Slocum and the Apache Campaign

by Jake Logan

  “Mucho grande.” Chako smiled big at her.

  When she put Slocum’s plate before him, she slid onto the bench beside him. “I will feed you.”

  “Oh, I am much to tired to make love to you. You will forgive me,” he said, diving into his food and ignoring her closeness. Morning would come in four hours, and they needed to be in the saddle and gone.

  “Oh, men,” she said and stomped off.

  “Get me up before sunup,” he said to Chako and shook his head in disbelief that he’d turned her down.

  Chako was there before the rooster crowed with their horses, crouched in the predawn shadows nearby as the horses’ soft coughing awoke Slocum. He got out of his bedroll to dress. It would be a long ride ahead and a hard push to ever reach Bowie, but they’d try. Dressed and in the saddle in minutes, they were gone. No hot coffee, no breakfast—his dry mouth tasted like ten Apaches warriors had trod through it barefooted all night, he really felt downcast. He pushed Roan hard northward—they had business in Bowie.

  Long past midnight, on borrowed horses, they reached the springs below Bowie and fell from the saddle like stunned men. Slocum looked at the peak above them under the quarter moon and shook his head. “The old man’s asleep. I’ll see him in the morning. Where’re you going?”

  “Get some food.” Chako went off in the night.

  “You don’t like my jerky—” Slocum shook his head and pulled loose the sweat-soaked latigos. “Old pony, I’ll feed you in the daylight.”

  The saddle off the horse, he shook all over, then dropped to his front knees to roll in the sandy wash bed. Slocum let him, and undid the strings on his blanket roll. That spread out, he hobbled the horse, who was back on his feet. Then, too stupid-tired to do more, he took off his gun belt, lay down and went to sleep.

  After daybreak, he was up at headquarters and met Captain Moore behind the desk. “Morning. Where’s the colonel?”

  “Thought you were in Mexico.”

  “I was two days ago. He here?”

  “Colonel, Slocum’s here to see you,” Moore called out over his shoulder to the open door behind him.

  “Send him in.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Good morning—” Woolard peered hard at him. “Man, you look tough.”

  “Tough is good word for it. That’s not the problem. Slade is getting guns for the broncos. He needs to be stopped.”

  “Where? How?”

  “I’m not certain, but the word’s good. Caliche has enough money or gold to buy whatever Slade can get through.”

  “What do we need to do?”

  “Patrol south of the Muleshoes to the Peralta Springs. I feel sure Slade will use the east side of the territory to slip down there.”

  “Guess you didn’t learn anything about that Mexican bandit?”

  “We did,” Slocum said and told him the story of the horse raid and the incident in the foothills.

  The Colonel’s blue eyes twinkled with amusement. “Word was out that someone had sent a herd of rustled horses into the old man’s place and no one would figure out who did it or why.”

  “They thought it was a raid and probably shot a few of the horses before they figured it out.”

  “What can we do about this general?”

  “He’s tough,” Slocum began and told him about the incident at Doña DeLong’s casa.

  “We need to coax him up here and ambush him.” The colonel looked out the small four-pane window at the parade ground. “You know the U.S. could have bought that whole northern third of Mexico when they made the Gadsden Purchase—damn. If they had, we’d be in charge and the Apaches couldn’t run and hide from us.”

  “Nor could the ten-cent bandits.”

  “Right. All Congress wanted was a strip of land down here to put the year-round southern railroad through. Well, they goofed.” The major shook his head. “Where are you going?”

  “Tucson and see if Slade’s getting his guns there.”

  “Good, idea. Be careful.”

  “I will.”

  “Slocum—that schoolmarm you rescued asked about you at the dance last Friday.”

  “Oh.”

  The major grinned. “She’s lovely. The officers like to have danced her to death, I thought.”

  Slocum shook his head. “She’s tougher than you might imagine.”

  “A very grand young lady. I’ll have the patrols and more scouts out looking for them. You get me any word that will help.”

  “I will, sir. I’m going to buy two new horses in Tucson and charge them to the quartermaster. I ran my good roan into the ground getting back here and so did Chako. Horses we have, we borrowed.”

  “I’ll handle it. You taking the stage over there?”

  “Yes, to Tucson. We’ll need transportation to Bowie. Chako’s arranging to send the horses we borrowed back.”

  “Fine. Captain Moore, get him two passes for the stage to Tucson. He’ll need a transport to Bowie later.”

  “One o’clock,” Slocum said and started to leave.

  “The ride will be hitched and ready,” Moore said.

  “Thanks, and I’ll let you know what I find.”

  “Good. Where to now?” Woolard asked.

  “A bath, a shave and clean clothes.”

  Woolard nodded, smiled and waved him on. “Thanks. You are my eyes and ears out there.”

  He took his shave and bath from a washerwoman known as Big Madge and learned from her that Clanton had the rifles for the gunrunners. After a good night’s sleep, he stopped by and told Woolard about Clanton and the rifles. His response came with a scowl.

  “Damn, that sumbitch. But—but how did you learn that on this base?”

  “Birds talk to me.”

  Woolard gave him a look of disbelief. “We’ll put a lookout for that too.”

  “Good. I’m off to Tucson.”

  “You know, Clanton finds out you’re working against him, you can chalk up another name on that list of them out to get you.”

  “Colonel, they won’t none get a cherry.”

  Woolard laughed and waved him on.

  The ride to Bowie with Chako in the ambulance was rough and dusty. The stage line had switched to the small towns rather than using Apache Pass. This would someday be the route of the Southern Pacific if they ever got their money situation straightened out. The track ended at Deming, New Mexico, over a hundred miles east, and nothing had been laid in nine months.

  They unloaded their saddles and gear on the boardwalk and Slocum thanked the corporal and his man before they pulled out. Slocum brushed off his front and told Chako he’d be back. He stuck his head in the stage office, and the telegraph operator under the celluloid nodded.

  “Stage on time?”

  “Be close. Due here at seven.”

  “I have two passes.”

  The man nodded his approval. “There will be seats.”

  Slocum entered the grocery/mercantile and saw the golden hair he recalled walking past him that morning in the desert. Mary Harbor, with her face washed and in clean clothes, shone like a diamond among the piles of merchandise on the counters.

  “Why, Slocum, you’re back,” she said, and the glint in her blue eyes raised his temperature a notch.

  “How are things going?” he asked, removing his hat for her.

  “School? Oh, fine. The children speak mostly Spanish, but we are both learning.”

  “Must be a challenge.”

  “Oh, it is, but I love them.”

  “I’m catching a stage in a few hours and thought I’d drop by and see how you were doing. Sounds good.”

  “Well, we could stroll the block of boardwalk if you’d like,” she said. The lilt in her voice raised his spirits.

  “Let’s,” he said and used his hat to show her the way ahead of him to the front door.

  “What have you been doing?”

  “Oh, just scouting.”

  “Like the day you found me?”

  He c
arefully searched the street for any sign, replaced his hat and then nodded. “Not too exciting.”

  “Oh, I would think it could be. The Apaches sound unsettled.” She put her hand in the crook of his and they went up the boardwalk.

  “Anyone who had to live at San Carlos would rather be dead than there.”

  “Bad place?”

  “Excuse me but I consider the place hell. Those people lived in the mountains—they’ve never been farmers, not to any degree.”

  “What should be done for them?”

  “I’m not sure. Too many bad deals’ve been made now to go back.” He shook his head in surrender.

  “Let me show you my school,” she said, taking him on the path through the tall greasewood. The narrow pathway led down into a dry wash and up the bank. A hot wind swept his face when he looked back to be certain they were alone. Soon they came to a cleared spot, and an adobe building sat in the matted dry grass, a plain-looking flat-roofed structure that acted like an elixir for her when she led him to the front door.

  “Close your eyes.”

  He obeyed her and she opened the door. “Now look.”

  The wall he faced had a mural started on it of a bigger-than-life scene with brown-skinned children dancing around the building. She pointed to the unfinished sketch of a barrel cactus, leaning as they did toward the sun.

  “I wanted one in it.”

  “Who is doing this?”

  “Oh, the children. They are very talented.”

  “It looks so well done—”

  She threw her arms around him and laid her face on his shirtfront. “Oh, I couldn’t leave them. They are so talented and—I am shameless, because I prayed you’d come back and hold me.”

  He laid his cheek on the top of her head and smelled the freshness of her hair. “I’m a poor one to wait on.”

  “Just allow me that luxury.”

  “I don’t want to destroy your reputation.”

  She threw her head back and looked him in the face. “Ruin it. I double dare you.”

  His mouth closed on hers, and he tasted the honey of her lips as he squeezed her tight to his body. The lithe, firm form of her against his own drove lightning through his veins until at last he raised his face away and looked into the blue pools. “My God, girl, you’re serious.”

  “Shamelessly.” She drove her breasts into him and squeezed him tight.

  “Not here. Not now. I’ll be back.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  “Good. I can wait, but not forever.”

  An hour later, wedged in the rocking couch seat with Chako and some whiskey-stinking drummer, he still could smell her in his nostrils and taste her on his tongue. Damn you, Mary Harbor, I’ll be thinking about you all the way there and back.

  9

  Tucson was a place where they found a dead donkey lying in a pothole beside the boardwalk. His carcass fed the many vultures perched all around on the trees and jacal roofs, as well as a dozen cur dogs fighting over his intestines in the lamplight escaping from the saloon’s front doors. This was no fresh death. It was over a week since the donkey’s expiration and it reeked in putrefaction’s arms—which did not lessen the enthusiasm of the curs or the big birds in the daytime consumption of the remains.

  His saddle on his shoulder, Slocum and his likewise burdened scout headed for Pearson’s Livery, a half block away in the starry night. They found bunks and slept until sunup. After breakfast in a small café, they went back to find new horses.

  Livery owner Rube Pearson spat tobacco in the middle of most of his sentences. “I’ve got some”—spit—“of the best horses in the territory.” He indicated the pen full of horses and mules.

  “Highest priced too,” Slocum said.

  “Yeah, but that damn army”—spit—“won’t pay me for six months or longer.”

  “You couldn’t make that much interest on your money in a bank.”

  “Bank?” Pearson spat aside and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “I don’t ever use a damn bank.”

  Slocum nodded and picked out a leggy bay horse that looked sound and who mouthed as a four-year-old. Chako found a bald-faced sorrel that struck his fancy. Small, but it fit the Apache, plus it was flashy. Saddles cinched on their purchases, they left Pearson spitting and sputtering how hard it was to collect off the army quartermaster.

  “Where we going?” Chako asked when they were in the saddle.

  “I figure we can’t learn much till dark in town,” Slocum said as he reined his gelding around a burro train, each one stacked high with firewood sticks and branches. “We’ll go out to Rensoe’s until then.”

  Manchew Rensoe’s place was on the Santa Cruz River, and the green fields of alfalfa and corn shone in the bright sun. When they rode up to the recently white-plastered casa, a great barrel-chested man with a black beard came out and blinked at them against the morning sun’s glare.

  “That you, Slocum?”

  “No, I’m a traveling brush salesman. How you been, mi amigo?” he asked, stepping off the horse.

  Rushing out to grasp his hand in both of his, the big man soon hugged him and pounded him on the back. “Good to see you, mi amigo. Where you been? Screwing all the sweet pussy in Sonora?”

  Slocum shook his head. “I left plenty for you. This is Chako.”

  “Ah, Chako, you must have fun riding with him, no?”

  The Apache shook his hand and nodded. “Big-time. He knows lots of women.”

  “Ah, sí, he is a bad hombre. Why are you here?”

  “We need to rest today and go into Tucson tonight. Jed Slade is trying to get guns to sell to the broncos.”

  “Didn’t he break out of jail?”

  “He didn’t go far, I’d bet good money.”

  “Not if it would make that Tucson Ring any money. Those bastards are robbing the government at every corner and inciting the broncos on the other side. Come on the porch—Juanita, bring us something cool.” He led the way to the palm-frond-shaded patio on the side of the house and showed them chairs. “This Slade is a weasel. A two-bit thief and whiskey runner. I don’t doubt he bribed the jailer and got out.”

  “Probably, but we’ve got more troubles. We know that Caliche has the gold to pay him.”

  “What happened to the damn Indians? They used to say put the gold back.”

  “Now they know it buys things like guns.” Chako laughed aloud.

  “Carumba! They know that now?” Rensoe slapped his forehead with his palm.

  Amused, Chako nodded.

  “So no word of him or his partner Thorpe?” Slocum asked.

  “Not a word.” Rensoe shook his head and replaced the curly strands with his palm. With a scowl he cut his dark gaze around, looking for her. “Where is that woman?”

  Slocum shook his head, having no idea. “They had some women and a wagon with oxen up there east of the Dos Cabasos and Bowie. I figure they had time to get down here since then.”

  “Good-looking women?” Rensoe’s white teeth gleamed behind his copper lips.

  “Not bad,” Slocum said and his scout nodded in agreement. “We didn’t have time for them. The army’s been running our butts off. We’ve been to the base of the Madres and back in a week.”

  “Damn, they have been working you too hard—ah, about time. Where have you been?” Rensoe said to the dark-skinned woman delivering a tray and glasses.

  “I was busy,” she said to him as haughtily as she could manage and set the tray down.

  He slapped her hard on the butt with the palm of his hand. “Next time move faster.”

  “Next time maybe I kill you,” she said and used her index finger in Rensoe’s face to punctuate her words. With her other hand, she rubbed her butt as if the blow had hurt her.

  “Ha,” he said and reached to pour wine in their glasses. “These are important men who come to see me. You leave them thinking we have poor service here.”

  “I have some cabrito ready,
you want some to feed them.”

  He nodded. “They would eat some young goat cooked over the mesquite slow, huh?”

  “Sure,” Slocum said and his scout agreed.

  “I will bring it in a few minutes,” she said as if to warn Rensoe it would not be mucho pronto.

  They drank his good wine and ate the tangy meat, with roasted sweet and hot peppers, mashed frijoles and spicy rice all wrapped in her fresh-made flour tortillas. The rich food drew the saliva in Slocum’s mouth, and they both ate until they were too full. Their host then showed them to some shaded hammocks for a siesta and excused himself. He promised to wake them for supper; after that they could ease back into the barrio and look for information about the pair of escapees.

  Slocum closed his eyes and thought about Mary Harbor. He dreamed about her dancing for him wearing a filmy dress of veils in a room of flickering candles. Her golden hair was piled high with pins, and he watched the curve of her slender neck, wishing to reach out and cradle it in his hands. To lift her face up and kiss her sweet lips while she scrambled naked underneath him; to slide his turgid dick tight in her grasp against her shield. Then his hips moved forward with the head of it poised against the restriction—

  “Hombre, wake up, I have news.” Rensoe was shaking him.

  Bleary-eyed and in a sweat, Slocum sat upright. “Damn, I was sure dreamin’.”

  “Sorry, but I have word those women are out by the fort.”

  “How?”

  “I spoke to an amigo who came by, and he told me that those women were camped east of Fort Thomas on the creek.”

  “Good.” Slocum slung on his right boot sitting on the edge of the hammock. “Those two devils may be out there too, hanging around them. Your friend say what they were doing out there?”

  “Whoring around.”

  Slocum nodded. “They might be good at that.”

  Chako nodded and grinned. “I want the one with the titties.”

  “Huh?” Rensoe asked with a frown.

  Seated on the hammock, Slocum dumped his boot to be certain no vermin had crawled in and looked up at their host. “Those girls were ready to trade pussy for the release of them two. And I made them take off the clothing they’d stolen, so we saw all of them. I mean all of them.”