Slocum and the Lone Star Feud

by Jake Logan

  “Let me think,” he said.

  “I have some lunch ready,” Angela offered. “You can eat, then he can decide what to do. He doesn’t normally talk this much with his bad lip, of course.”

  “It looks real bad,” Sam said. “I guess I could eat. Do I recognize that dress?” she asked with a hard look at Angela.

  “Oh, I am sorry. This was your gown? I found it in that old trunk over there, and I needed something to wear around when I got here.”

  “Don’t worry. It looks nice on you, and besides, I could never get in it now that you’ve taken it in.” Both women laughed at the notion as they went inside.

  Slocum remained outside. He studied the land to the west for a sign of anyone trailing Sam. Heat waves distorted his view of the ridgeline, but nothing came into his sight. The trouble damn sure thickened. Poor Ray was getting a quick education in a Texas range war; he might even wish he was back to clerking in San Antone.

  After lunch, Angela changed into her riding skirt and blouse; then the two women went on foot to look for their horses. They chattered the whole time until they were out of earshot, and he felt like an eavesdropper in their presence. Soon they returned with their horses, and the three of them set out for the C T X headquarters.

  The ride hurt him, but he never let either of the women know about it. He dropped heavily from the saddle in the yard, and Teo came to greet them. Ray appeared in the doorway, his left arm in a sling, grinning like the cat that ate the last fish.

  “Wow, you look worse than I do, Slocum,” he exclaimed.

  “They been treating us both rough.” Slocum managed a smile for the boy. “Ray, this is Angela Morales. She’s a good hand at doctoring and she needs to look at your wound.”

  “Sure nice to meet you, ma’am. But it’s only a scratch.” Ray acted a little embarrassed at the attention. Angela took him by his good elbow and guided him inside.

  “I’ll help Teo put up the horses,” Slocum said, and started to turn, but Sam caught his arm.

  “Let him do that. You look pale to me.”

  “I’m fine,” he lied.

  “You don’t look it to me. Do you think your telegram got through to the Rangers?”

  “The wire got through, all right. But Taylor acted like him and the governor were close allies, and Ira Martin sent the governor a wire to stop the Rangers, saying that I was crazy. Captain Spencer knows I’m not crazy—most of the time. We can only hope.”

  “What do you think?” She looked at him perplexed.

  “We may have to handle it right now. At least until the captain sends help.”

  “I need to get back up there to the camp and back up Lopez.” She set her mouth in a grim line and then swept her short hair back from her face. “There is just no telling what Franklin and them might try next. They’ve got Ray out of the way and he’d stand up to them.”

  “Ray tried to stop some rustlers? How many?”

  “Three, he thought.”

  “Devereau, Slade, and one more,” Slocum said aloud, trying to figure who had rejoined them or if it was a new man.

  “You said that they’re working with Knotts?” she asked, looking pained at him.

  “Yes, he doesn’t think sheriffs make enough money around here. He pushed Taylor and the Martins into a range war with you so his partners could steal your cattle.”

  “Slocum, you look so bad. I mean, you have a big purple bruise on your face and your lips are all swollen. Is there anything I can get you before I ride out?”

  “Got a bottle of good whiskey left?”

  “I can find one.”

  “I’ll take it. Look for me up there at sunup,” he promised her. “I’ll see what I can do about Franklin then.”

  “I’d appreciate it. He’ll back down from you. Our camp’s at the north tank. In the same country where we captured those rustlers that got away.”

  “I’ll find you.” He scratched the back of his neck under his collar-length hair. He sure needed a haircut.

  “I’ll go in and find that whiskey for you. You’re hurting bad, aren’t you?” She frowned at him, waiting for an answer.

  “I’ll make it,” he said.

  “She’s nice, isn’t she?” Sam paused before him.

  “Yes, she is. Like the rest of us, she’s been kicked around a few times.”

  “I can tell.”

  From inside the house he heard Ray shouting in pain, and he almost laughed aloud, except it hurt his face too much. Angela must be burning his wound out with some whiskey she’d found. He hoped she didn’t use the whole damn bottle on that boy.

  After her supper, he and Ray sat on the porch in ladder-back chairs. They were drinking the sour mash straight from glasses. They had spoken of Franklin’s arguing over every calf brought to the branding fire.

  “I got mad enough to shoot him,” Ray said. “Why, by the end of every day I was raging mad at him. That’s why I rode out to check on things. I was so damn full up with his bullshit. Then I heard cattle bawling and rode right smack into those rustlers. Fool thing. I should have scouted some before I rode in on them.”

  “You had no way to know they were rustlers.”

  “No, I blundered right in on them. Next thing I knew, they went to shooting at me and my left arm was spouting blood and hanging down.”

  “Did you see them?”

  “No. All I seen were the kerchiefs they wore and the gunsmoke.”

  “Horses, you see any of them?”

  “No. It was dusty as hell like it’s been the whole time. I’m sorry I wasn’t more observant.”

  “No, you did good.”

  “I never stopped the rustlers.”

  “No, but you scared them and they’ll be wary. May have forced them to go elsewhere.”

  “They’re pretty damn brave, stealing cattle while we’re out there, ain’t they?”

  “Must have a contract to fill, is all I can think.” What were they doing with the cattle? Driving them into the Indian Nation to hide them. Then what? There still remained lots of things that Slocum didn’t have an answer for concerning Devereau’s operation.

  “I want to go back up there with you in the morning,” Ray said. “She needs me up there and so do the boys.”

  “You feel up to it, fine. We’ll get up before dawn.”

  “Most of all, I want to see how you handle Franklin.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “You’ve got experience that I need, Slocum, to ever ramrod an outfit like this. So I’m going to watch you, all right?”

  “Fine. Don’t expect too much.”

  “In the morning?” Ray rose, lifted his glass in a toast, and then downed it.

  “Yes, I’ll be ready.” Slocum hoisted his glass to him, and then he settled back in the chair. Ray put down the glass and then with a wave, disappeared into the darkness at the edge of the porch for the bunkhouse. The sizzle of the night bugs fried the hot air. No breeze stirred. It wasn’t cooling down much considering it was an hour past sundown. That one rain shower had not lasted a half day. There was still no end in sight to the drought.

  How would he handle Franklin? He’d cover that when the time came.

  “Would you like to take a bath?” Angela asked from the doorway. “I’ve heated some water. I thought a good soaking along with the whiskey might ease your pain.”

  “You shouldn’t have drawn water—”

  “I didn’t. She had water inside at the faucet from the tank out there.” She pointed behind the house. “I only heated some of it. Come on, it’s ready now.”

  “My, you’re bossy tonight,” he said as he stood up stiffly. Hands on his hips, he tried to stretch the sore muscles in his body. Taylor and the others for sure had worn out some boot-toe leather on his sides and ribs.

  “I may give you a haircut and a shave too. You do look very bad.” She shook her head in disapproval of his appearance.

  “Hell, I ain’t going to go see the King of France. I’m only going to rou
ndup in the morning.”

  “You can look nice to go up there. Take off those clothes you are wearing, I will wash them too.”

  Must be spring housecleaning, he decided to himself. Shave, haircut, bath—damn, he’d be civilized if those stitches hadn’t worn a hole in the tip of his tongue from testing them over and over. His swollen lip was as sore as anything else.

  “I couldn’t wash your clothes at the other place where we stayed,” Angela said. “I had a hard time getting all that nasty moss off of me from soaking in that tank.” She held out her hand for his shirt when he removed it, and stood waiting for the rest.

  He shook his head as he sat down to remove his boots. Lots still to do and no figuring out how he’d ever do it.

  21

  “That calf has a C T X momma,” Slocum said with his hands planted on his hips and looking straight into Franklin Martin’s brown eyes. “She’s getting that brand on her side.”

  “I ain’t so damn certain.”

  “Your momma didn’t raise that big of a fool, Franklin Martin.”

  “Hold it there, Mexican,” he said to stop Hermosa from flanking the calf. His blue eyes glared at Slocum from ten steps away.

  “Brand it!” Slocum said, and never broke his stare.

  “Don’t touch it!”

  “Franklin, we ain’t found a cow in this bunch that has anything but a C T X brand on it. You want trouble, then you can have it, but it will be with me.”

  “Then by gawd, you’re getting it.” The lanky cowboy charged in and kicked with all his might at where Slocum was standing. But Slocum managed to step aside at the last moment, grab Martin’s boot, and heave it over his head. He saw stars with the exertion, but the swift action took Martin’s feet away and he slammed hard on his back.

  Martin scrambled out of the dust and charged. He took Slocum by the waist. In the rush he lost his footing, but hung on like a bulldog, until Slocum clasped his hands together and hit him on the neck hard enough to stagger Martin loose. He landed shaken on his hands and knees, and Slocum lifted him with a handful of his collar.

  “We’re branding calves with C T X mamas. You got a complaint you speak up, but it damn sure better be valid or I’ll beat the shit out of you. Savvy?”

  Franklin nodded in surrender, and Slocum shoved him away. The younger man staggered aside rubbing the back of his neck, and looking like a whipped cur dog, stumbled off bent over.

  “Miguel, start bringing them calves to the fire,” Slocum said.

  “Sí, señor.” With a grin on his brown face, Miguel whirled his horse around and was gone.

  “A good thing we have lots of wood,” Hermosa said with a grin of approval. “We have lots to brand today, huh, amigo?”

  “Yes, we do. I intend to finish working these cattle and let the cows get out and find some graze,” Slocum said, holding the back of his hand to his bleeding mouth. He looked at the fresh blood on his fingers and scowled. Could have been worse. The lanky Franklin could have beaten him to a pulp.

  “Guess you settled that,” Ray said as Slocum came past the fire to where Ray stood with Sam.

  “Oh, my God, you’ve busted your mouth open again,” she said with disapproval written on her face.

  “Did it myself.” He used his kerchief to dab at it as she inspected it.

  “Guess you settled him,” she said, glancing over to where Franklin stood by his horse.

  “Wait until he tells his boss.”

  “What?”

  “He’s fixing to ride out and tell Taylor that his plan isn’t working.” Slocum narrowed his eyes against the gust of dust as Miguel dragged the next calf to the fire. The others flanked the protesting animal, then tossed the rope back, and Lopez ran over with the iron to brand it. Roundup at the C T X was in full swing.

  “And?” Sam asked.

  “All hell’s going to break loose.”

  “I’m ready.”

  “I hope we all are,” Slocum said, and watched Franklin jerk up his cinch, then scowl at them, before he mounted and rode off.

  “What should we do next?” Ray asked.

  “Keep your guns handy. You get up on a high point and hunker under a cedar bush so you aren’t obvious. When they head this way, you fire off three rounds to warn the others down here.” Then Slocum turned to Sam. “You get Lopez and these hands armed for a tough siege.”

  “Will they come shooting?”

  “Best I can figure, they will. They probably think they can scare these boys of yours off with some gunfire.”

  “We won’t run,” Lopez said as he knelt down on his knees, rolling the extra irons into the red-hot coals.

  “I know that, amigo. But Taylor thinks you are just simple field hands.”

  Lopez nodded, then rushed to brand another ready calf.

  “What are you going to do?” Sam asked Slocum.

  “I’m going to try to keep them busy fixing windmills at their own ranches. I’ll also be turning their stock loose. I’ll be back.”

  “Have Angela do something about that lip,” she said with a frown. Then she smiled knowingly. “Won’t do any good to tell me you will, because you won’t. You be very careful working on those windmills.”

  “I will. Ray, keep low up there. I don’t want them sneaking around you.”

  “I’ll keep my head down,” he promised with a wide grin. “Wish I could help you.” He held out his arm in the sling and then shrugged.

  “Watching over the crew is more important to their safety.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Have her do something about that damn lip,” Sam shouted after Slocum.

  “I will, Mother.” He gave her a wink, swung up in the saddle, and headed southeast, so he didn’t run into Franklin, who had headed south.

  In a few hours, Slocum reached the C T X headquarters, and Teo came up to take his sweaty horse.

  “Any trouble here?” he asked, dropping heavily from the saddle.

  “No problems.” Teo shrugged his thin shoulders and then shifted the rifle to his other arm to take the reins from Slocum.

  “I’ll need another fresh one later,” Slocum said, and headed for the house.

  “He’ll be saddled and ready.”

  “Gracias. That’ll be good.” He went off to meet Angela, who came from the house with her skirt in hand.

  “My gosh, Slocum, who did you fight with this time?” she asked, looking at his bloody chin in disbelief.

  “Oh, hell, one of the other men. Can you stop the bleeding?”

  “If you’ll lie down for a few hours.”

  “I don’t have but a few—”

  “Go lie on the bed in there. I’m going to look for some spiderwebs.” She pointed to the house.

  “What for?”

  “To stop the bleeding, silly. Go lay down. Now!”

  “I never got as many instructions from my mother as I get from the two of you,” he said under his breath, checking the mid-afternoon sun and then heading into the house. It was too early to ride out anyway.

  The interior of the thick-walled house felt like a cool breath on his sun-scorched face when he ducked inside and stuck his hat on a wall peg. The transformation from the heat outside to the shadowy inside reminded him of coming out of a fiery oven into a cool deep cavern. He sat on a ladder-back chair and closed his tired eyes as he pulled off his boots. Then half asleep, he stripped off his sweat-soaked shirt. From the bottle on the table, he poured himself some of the amber liquor in a glass. The whiskey might deaden some of his hurting. He had miles to ride under cover of darkness. The sour mash burned the cut inside his mouth like fiery coals, but warmed him with a hot trail down his throat that flushed away the dust. He poured himself another, and then he drained the glass.

  Standing beside the feather bed, he regretted the notion that he might get blood all over Sam’s bedclothes. Still, it sure looked inviting, so he climbed in the center of the four-poster with a flour-sack towel to put under his head to protect the pillow an
d covers. Nestled on his back, he soon forgot the concerns of the day. Even the soreness in his sides had subsided, as did the throbbing in his lips, and at last he closed his eyes.

  “It is only me,” Angela said as she climbed on the bed.

  With her fingertips, she spread something on his lips as she knelt over him. Her touch was light. He closed his eyes and let the whiskey numb the pain.

  “How can you sleep with your belt on?” she demanded, and used both hands to unbuckle it in an effort that made him bounce on the bed.

  He closed his eyes, grateful for the lull in his hurting that the whiskey gave him. Half asleep, he felt her unbuttoning his pants, spreading them open. He lifted his butt to make it easier for her to pull them off. Drowsy, he fell back into his slumber when she finished removing his pants.

  “Aw,” she said aloud when he discovered she was back in the bed, and he opened his eyes when she lifted his pride in her hand. Her fingers closed on the soft shaft. “So this is your gun, pistolero?”

  “He’s resting,” he mumbled.

  “Oh, I think he is going to wake up.”

  “He might.”

  “Don’t move,” she said with a wicked smile as she pulled on him. “I don’t want you bleeding again. The webs are beginning to work.”

  “Good,” he said, and lay back in pleasure as her manipulations began.

  “Oh, it isn’t dead.”

  “Good news,” he mumbled, enjoying her handiwork.

  “Lay back,” she said. Gently she laid it down with a soft promise to return. Then she slipped off the bed and crossed the room, and he heard her close the door. She came back to the edge of the bed and blew him a kiss. Deliberately and for his benefit, she removed her blouse in the slanted shady light of the room. Her pear-shaped breasts appeared and she dropped her gaze to them, and then silently looked at him as if to ask if he liked them.

  He nodded yes.

  They swung firm and free as she started to push down her skirt. First she showed him her flat stomach. Then inching the waistband down, she exposed the deep dimple of her navel, and at last the black thatch in a triangle. His heart quickened and his throat grew smaller when he tried to swallow.

  Gracefully, she stepped out of her skirt, and paused to hang it on the nearby chair. Through his half-parted eyelids he watched her cross to the bed like a slinking panther. Lithe and lean, she crawled on the bed until she knelt at his waist. His heart stopped when her fist encircled him again; this time she vigorously aroused his aching shaft to rock-hardness.