Slocum 421

by Jake Logan

  “What’s wrong?”

  “There’s a band of outlaws Parker’s men can’t corral. The Choctaw Tribal Police can’t either or don’t want to. They do like the Cherokee Police used to. Avoid. You know they still do.”

  “What can I do?”

  “You know how to stop a gang like that?”

  “They’re well armed and tough?”

  “Oh, yes and elusive. They rape young girls at stomps, rob old people. No good for anything.” She shook her head in disgust.

  “Are there any honest people will help us?”

  She nodded, and then, taking charge, she took him by the arm. “I will feed you and we can make up some time that I have missed not having you.”

  “My horse and mule?”

  “They will be fine. It isn’t raining or snowing on them.”

  They both laughed and went inside her small house. “Tomorrow night we can go to a stomp, and I will gather others that will help you,” she said.

  He shrugged. She’d already volunteered him to do the job. He seemed to get into the damndest deals with the most amazing women he knew all across the West. It was almost like they saved things up for him to do.

  17

  Folks always came early for the good places to camp at those stomps. Slocum hooked Anita’s horse to a light wagon, put in her canvas shelter and some poles for cooking pots, and told her to get any food items she lacked out of his panniers. They were loaded after breakfast. The night before they’d bathed in the nearby stream, and she had shaved him afterward. Then she traded his boss-of-the-plains felt hat for an unblocked gray one she had and dressed him in a buckskin vest. It changed his appearance considerably, and he told her he even felt like a Choctaw.

  She smiled and patted his shoulder. “I told you I’d hide you.”

  They were at the Henson Schoolhouse by midday, after talking to several others on the road. The wide valley sat surrounded by grassy hills with several strong springs. People chose their sites and set up under the pecan trees. Anita’s setup was strung from trees, and the posts to support it were braced with staked ropes that could be tightened in case of rain. It was a stout camp.

  She began to make donuts that emitted a strong vanilla flavor and drew many for a handout.

  Women chattered and menfolk squatted on the ground at the edge of the large shade and told Slocum about the Scroggs gang.

  Bennie Cross was a short man with a dark face wrinkled like an aged apple. He was very angry about this group of a half dozen outlaws who were overrunning the district’s social events, like the stomps, that were intended to bring their culture back to these people.

  “How can we stop them?” Cross asked, rocking on the balls of his moccasin-clad feet.

  “We need bats that we can conceal beside our legs. Guns will get people killed. Then we separate them and use the bats to pick them off. After we knock them out, we tie and gag them then take them away from here and tell them the next time they will die. Separate them and let them loose in different places so they can’t reunite.”

  “What should we do to Jim Scroggs? He is their leader and the meanest of them.”

  “You are the Choctaw. Do what your people expect of you. I am just a helper.”

  “I am grateful for what you have suggested.” He nodded his head under the snap-brim hat. “We can do that. I will send others to talk to you. Separate the gang and take them out. I like that.”

  “They will also need rope and a gag besides the bats.”

  “I am sending for bats. A sawmill can make them. We will be well armed.”

  “Does he have spies?”

  “They concern me. We will stop them.”

  Slocum agreed. Cross left him with a handshake, and he watched the small man shuffle away. The plan was set. He went to refill his cup with Anita’s coffee and to eat more donuts. Two of her cousins were helping her cook all the donuts, which quickly disappeared.

  “Well Anita is smiling today,” her cousin Anna said.

  He shrugged. “Maybe she smiles easy.”

  “She says you have plans for those bad ones.”

  “I hope so.”

  She laughed. “I hope it works. I hate them for ruining our fun and traditions like they have in the past.”

  “I think I came up with a plan.”

  She nodded firmly. Then a small boy came and made her bend over to hear his words.

  She stood up after thanking him. “Come with me. Three of Parker’s men just rode into camp.” Without a word, she hustled Slocum out the back way. On the way out, she gave a facial signal to Anita and received a nod in understanding. Then Anna soon had Slocum in a sidewall tent. She put a colorful trade blanket on his shoulders and added a straw hat.

  “Stay around here until dark. They are only checking for wanted men, people who owe fines, escaped, or did not show up for their court appearances. And to look for whiskey. They won’t expect to find you here.”

  He thanked her and took a seat on a bench in the shade. Two men in suits rode by him on horseback, checking things as they went. They only gave him a slight glance. Neither looked familiar to him, but he only knew a handful of them. Slocum was now joined by others, and the group pretended to be gambling. One man spoke softly, “They won’t arrest you.”

  Slocum gave him a nod. They were covering him well. Cross dropped by. He squatted down. “We think we can get Parker’s men to arrest Scroggs. If they find over four gallons of untaxed whiskey in his possession, they have to take him to Fort Smith. I have a man who can water enough down to have five gallons we can plant in his camp.”

  “That sounds good. But will they arrest him?”

  “Yes. They have to.”

  “Without a leader, the others may run away.”

  “I think so too. Stay here. You are safe here.”

  “Thanks.”

  A woman laughed as she fed him some rich beef stew. “My name is Lana. If you get tired of Anita, come see me.”

  * * *

  By dark, he was led back to Anita’s camp and wore her hat again. He noticed three bats that still smelled of being fresh-cut wood. They were square, but he figured lots were being rounded to use.

  “I an sorry you had to sit alone down there,” she said to him.

  “Oh, I had several propositions and plenty of good food.”

  She looked at the ceiling for help. “No doubt my good friends.”

  “Cross is going to try to get Parker’s men to arrest Scroggs.”

  She shook her head. “That won’t work.”

  “It might.”

  “We will see.”

  She fed him her fried chicken and fresh hot biscuits with butter and blackberry jam. Her cousins were there to eat too. One of the women got up and gave a bat to a man who came by for one.

  The sun was down, and drums were beginning to be beat, filling the valley with their sound.

  “I think we should not be too obvious,” Anita said. “No telling how many marshals are here. But we can watch and maybe help Cross with his plan.”

  Slocum agreed. They were in the shadows when a commotion broke out in the north part of the valley. Word soon came back that Scroggs had been put under arrest for moonshining. The news spread fast, saying that the marshals made a large show of force—expecting maybe a force to rise up to stop them. But Scroggs was quickly carried away under tight guard in a wagon for the federal jail in Fort Smith. That reduced the lawmen remaining there.

  Scroggs’s henchmen went about the camp growling about how they should have stopped his arrest, but no one but them missed him. They soon began heavy drinking, and the number of bat-carrying men increased. Two of the Scroggs gang started pushing people aside and calling them cowards for not stopping the law from taking their friend.

  They did not leave the central part of the dancing,
but men with bats at their side started to separate them from the crowd. Slocum smiled to himself.

  Three of Scroggs’s men were talking to some teenage girls at the edge of the firelit circle. Slocum wondered if the girls were the bait and decided they must be. He saw the pursuit and knew the Scroggs boys would soon have headaches and be bound and thrown out of the camp.

  * * *

  Two hours later an all-clear was celebrated. Word spread like wildfire. All the gang was gone. The last marshal had also left the camp. Slocum and Anita stomped into the morning hours. When she took a break, one of her cousins stole him to stomp with her. Their spirits were high, and the wave of fear was replaced with one of having fun.

  They knew how to do it well.

  Cross spoke to him briefly after midnight. “We won’t forget to use bats next time. My people are in your debt.”

  “May the sun shine on your happiness.”

  “It will.” Cross left him with a smile.

  * * *

  After a week with Anita, Slocum saddled up his horse and loaded his mule. Two days later he crossed on the Red River ferry. Many times he recalled riding back across that river headed for south Texas. The rolling grass country of north Texas spread out as he rode south in the shortening days of fall.

  He moved more west to avoid Fort Worth. One night he camped on a small river well west of the city.

  A man dropped by his firelight and asked to come into his camp. He wore the ten-centavo star of the Rangers on his vest.

  “Evening, mister. I’m running late getting back. Glad you didn’t refuse me. Some folks don’t appreciate lawmen.”

  “Set a spell. I don’t have any reason not to invite you in.” He poured him some coffee. “Who are you looking for?”

  “Oh, we got word some wanted guy named John Slocum was out and about Abilene.”

  “Was he?”

  “No, the guy I found was just a drifter. My name’s Sam Grove.”

  “John Clark. Been driving cattle north and coming back. Guess you get lots of calls that don’t pan out.”

  “I bet this guy they are looking for is resting in an unmarked grave somewhere. He escaped some U.S. Marshals in Kansas and I bet he froze to death. No one’s seen him since then.”

  “He might have.”

  “He shot some congressman’s son, they said.”

  “Bad deal.”

  “Yeah, bad deal for me having to go clear out to Abilene and find some drunk drifter. Damn sure he was not Slo-cum.”

  They parted the next morning shaking hands. Grove told him to have a great trip south and to get home safe. Slocum told him to do the same.

  He spent most of the warm, sunny day smiling to himself. Slocum is somewhere in an unmarked grave. He hoped more lawmen thought the same thing, as he booted his horse into a jog.

  Watch for

  SLOCUM AND THE BULLET EXPRESS

  422nd novel in the exciting SLOCUM series from Jove

  Coming in April!