by Jake Logan
A cold chill ran down Slocum’s sun-blazed cheeks. The Morgan horse and two others were hitched at a rack before the Imperial Hotel. He stepped down and handed the reins to Franco. “Stay with them and close by.”
“You need me?”
“I need you to watch these horses and mules. If they come out, follow them. I’ll find you later.”
“What if—”
“What if they kill me?”
Franco swallowed and nodded.
“You figure out a way to get her away from them?” Slocum asked.
“I will, but let nothing happen to you, mi amigo.”
Slocum nodded that he heard him.
In the shadowy lobby, he nodded to the clerk, took the register and twisted it around. “Jed Slade” was written in fresh ink.
“What room?” He stabbed at the name with his index finger.
“Room two.” With wide eyes, and all the cords in his neck exposed, the clerk tossed his head toward the stairs.
Slocum nodded and took them two at a time. Six-gun in his hand on the top flight, he headed for the door marked two. His ear close to the thin wood, he heard Slade say, “We need to sell her and get—”
Slocum’s boot mashed open the door. Mary screamed. Slocum’s six-gun spoke with an ear-shattering explosion, and Slade drew up when the bullet struck him in the chest. The room boiled with bitter gunsmoke. Thorpe raised his hands and cried out, “No!”
Slocum held his second shot. Mary rushed to him, and he hugged her with his left arm.
“Oh, I thought they’d killed you.” She sobbed on his shirt.
“Thorpe, get over here.” Slocum motioned with his gun muzzle. Still holding her with his left arm, he holstered his own gun and jerked Thorpe’s out.
“Start downstairs. Thorpe, you make a move and you’re going to be as dead as he’s going to be.” He indicated the fallen Slade.
“How did you find us?”
“The horse.”
“I told him that damn fancy horse would be our ruin. No, he had to have him.”
“You’ll have plenty of time to think about that horse in prison. Get going.”
“I was so afraid they had killed you.” She shook her head and had wet eyes.
“No, they just left us to die.” He showed her the door and they went down the stairs.
“Señor—” the frightened clerk started.
“Send an undertaker upstairs; his business is going to improve.” Slocum motioned for Thorpe to go on to the front door.
The youth swallowed and nodded.
Franco shouted from horseback, “I am here! You have her!”
Slocum nodded. “I’ll take the Morgan. Here,” he said to Mary. “I’ll help you onto the—”
Thorpe used the opportunity to turn and run. Slocum scowled and drew his gun. Too many people for him to chance a shot. Damn. “Never mind him. We need to move on.” He holstered his gun and boosted her into the saddle.
Then, catching the third one’s reins, he mounted the Morgan and tossed his head. “Let’s get out of here.” He had no desire to explain it all to the policía.
They moved at a slow pace through traffic that made him anxious, until he pointed to a side street. The dirt way led down into a draw and he turned them up the sandy base. He pointed to a tall gate.
“Ring the bell, Franco.” He nodded to reassure her. Her face looked sun-blistered and her hair a mess. Maybe she was worse off than he’d first thought.
“Señor?” a burly man asked, opening the gate.
“Tell Don Marino that Slocum is here with guests.”
The man squinted as if to be certain who he saw and then bowed. “He is always glad to see his amigo Slocum.”
Slocum nodded to Mary and smiled as he booted the Morgan for the open gate. “We have a sanctuary.”
Don Marino rushed down the stairs covered in red bougainvilleas. The short, white-headed man smiled and held out his arms. “So long you have been away.”
Slocum hugged the man in the impeccable white suit. “It has been a while. Señor, this is Señorita Mary Harbor. Some bandits kidnapped her in Arizona. Franco, my man, and I have been on their trail for many days.”
“You are very fortunate, my dear. Rest at my humble house and get your strength back. Lupe! Lupe!” he called out, and a handsome woman in her thirties came to the head of the stairs.
“Lupe, help this dear girl.”
“Ah, sí,” she said and hurried down the steps to take Mary in her care.
“You’ll be fine with her,” Slocum told her, and she agreed, still looking concerned as she went off with the woman chattering to her.
The stable boys were gathering reins to lead off the many animals.
“Watch that mule,” Slocum warned one of them. “He kicks.”
Don laughed. “You get her kidnappers.”
“I shot one in the hotel. The other got away. I didn’t need to talk to the policía.”
“I will talk to them. Who is this other one?”
“Thorpe, a gringo.”
Don nodded. “He won’t get far. Come, you two. We can offer you a bath and some clean clothes, or have you eaten?”
“We can wait to eat,” Slocum said, and Franco agreed, looking around awed at the luxury of the place.
“This is the sort of place where she lives?” Franco asked him.
“The Peralta girl?”
“Sí.”
“Yes. See what I mean?”
“Oh, yes.”
Slocum shook his head. The vision of her wasn’t out of the boy’s head. It might never leave either. He hoped Mary’s condition improved; she had looked so tired when Lupe led her away.
Don Marino handled the policía, and the lieutenant, who came to his house, promised that if Thorpe was in the city, they would find him. He shook their hands and left.
Slocum, Franco and their host sat on the sunny patio and sipped drinks. Feeling clean for the first time in weeks, Slocum enjoyed the rest and relaxation in his starched clothing. Her hair washed and rolled, the dirt gone from her face, her blistered cheeks and lips healing with Lupe’s cream, Mary returned to them. Some of the spirit in her footfall Slocum recalled from when she walked toward him that first day.
“The broncos? Will you Americans crush them?” the don asked as he poured more whiskey in their glasses.
“Crook is the man.” Slocum nodded. “He knows how to do it.”
“Good. I have some mines in the Madres. Broncos have cost me much money and lives.”
“Your mines will be fine when Crook gets through. Our horses are rested and so is she. We need to head home. I want to sell one of the mules and the extra horses.”
“My man will handle it for you.” The don offered them cigars.
Franco waved away his offer.
Don Marino smiled at him. “You are not over this girl yet?”
Franco smiled and shook his head.
“I was like that at your age.”
“Did you get her, señor?”
“Oh, no, but it made me rich trying to win her hand.”
Franco frowned. “Were you sad?”
“About her making me be rich? No.”
They all laughed.
Later Slocum spoke to Mary. “We need to go back.”
She nodded and wet her lip. “They have been very nice to me here. But I want to go back and teach my children. I will always owe them. When should we leave?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Fine.” She dropped her gaze. “How will I ever repay you?”
“You have no debt to me.”
Blinking her eyes, she raised her face and looked at him. “Twice you came and saved my life.”
“You owe me nothing. I’m pleased you’re getting stronger.”
“Oh, I will be fine. I also have a sombrero Lupe insists I wear home.”
“Get it out. We leave at daybreak.”
“I will thank Don Marino for all his hospitality too.”
&
nbsp; “He is pleased you’re better.”
“Slocum—” She took both his hands in hers and backed away until they were apart. “I will be ready.”
He nodded and closed his eyes. The dream. She was leaving him like she did in the dreams. What did it mean? He watched her hurry down the hallway, lithe again on her feet. It roiled his guts to see her disappear into her room. Only a bruja would know the future.
24
They left Guaymos in the shadowy night, the streets crowded with water vendors, herds of milk goats with the white stuff only a pull on a teat away, firewood-laden burros, and carettas with swinging carcasses of freshly butchered heading for the market. They wound their way through the traffic, Slocum on the Morgan, her on a fancy dish-faced sorrel mare, a gift of the don, and Franco on his roan, leading Uno with their camping things and food.
The road north was crowded with two-way traffic, and they were forced to go around many slow vehicles and trains. As the day began to heat up, they kept their horses in a long trot, a sustainable pace to make many miles before they needed to stop for the night.
“We can reach the village of Bath by nightfall,” Slocum told her, riding stirrup to stirrup with her. “We can get a room there.”
“That would be fine. I don’t need a room.”
“We have four more long days.”
She smiled. “I’ll be fine and grateful to be home.”
Bath was a small village with a church, but the town was a busy place. Slocum noted the bustling activity when they rode in.
“Fiesta?” Franco asked.
Slocum shrugged. He booted his horse over and asked a man leading a burro with water jugs. “What is happening here?”
“A grand wedding, Don Peralta’s daughter, Maria Anita Consuela Peralta, is marrying Don Leguna.”
Slocum nodded and rode back. “A daughter of Peralta is marrying some Don Leguna.”
Franco frowned. “You think it is her?”
“Who?” Mary asked.
“A young woman Franco loves.”
“Oh.”
Slocum said, “He’s never met her. Only seen her in a coach.”
Mary smiled at back at Franco and nodded in approval, then turned to the front and rode on. Slocum glanced aside as they passed a cantina. Two men that wore red sashes around their waists loafed on the porch.
“What is wrong?” Mary asked as they rode up the street.
“Nothing.”
“You look concerned.”
Slocum dismissed it—still, the red sashes could mean that old man Clanton’s men were in town or up to something. Clanton and the Peraltas were longtime enemies over the stock rustling business.
Franco came up on his left side. “Can we stay for the wedding?”
Slocum turned to her.
“I would love to see such a rich thing.” Mary smiled at them.
“Fine. If it is tomorrow, we can watch it.”
“Good,” Franco said. “Could I give her away?”
They laughed, and Slocum found the small rooming house where he took rooms and they put their animals up in a nearby pen. After they unsaddled and unpacked, Franco put morrals with corn in them over their heads.
A street vendor served them food as the sun sank. Mary looked fine after the hard ride. And Slocum had found out that the wedding would be at nine in the morning. But he noticed another red sash among the people walking about. After he took Mary to her room and said good night, he told Franco to watch her.
“Is there something wrong?”
“Too many of Clanton’s cowboys are here for it to be a coincidence.”
“What can we do?”
“I don’t know. I will try to learn something.”
“If I can help—”
“Watch Mary.”
“I will.”
Slocum made his way in the shadows. He drank cerveza in the back of the cantina, then slipped like smoke out the back door again. There were close to a dozen of the Clanton bunch. They drank in silence, slant-eyed and tough. Most were Mexicans, though Slocum knew several of Clanton’s rustlers were Texans. He circled the village and found the camp of Peralta—armed camp and guarded. Many tents and a busy place as the wedding drew closer and people scurried to ready everything. Slocum slipped away into the night and crossed the small hill. He stopped short at the snort of a horse.
This gathering of men in the night was for one purpose. He didn’t need to see their sashes. They planned to storm the Peralta camp. Why? Old man Clanton had some revenge plan, and the heart of it might lie with the Peralta daughter. If he had time, he’d get their horses and a spare. Maybe the three of them could sweep her out. Clanton wanted revenge for some reason—kidnapping the daughter might be the key to all of this.
Away at last from the converging army, he ran on his boot soles. Out of breath, he slipped into the rooming house, and not seeing Franco, he rapped on her door.
“Yes?”
“Slocum.”
“I’m coming,” she said and unlocked the door to let him in.
“Have you seen Franco?” he asked.
She was buttoning her dress. “No. Why?”
“Clanton’s bunch, I think, intends to kidnap the Peralta girl.”
“Oh, no. What can we do?” She tugged on the dress to straighten it.
“Get her out of harm’s way.”
“What’s wrong?” Franco busted in the room.
“The Peralta girl must be what they want.”
“So?”
Slocum looked hard at the youth. “It may take some straight shooting to get her out.”
Franco nodded. “I can try.”
“No try—we will only have one shot in most cases.”
“I savvy.”
“It will be dangerous for you,” he said to Mary.
“Those men won’t treat her nice,” Franco said.
“No, nor you if we fail.”
“I will go with you,” she said. “I’ll help do what I can.”
They rushed out, saddled the horses and tossed the packs on the mule. When they were ready to go, Slocum led the way and they wound out of a dry wash and circled back of the village. He wanted to come out beyond Clanton’s men and enter the camp before they attacked it.
Distant shots shattered the night. Slocum reined up. Too late, he whirled the Morgan and set out for the hill between them and the camp. On the rise he dismounted and jerked the Winchester out.
“Mary, stay with the horses over this hill. If we need you, I’ll shout your name, and come on the double.”
Slocum, accompanied on his heels by the youth, hurried down the hill. He carried the rifle in his hands ready for anything. The gunshots sounded more sporadic. They rounded a tent, and a horseman brandishing a pistol rode right on them. Slocum dropped to his knee and shot him.
Franco caught his spooked horse.
“Hitch him,” Slocum said and hurried toward the main part. He noticed a man raping a woman on the ground. He struck him in the back of his head with his gun butt. The rapist pitched forward. Then Slocum jerked the woman to her feet. “Where is she at?”
Too numb to answer him, she pressed down her skirt.
“Peralta’s daughter. Where is she? We need to get her out of here.”
“Come,” she said.
Slocum waved Franco on. More shooting in the other part of the camp. At the fancy coach, the woman opened the door, keeping low.
“Maria,” she called out softly.
Wrapped in a blanket, someone appeared on her knees.
“We are amigos. You must go with us,” Slocum said. “It’s not safe here.”
“But my guards . . .”
“They may be dead,” Slocum said, on the lookout for any of Clanton’s men.
“He saved me, Maria. He is not with these bandits.”
“All right.”
“Franco, take the women to the horses. I’ll cover you.”
“Sí. Come this way,” Franco said and hurried th
em for the horse and the tent.
Three men on foot came running. Slocum took aim at their outlines from the light of the tents on fire behind them. He saw their Texas hats and opened fire with the rifle. His bullets stopped them. He retreated to some barrels, hoping by then Franco had the women on horseback.
A surge of pistol-firing riders came around the camp from his left. He emptied the rifle into them, knocking down two horses and causing a collision. The Winchester empty, he dropped it and drew his .44. He edged for the tent, drawing some fire, but it was more like scattered shots. Around the tent, he rushed to the hilltop. He looked up, and Mary came over the crest, on the fly with his Morgan, sliding both horses to a stop.
“The others gone?” he asked, out of breath.
“Yes.”
“Good. Ride out of here,” he said and bounced off his right boot and into the saddle.
In two jumps, the big horse was beside her and they were off, crossing the greasewood scrub desert under the stars. They soon joined the other three as they swung north. The woman he’d saved was riding the Clanton horse. The Peralta girl clung to Franco’s waist, looking back with fear in her eyes as they raced away from the attack.
Slocum had them rein up in a wash in the darkness. The hard-breathing horses blew and snorted, dancing around.
“Where can we go, Slocum?” Franco asked, riding in close.
Maria leaned from behind him, her arms still tight around his waist, and with one hand she swept the hair from her face. “Our hacienda to the east. I know we would be safe there if my folks have not left for the wedding.”
Slocum nodded. There would be few places in the desert to hide from Clanton’s raiders when the sun came up. “We’ll need to walk these horses a few miles,” he said and booted the Morgan out. “Franco, you lead the way.”
“We will,” he said, and in the starlight Slocum saw the confident smile.
He dropped back and rode with Mary and the woman, Nita.
“Will they chase us?” Mary asked when he turned back from checking the back trail.
“No telling. They lost some men back there. I figure Clanton won’t take his lack of success too well. He may put trackers on us. Sooner we are at this place the better.”
The sun rose and they came into the land cultivated by the hacienda. Field workers, seeing and recognizing Maria riding behind Franco, removed their hats and chattered excited.
