for your noon meal.”

  “Meyer, this is Slocum. He’s a scout attached to General Crook’s office at Bowie.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Arnold said. “What can I do for you?”

  “There’s word that Whey was shot in an attack on a wagon train taking supplies to Huachuca.”

  “I have heard that, too.”

  “What do you think? Whey survived or not?”

  Arnold clapped his hands, and four women came into the room. “Ladies, fix my friends here, some cabrito and frijoles and tortillas,” Arnold said to the women, who looked to be waiting for the word. They scurried off, and soon great-smelling food appeared.

  “I also heard that Reynaldo Garcia was making a guns-for-gold swap with the Apaches,” Arnold said.

  “Who’s he?” Captain Hayes asked.

  “A local generale. You know about him, Slocum?”

  “Yes. The central Mexican government hires some private concessionaires who supply them soldiers-of-fortune armies. Garcia does this out of Arriba. What makes you think he’s taking them arms?”

  “Oh, Señor, I listen to the winds and also gossip. It will tell you things before they happen.”

  “That’s how you learn in this country,” Slocum said.

  Hayes nodded in agreement and began filling his plate with the barbecued goat meat and the frijoles set out on the table.

  “Getting back to Whey,” Slocum said, topping his plate full of food with some very fresh flour tortillas.

  “Oh, I hear some small things. They say they rushed Whey to a doctor.”

  “A doctor?”

  “Yes, a white doctor.”

  “Where at?”

  “The word was it was a white man’s gun shot him and a white doctor could cure him.”

  Slocum frowned before he took another bite. “Who would that be?”

  “I am not certain, but they couldn’t take him far, could they?”

  “He’s a tough old bird. Depends how badly he was shot up, of course.”

  “Would you pay me to hire some boys to go check on all the medical doctors around here? They can find out and see if we can trace him from there?”

  Between mouthfuls of food, Hayes asked, “How much would it cost?”

  “Ah, say twenty American dollars.”

  Hayes looked at Slocum. “I can afford that?”

  “You’re footing the bill,” Slocum said. “But I’m sure Crook would agree to that much money being spent on such a cause.”

  “Then tomorrow,” Arnold said, “I shall send out ten boys to learn if Whey came by for treatment.”

  “Good. It would make a starting place,” Hayes said, and wiped his mouth on a cloth napkin, then motioned his hand at the man. “Great food.”

  “Thank you.”

  Slocum’s thoughts went back to Reynaldo Garcia. The man was a backstabber, a liar and cheat. The very mention of the big man’s name made Arnold uneasy. Garcia would do anything to make a peso, including forcing his own grand-mother to work in a whorehouse.

  After the fine meal, Slocum and the other two rode back to Ft. Huachuca to wait for Arnold’s report on Whey’s medical treatment, if anyone knew a thing about it. It was way after suppertime when they arrived back at the fort on their jaded horses. Slocum decided that if they had to chase Apaches in Mexico on those mounts, the Apaches would escape them riding jackrabbits.

  “This horse situation is terrible,” Slocum said to Hayes. “Those horses we brought for Bowie were just as bad. One good ride and they caved in.”

  “They’re all we have.”

  “Well, I can tell you right now, you try to ride into the Madres on horses like them, you’ll be foot soldiers in two days.”

  “It’s serious—the horse deal. But for now, let the mess hall feed us,” Hayes offered as they walked up the fort road toward the main buildings and officer row in the twilight.

  “We’ll eat. Right, Private?” Slocum asked Cozzy.

  “Yes, sir.”

  The food dished out to them at that late hour bore no comparison to the rich-tasting meal that Arnold served them earlier, but Slocum decided it would fill some space in his empty guts. After the meal, he thanked the two and went off to the visitor quarters. At the base of the steps, he halted and looked at the swing in the final shadows with the sun beyond the horizon in the west. Empty. He’d kind of hoped that she might still be there.

  Oh, well. He started up the steps and looked in the dim-lit doorway. No light shone in her room. They’d never mentioned that morning about getting together again. Perhaps she’d left. He drew a deep breath and went inside the softly lit hallway.

  “Learn anything today?”

  He smiled, grateful that she was standing there just inside the open doorway to her room. “We’re trying to find out if Whey was treated by any doctor in Mexico and what was his condition.”

  “No news?”

  “No, but we have several folks looking for answers.”

  “I wondered if you’d even get back tonight.”

  He bent over and hugged her. “I was coming.”

  She swept the hair from her face and pursed her mouth for him to kiss her. Then he took her up in his arms and carried her down the hall to his room. “What occupied your day?”

  “I hired a new driver to take Luther’s place. He’s young, but stout and should work all right.”

  “When’re you going back to Tucson?”

  “Tomorrow. I’ll be back in a week.”

  He set her down. “Nothing turns up about Whey, I may go on.”

  “Where to?”

  “I’m not certain. I’m tired of not getting anything done about these renegades.” He dropped to his knees and then gently laid her on his bedroll. “Mexico won’t let us chase them across the border. Their army i
s afraid of them. I told Crook if things didn’t get to moving, count me out.”

  He bent over and kissed her as he undid his vest buttons. Before he could shed it, she pulled him down on top of her and kissed him hard. When she came up for air, she was gasping. “Damn you. What did you wake up inside of me?”

  He squirmed a little to be comfortable on top of her and the long gown she wore. Braced up over her face, he smiled down at her. “So I cut it loose, huh?”

  “Yes. I’ve been getting along fine for two years—not even thinking about it, and I woke up this morning—well, you were gone and I was so heated up—I tried to use my finger. But that’s a damn poor excuse for having a certain man in me.”

  “You must not have been very far away from it for me to wake it up.”

  “You sure opened my cave door.” She laughed and wiggled suggestively under him.

  He kissed her again. His hand lifted her gown, his palm sliding over her silky legs. In anticipation, she spread her legs apart and he gently began to probe her with his middle finger. In minutes, her butt was off the bedroll. She twisted and thrust to match his actions. Her heavy breathing grew loud as he teased her ear with his tongue.

  She tore at the buttons on his shirt until he stopped fingering her and began to undress, gripped by an urgency to be naked and inside of her. Quickly, she shed the gown over her head and on her knees helped him to take off his pants. Shirt gone. Boots off. His frantic fingers undid his underwear. When it was open at last, his erection flew out. She caught it and her lips closed on the tip.

  He felt ready to scream. Her tongue rasped the ring of the head and made him want to soar off like a screaming Chinese rocket. The next few minutes jumbled his mind as she took all of him in her mouth. Then, when he thought he would scream, she moved under him and pulled him down on top of her, and they scrambled to connect.

  His great lance entered her lubricated walls and she gave a small cry, “Yes, yes, yes . . .”

  Her back in a U-shape to accept all of him, he pressed harder and deeper with each stroke. Their friction burned the coarse pubic hair between them. His butt was driving her hard and the need grew inside of him to explode. His breath raged through his raw throat like a forge being pumped more air. Then something gripped his balls in a vise. He felt the lava rise in his tubes, and then the molten rock exploded out the skintight head of his dick—they both collapsed.

  “Slocum, Slocum.” She rolled out and climbed on top of his chest. “Where did you ever come from?”

  She buried her face in his chest to kiss him and then laid her head on top of his breastbone. “My, my, that was not sex, that was something else. Tell me about your life.”

  He pulled her up higher and kissed her willing mouth. “I came from Georgia. My family had a farm before then. The war killed my mother. Broke her heart. My father couldn’t live under their jurisdiction. He died. I shot a federal judge, which caused him to die. And I left Georgia.”

  “You have no wife, no roots?”

  “None, except you here tonight.”

  “What a waste. You’ve spoiled me. I never ever escaped to another world doing this before. God bless his soul, my husband loved me and I figured he did the best he knew how. But he never awoke the wicked bruja in me like you have. First, well, he wasn’t made as big as you, and second—oh, when I first saw yours I thought that huge thing—well, I first figured it would rip me open, but it didn’t.

  “Whewie, I mean—” She swept the hair back from her face with one hand. “It is just crazy is all I can say.”

  He raised up and kissed her. “Don’t worry, it’s still there.”

  She rolled her gaze to the ceiling and let out a slow exhale. “Guess we aren’t getting much sleep tonight either.”

  He hugged her hard and kissed her. “That’s up to you.”

  4

  The next morning, no word yet from Arnold was what Private Cozzy told him. Hayes was in a staff meeting. So Slocum trailed along after Willa’s fringed hem while she checked on her wagons, mules, and men. He met the individual teamsters, shook their hands, and listened as she told them how McCullie would be in charge, and the army was going to escort them back and forth at least halfway to ensure they made it.

  “Won’t be the same without you, little sister,” McCullie said.

  She held up her hands to cut off their protests. “You men know more about freighting than I’ll ever know. This deal over Luther has struck me so hard, I’m taking a little time off to try and find myself again.”

  They surrendered and nodded that they understood.

  “Now you’ll be leaving tomorrow at daylight. God be with you.”

  “You, too, little sister,” the voices said in a chorus.

  She turned, wetting her lips, and Slocum could see she was close to crying. Everyone seated around the wagon camp looked upset when she left them, headed away in a fast walk. Slocum held his hand up to hold them off. “Give her some time. She’ll be all right.”

  “Thanks for looking after her,” McCullie said and the others added their approval.

  When he finally caught up with her, he said, “Slow down. The worst is over.”

  She turned her tear-stained face up at him, still not missing a beat of her fast walk. “No, it’s not over. It won’t ever be over. My life—”

  He caught her by the arm and swung her around into him.

  Her arms encompassed his waist and she cried on his vest. “No, no, nothing ever goes right in my life.”

  He looked up at the towering Huachuca Mountain. He’d find them some solitary place up there. “Let’s get some horses, foodstuff, and go hide out somewhere in the high country.”

  She looked up and blinked her wet eyes at him. “Where?”

  “Oh, somewhere on those mountains where no one can find us.”

  “Never find us—oh, yes—let’s go.”

  “What about the rest of your freighting business?”

  “I have a good accountant and man in Tucson, Phillip Tate, he can fill the orders and the army is going to guard it. McCullie can run the wagon train part. I just want to get away.”

  “We’ll line up some horses, a couple of pack mules and supplies, and head out in the morning,”

  “What about your scouting deal?”

  “I already told Crook I was leaving the service if something didn’t break loose on this impasse over the border crossing. It hasn’t and doesn’t look like it will.”

  “Then we better go into Sierra Vista and find us some saddle stock.”

  “Let’s go.”

  By noon, they had two stout, bulldog mountain ponies to ride. The kind that could handily scale steep mountains, live on dry grass, and carry a big man all day and not peter out. Both geldings stood perhaps twelve hands, a dusty red roan and a blood bay with a white blaze on his face. Four or five years old. No shin splints, freshly shod, and ready for the long ride if needed. These horses had a swinging walk that most horses would have to trot to match.

  After his experience with military remounts, Slocum was pleased with their luck in finding such prime riding stock. He was on his haunches dickering over two pack mules. Beside him, with a week’s whiskers, was Lyle Hartman, the livery man, who was spitting tobacco out of the side of his mouth, and the more they talked about the mule trade the faster he spat.

  “I’ve got to have a hundred apiece for them mules. Hell, Slocum, the quartermaster will pay more than that for them when Crook gets ready to jump that border.”

  “I doubt that ever happens. Besides, he’d issue you a warrant for the cost and you might not get to cash it for a year.”

  “Aw, it would be good—someday.”

  “I like the two darker mules, but the shorter one is too old. He’s getting gray around the mouth.”

  “They sold him to me for a nine-year-old.”

  Slocum shifted his weight to his other foot. “Nineteen, maybe.”

  “That gray is broke to ride.”

  “You co
uld see him a mile away.” Slocum shook his head.

  “Hell, you going spying?” Hartman looked around for Willa.

  “She’s getting the packsaddles picked out and pads.”

  “Whew. Wish I was going off with her instead of you,” he said under his breath, then turned his head away and spat loudly. “That is one fine package of blasting powder.”

  Slocum nodded in agreement. “How old is the gray?”

  “Dead broke and five.”

  “So he’s seven.”

  Hartman shook his head in pained disgust at Slocum’s comment and wiped his bristled mouth on the back of his hand. “Business is a little slow right now. I’ll sell you both the bay you want and the gray for a hundred-fifty.”

  “Bring them on.”

  Hartman struggled to his feet and laughed. “You’re harder to trade with than any Scotsman I ever met.”

  “I don’t have all day to argue is all, or I’d got you down some more.”

  Hartman was brushing off the seat of his pants and grinned big. “I would’t waste this much time away from her sweet ass.”

  Slocum clapped the man on the shoulder and laughed. “She’s been widowed a while.”

  “Hmm.” Hartman snuffed at the notion. “Why, I ain’t even in her class.”

  “A good shearing and some clean clothes, you might impress the lady sometime.”

  “You reckon?” Hartman squeezed his chin as if considering the matter.

  Slocum nodded and they went in the pen to catch his mules.

  By noontime, they were back at the fort and loaded their things on the pack animals. Slocum rode over to Hayes’s headquarters and left word he was leaving. And for them to wire Crook good luck and if he learned anything he’d send him word.