by Jake Logan
“I didn’t catch your name,” Slocum said.
“Dayton Taylor.”
“I think I’ve heard of you before.” Slocum frowned as if considering the matter.
“Doubt it. I’ve always lived in these parts.”
“I sure heard that name somewheres,” Slocum said as he gathered his reins and swung up on the bay. “Sure do appreciate you letting me water my old hoss, Mr. Martin. Plumb generous of you to treat a stranger so kind. I’ll see you two again sometime maybe. Maybe after it rains, huh?”
He touched his hat and spurred the bay away. He heard the big man shout after him, “What’s your name?” Hell, he’d know soon enough. Slocum let the pony run up the hill. From the crest, he glanced back to be certain they hadn’t chased after him.
They hadn’t. A grin on his face, Slocum headed southeast. He had men to hire and a crew to make up. Next time the three of them met, he’d be the one behind the gun, and he’d ask even tougher questions about his friend’s death and the rest of the skulduggery going on in that part of north Texas. They’d acted like he was some sort of cur dog that they’d obliged only because his horse had to drink. If he had his way, the whole lot of them would learn a lot of lessons before this summer passed.
The five-day ride to San Antonio proved hot, dry, and uneventful. He stabled his horse at Angelo’s Wagon Yard and found a room at the Crockett Hotel. Then he set out for the watering holes where he knew someone could point him to the men he needed. Late afternoon, in the Osa Negra Cantina, he found a bartender named Martinez who seemed to know everyone in town.
“Ah, señor,” Martinez said from behind a waxed mustache as he polished the bar top before him. “There are several good men here that need work. It is very dry and many ranches have sold their herds or drove them north where the grass is green, they say.”
“I need five good men. They must be tough hombres. This ranch where I am foreman is not a quiet place. Others have run away like jackrabbits.”
“Señor, you pay thirty American and feed these men, they will fight wolves for you.”
“They may have to,” Slocum said. Then he tossed down some more of the whiskey in his glass.
“I will have them here at daybreak,” the bartender told him.
“No banditos or crazy ones,” Slocum added before he managed a quick breath in response to the fiery liquor that had scorched the trail dust and the lining from his throat. It would have been less worrisome for him if Sam had came along, but she’d feared that leaving the ranch unattended would invite more mischief. Still, leaving her there by herself went against his grain, but she’d insisted that she would be all right.
“Señor,” Martinez said, leaning over the bar and lowering his voice. “These will be very tough men who much need work to feed their families.”
“Good. Tell them to be here and ready to ride for the ranch at sunup.” He turned his back to the bar and appraised the thin crowd in the place. He still had to buy supplies that he needed to take back, plus some extra pistols and ammunition for the men he was hiring.
After downing his drink, he bought a fistful of small cigars from the bartender, then left the cantina and went two blocks down the street to the Wortham Brothers Supply.
With the money Sam had given him, he purchased six Colt Navy .44’s with bullets, powder, balls, and holsters. The anxious young clerk laid them with care on the counter. He acted breathless as he waited for Slocum’s next request.
“I’ll need a spool of cotton rope for lariat, hobbles, and leads.”
“We have some good rope, sir.” The youth placed four samples on the counter for his inspection.
“This one,” Slocum said. “And throw in six yellow slickers.”
The salesman began to snicker. At last unable to control himself, he turned his back and tried to bite his fist to hold in his hilarity.
“Something wrong?” Slocum asked with a frown.
“Oh, no, sir,” the boy said, trying to swallow his laughter. “But we ain’t had much call for yellow slickers. It ain’t rained in these parts for nine months.”
“Then it’s high time that it did.”
“Oh, yes, sir. What else?”
“Two cases of Arbuckle coffee. Two hundred pounds of brown beans, two sacks of rice, couple cases airtight tomatoes. You have any peaches?”
“In cans?”
“Yes.”
“I can get you two cases. We just got in a shipment of them.”
“I’ll take them. I want a big tin can of baking soda, two hundred pounds of flour, two big cans of lard. Throw in a few pots and pans, couple ladles, a keg of horseshoes and nails. A half-dozen tin plates. That many cups—oh, throw in a few extra in case they lose some.”
“You have a wagon to put this in?”
“No, but I will come daylight. Right out there,” Slocum said with a toss of his head toward the street side of the store. “I’ll need some lucifers too.”
“You going to Kansas with a herd?” the boy asked.
“Nope, I’m going to finish a roundup my friend didn’t get done.”
“Shucks, I was hoping I could tie on with your outfit and go along.”
“Why, you make more money working here than I could ever pay you to punch cows.”
“What do you pay?”
“Thirty and found.”
“I’ll take it.” The boy’s green eyes lit up like he’d found a bonanza gold mine. He began undoing the apron strings behind his back.
“Hold your horses,” Slocum said. “I ain’t said I was taking a greenhorn boy up there.” He scowled at his dilemma. He didn’t need to nursemaid any boy in this deal.
“Mister, you sure won’t ever regret it,” the clerk said with the white cloth wadded up in his fist on the countertop.
“What’s your name?”
“Ellis. Ray Ellis.”
Slocum drew a deep breath as he deliberately considered the lanky youth of perhaps nineteen or twenty before him. Once he’d been that anxious himself for such a job, and he damn sure would never have been happy wearing an apron and pinned down in this stinking dark store all day.
“You ever shot a pistol?”
“Mister, I can hit a tin can four out of five times with one.”
“You ever killed a man?”
“No, sir.” His face paled as if he felt his chances of joining Slocum’s outfit were floundering. “But I ain’t afraid.” His sharp whiskerless chin turned red with his scowl.
“All right, Ray Ellis, you be ready to ride come first light. Now figure up this bill. Do you have a gun?’
“Yes, sir, but it ain’t a Navy model.” He motioned to the new ones beside his hand.
“Add another one to my bill then.” No telling what kind of an old hogleg he’d been using. Slocum looked around the dimly lit room for some relief. He’d been snared into taking the lanky youth back with him.
“Yes, sir,” Ray said, bent over a piece of brown butcher paper with a short pencil, scrawling down the items and pricing them.
“Add a pocket-size log book too,” Slocum said, thinking how he might need one to inventory the herd Sam had left. Be a good job for the boy. He could see right there that he was good with writing and figures.
“Comes to a hundred and fifty dollars. I rounded it off for all you bought.”
“Ellis,” a balding man said, leaning around a post beside the pile of unsized shoes. “You get through with that customer, you go load five hundred pounds of corn in Mr. Van Dam’s wagon out back.”
“Oh, Mr. Wortham?” Ray called out.
“Yes?” The man frowned from beyond the pile of footwear.
“I won’t be loading no corn in Mr. Van Dam’s wagon this day nor any other. I’m quitting. You better come collect from this man. Mister ...”
“Slocum will do.”
“Mr. Slocum here has a large order he wants loaded on his wagon at first light.” Ray leaped over the counter and started for the front door; he tossed the ap
ron at the open-mouthed merchant, who barely managed to catch it in time as he passed him. “And I won’t be working here no longer. Good day. I’ve got to get my gear ready.”
“Gear ready? Excuse me, sir, I believe that boy has lost his mind,” the storekeeper said as he hurried behind the counter and began rechecking the figures. “Why, he certainly has taken leave of all of his senses. Did he tell you what he was going to do?”
“Go off and cowboy, I guess,” Slocum said, counting the money out for the man.
“What would a perfectly bright young man do that for?” Wortham flattened the bills out and recounted them carefully.
“Ain’t no telling,” Slocum said, and took the copy of the bill the man tore off the sheet for him. “Things get in a young man’s mind and nothing else will do.” He stuffed the receipt in his wallet to take back to Sam.
“Yes, but cowboying?” Under the white shirt and vest, the man’s thin shoulders shuddered in revulsion at the very notion.
“See you at sunup.” Slocum motioned to his purchases piled on the counter.
“Oh, yes, sir. At Wortham we take pride in our service. I’ll be open and ready at sunup. Damn—oh, excuse me. I guess I’ll have to go out back and load that corn.” Wortham looked at the glaring light from the front door as if he expected Ellis to reappear and ask for his job back, but instead two women came inside and lowered their parasols.
Intent on their business, they came like two geese in line to where Slocum stood before the counter. The first of them, in her fifties, glared at him as mean-eyed and sour-faced as if she’d eaten a bad pickle, but the younger one, with her high breasts and slender waist snuggled in a blue calico dress, had a lilting smile when Slocum stepped aside for them and removed his hat with a friendly “Good afternoon, ladies.”
For a long moment, he studied her shapely backside as she sashayed up the aisle after the older woman. Slowly he replaced his Stetson, then headed for the street. He didn’t blame Ray for quitting the store. There weren’t enough girls in blue dresses to make up for all the rest. No time for daydreaming about what she looked like without her clothes on; he still needed to buy a team and a wagon to haul his supplies.
3
Dawn came with the crowing of banty roosters, and burro trains loaded with firewood moved up the street. Other burros, with milk in kegs strapped on their backs, were driven by peddlers calling out to housewives in Spanish, “Fresh milk!”
Floppy-eared asses bearing water flasks came by next, the line of them weaved through the screeching axle carts towed by skinny steers that were on the move in the coolness before the sun’s rays found the hard-packed dirt streets. Merchants swept their porches. A snowy-bearded gent came out the swinging doors of a cantina and threw the contents of his wooden pail into the street, leaving a dark spot, which was quickly absorbed in the ash-white ground.
Slocum halted the light wagon at Wortham’s porch. Armed with his broom, the proprietor nodded good morning as he finished his sweeping. With the brake set and reins tied off, Slocum climbed down and followed the man inside the store.
“I have it all ready, Mr. Slocum,” Ray said with a smile as he jumped off the counter. Somewhere he had found a weather-beaten felt hat. A blue and red silk rag was tied around his neck, and he wore a Mexican vest with a tattered hem. He had a new Colt Navy on his hip.
“You drive a team?” Slocum asked.
“Sure can.”
“Good, that will be your job.”
“I can handle it,” Ray said, and then he shouldered a burlap sack full of beans as if it weighed nothing and headed for the front doorway.
They soon had the wagon loaded, and Slocum undid the bay from the tailgate. Ray looked capable enough on the seat as he saluted the merchant, who shook his head as if in disbelief.
“Ellis, you’ll be begging me for your old job back before fall,” Wortham shouted after him.
“I sure hope not.” Then Ray clicked to the team and leaned forward in the spring seat to see everything as he guided the horses up the street.
“Where we going, Mr. Slocum?”
“Up to the Osa Negra Cantina. The rest of the crew is waiting.”
“They got horses?”
“Probably not. They can ride in the back of the wagon.”
“Sure thing, Mr. Slocum.”
“Ray, drop the ‘mister.’ You can call me Slocum.”
“Sure, boss, I mean Slocum, anything you want.”
Martinez the bartender stood in the street waiting for him. He looked concerned as he dried his hands on his apron.
“Something wrong?” Slocum asked as he dismounted and observed the five men standing on the porch. Two thin ponies stood hipshot at the rack.
“I wondered if you had horses for them to ride.”
“They can ride their own or in the wagon.”
“Good enough,” the bartender said with a look of relief on his swarthy face.
He introduced each man to Slocum. Lopez was the oldest one. His hair was white, and he looked lean and tough as dried mesquite wood. He owned the brown horse and a well-oiled saddle with a great horn.
“At the ranch I have plenty of good horses for all of you to use,” Slocum said to reassure the men. Lopez nodded and tossed his bedroll in the wagon.
Next came Hermosa, who looked like a bulldog. Square-shouldered, he was barely five-six, but he looked tough enough.
“I sold my caballero,” he explained, hefting his saddle and gear from the ground beside his sandals.
“Climb in the wagon, we’ve got plenty at the ranch,” Slocum said. “Nice to have you, Hermosa.”
“Gracias, patrón.”
“This is Miguel,” Martinez said. “They say he can rope anything with hair on it.”
“Nice to have you aboard,” Slocum said as the shorter man shoved his hand out to shake.
“Señor,how long will this job last?” Miguel paused before he loaded his things in the box.
“I hope when we get things settled that you can bring your families up there.”
“Good,” the man said, satisfied with the answer, and the others agreed with nods of their heads.
Ornesto Reeves swept back his wide straw sombrero and grinned when Martinez introduced him. “We are much happy to meet you, señor,” said the slender breed.
“There’s something about this job that perhaps Martinez did not tell you,” Slocum said to them all. He searched their swarthy faces.
They all watched him intently. Lopez jerked his horse around so he could hear this part.
“A lady owns this ranch. Does that bother anyone?” Slocum watched them closely.
“Is she pretty?” the youngest and the last one introduced, who called himself Teo, asked with a grin.
“Yes, but there are men up there that want her pushed out of the country.” Slocum surveyed their faces again for a reaction. “They have killed her men before. There may be shooting. Someone will get hurt before this is over. I plan on it being them and not us.”
“Señor Slocum, life is full of dangers,” Lopez said for the others. “We will be proud to ride for you and this lady.”
“Si!” came the chorus.
“Good. Let’s go north then.” He walked over and rewarded Martinez with a ten-dollar gold piece. “You did a great job.”
“Gracias. They are all real men,” the bartender bragged as he studied the glistening coin in his palm. “Slocum, may God be with you!”
Slocum stepped up on the bay and swung his leg over the pony’s rump. He too hoped that God rode with him. In the saddle, he checked his horse as three of the men scrambled to help each other climb into the wagon. Miguel and Lopez brought their mounts up to ride behind him.
They had miles to cover. Daylight was well up and burning away. He set the bay into a trot and waved for Ray to follow. Slocum wove through the traffic crowding the street and headed northward. He wondered as he leaned into the bay’s gait how well Sam had managed to survive in his absence. I
f that bunch had messed with her in any way, they’d have hell to pay and lots of it. He swung his gelding around some high freight wagons, and looked back as the two men came on his heels. Ray reined his team around the freighters and talked sharply to the horses, slapping them with the lines to keep them trotting.
I’m coming with help, girl. You better take care. We’ll be there in a few days.
4
A hot wind swept from the south. Slocum checked the bay up and studied the ranch house and corrals sprawled along the nearly dry San Tia River. Yellow leaves rattled in the cottonwoods like beans in a jar as he nudged the gelding off the hillside. Then he saw her come out in the yard with a rifle in one hand and her other hand shading her eyes the better to see him. A grin cracked his wind-burned face as he sent the pony skeedaddling downhill. She looked to be all right, and that was all that mattered.
He dismounted as the pony slid to a halt. She ran toward him, and then hesitated as if unsure what to do. But he gave her no choice, and moved in to hug her ripe form inside his arms.
“How did things go?” he asked in her ear.
“No problems. They figure I’m going to dry up to nothing and they can have what’s left like a buzzard picking a dead cow.”
“Anyone come by?” he asked as he straightened up and released her.
“Nope. Not a thing was out of place. I rode out and checked on some water holes. But wait—before you frown at me for disobeying you. I was very careful, and I circled around them each time to be certain that no one was waiting to ambush me.”
“Good. Come and meet the crew,” he said, removing his Stetson and wiping his gritty wet forehead on his shirt-sleeve.
“How many?”
“Six, and they’re all tough riders. One’s a boy, but he’s as gritty as any I’ve ever seen.”
“I better get some food started then.” She started to leave, but he caught her arm.
“You need to meet them. They’re sure anxious to meet the boss lady.”
