by Jake Logan
“Good. What else?” She removed his dripping slicker and hung it on a peg.
“I didn’t do enough good to make much difference other than that.”
“That’s one of them, right?”
“Yeah, but there’s three more tough ones for me to convince.”
“You’ll figure it out. I need to pull out those stitches before they grow into your face.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“It won’t hurt much,” she said as she went for something.
“Has Devereau been out of prison long?” he asked after her.
“Six months, I think, since he came for me.”
“You ever know a boy called Troy Martin?”
She shook her head and pushed Slocum down in a chair. Then, with a small knife, she snipped the catgut stitches. He felt them come loose, and then winced as she plucked the first one.
“Devereau shot him,” he told her.
“I told you I never knew much about their business away from the ranch, except what I overheard.”
“How did you get hooked up with him?” he asked as she finished and dappled his chin with a whiskey-soaked cloth.
“I hired to cook for an outfit that took some cattle out near Fort Griffin to graze. He was around there. Rustling from them, but I didn’t know it at the time. If the truth be known, I didn’t want to believe it. Him and Slade were caught stealing cattle and they did eighteen months. When he got out he came to where I was cooking for the 76 outfit up on an Indian lease, and said he had a ranch of his own on the Red River and that he’d marry me if I came back here.”
“Did he?”
“No.” She gave him an impatient glare. “Oh, he had the place, all right—you’ve been there—but he wasn’t going to marry me. He needed a free cook. Why, Billy Dicks of the 76 outfit paid me fifty bucks a month and I had two boys to chop wood, wash dishes, and haul water.”
“You did all that yourself at Devereau’s?”
“Yes. You won’t have a bad scar,” she said, looking closely at his chin. “Not too smart, was I?”
“I’ve done worse.”
“What have you got in mind to do next?” she asked, taking a seat on his lap, putting her arms around his neck, and nestling her face against his chest.
“Probably not much,” he said, squeezing her hard to his body.
The blast of a rifle started both of them.
“That wasn’t thunder,” he shouted, and setting her on her feet, he surged for the doorway. Colt in his fist, he searched the rainy curtain as another nearby shot crashed over the roar of the storm.
“Teo?” he shouted, unable to see for the lashing downpour that rushed off the roof into his face. Horses were running around both sides of the house. They’d raided the pens again.
“Don’t go out there!” she screamed after him, but he was already in the fury of the storm. Who was taking the saddle stock? Then a horse came out of nowhere, barreling by, and Slocum grabbed for the rider. He jerked him half out of the saddle. Blinded by the driving rain as he clung to the arm of the intruder, he lost his footing in the mud. His hold on the man’s slicker finally tore loose, and Slocum sprawled belly-down in the slick footing. Then, to his appreciation, a few yards away, the rider spilled facedown in a great splash.
His soles were too slick to stand on, but Slocum fought to his feet and then rushed to capture the slicker-clad figure. He tackled him from behind as the man tried to get up, and sent him facedown in the mud. The two fought for a hold on each other. On their feet, they snarled at each other like angry dogs. Then, through his wet eyes, Slocum made out the raging face of the burly foreman, Buster McCurdy. He managed to duck a ham of a fist, and then drove his own into the man’s gut. McCurdy doubled over, and Slocum used an uppercut right on the chin to lift him up. Out of breath and shaken, Slocum reached down, collared the man, and dragged him to the porch.
“Who’s he?” Teo asked, and reached for a hold to help Slocum haul the man.
“Taylor’s foreman. Good to see you’re all right,” Slocum said as the rain beat on them. “What happened?”
“I saw him ride into the corral in the lightning and try to drive out the horses. I knew by his hat he wasn’t one of our men, so I shot over his head as a warning and to scare him. Then I ducked. He shot back at me and then I heard him riding off.”
“You did good,” Slocum said as he rolled the groaning McCurdy over. “What’s your business here?”
“Go fuck yourself.”
“Horse stealing?”
“None of your damn business.” McCurdy half rose to sit up and rubbed his jaw.
“I’m making it mine. What are you doing up here?”
“I ain’t telling you nothing.”
“Good, you can tell the Rangers.”
“Ain’t no Rangers coming.”
“Good, we’ll hang you.” Slocum wondered if the man actually knew that they weren’t coming. Since McCurdy worked for Taylor, he might know if his boss had gotten to the governor and had them stopped. “They still hang horse thieves in Texas,” Slocum said, and dragged McCurdy inside the house.
He shoved him onto a chair, and Angela brought rope to tie him with. Damn surly bastard anyway. Doing Taylor’s dirty work. Then Slocum considered something else. What about Sam? Taylor must be raiding the cow camp.
“Teo, guard him. I’ve got to find me a saddle horse and ride to the camp,” he said, then finished binding the man’s hands behind his back. “What’s your boss up to?” he demanded.
McCurdy didn’t reply as Slocum finished checking his binds, knowing they were tight enough to make the man wince. Slocum straightened and stepped in front of him.
“I asked you a question!”
“Go to Hell.”
Slocum slapped him hard enough across the face to make his palm sting. Then he drew a deep breath for control as he rubbed his smarting hand with the fingers of his other hand. He might just as well have slapped a rock. McCurdy wasn’t telling him anything.
“If a Cheyenne had him, how would he get him to talk?” he asked Angela.
“Maybe use burning sticks on his skin,” she said with a shrug. “You want one from the stove?”
“Not now. I better go check on Sam and the others. I’m satisfied he was sent here as a diversion. But you could find out the truth about the Rangers coming while I’m gone.”
“Does he know?” She tossed her head toward McCurdy.
“I guess a Cheyenne could find out what he did know.” They exchanged a mutual nod.
“They won’t get here in time to save you,” McCurdy finally said.
“Just so they get here.” Slocum nodded. “I guess we know now.”
“Teo, you make sure that he don’t leave here except feet first, and you protect this house and her. Don’t shoot the Rangers, though.” He saw the young man’s firm nod as he swept down the slicker from the peg.
“Do you have to go in this storm?” she asked, trailing him to the door as he drew on the oilskin coat.
“Yes. I’m afraid that Taylor is going to try to raid the cow camp.”
“Be careful,” she said softly as Slocum stopped in the doorway.
He reached up and pulled down the hat brim. “I will.” Then he headed into the fierce force that threatened to sweep him away. When it rained in Texas, it really rained.
The ride to the cow camp was lighted by blinding grave diggers that danced across the hills. Deep bellowing rolls of repeated thunder vibrated the earth under him. Every small arroyo he crossed surged with muddy water. His horse forded belly-deep creeks that only the day before had been dry dance floors for dust devils.
At last, he could see the chuck wagon and some huddled figures under the fly as he rode up. Maybe he wasn’t too late. He dropped out of the saddle and saw Sam’s worried face among the vaqueros.
“What’s wrong?” she asked as he sought the leaky canvas roof over them. The anxious faces of Ray and the others looked at him for his reply.
&nb
sp; “McCurdy made a raid on the horses that were left. I figured that Taylor would try something up here.”
“Have some coffee,” she said, bending over with a kerchief in her hands to pick up the pot. She straightened with the enamel vessel in her grip. “We haven’t seen a thing.”
“Who’s with the horses?” he asked as Lopez brought him a cup.
“Reeves,” Lopez said. “Do you think they will bother him?”
“Which way did he take them?” he asked, studying the steaming brew as she poured it for him.
“To the north.” She stood for a moment with the pot in hand. “The grass is short everywhere around here, but he thought he could find some feed for them on the hills up there.”
“What should we do?” Sam asked, straightening from putting the coffee back on the small fire built under the flap.
“I’ll go check,” Slocum said. “You stay here with the others and be ready for anything.”
“I will go with you,” Lopez said.
“Me too,” Ray said.
“You might need a gunhand with you,” she said, seeing he wasn’t in favor of taking any of her hands. “Ray, with your arm, you better stay here with us. The four of us can fight off an army. Can’t we?” The others nodded their approval.
“I have a horse ready,” Lopez offered, motioning to one of the mounts out in the downpour hitched to the wagon wheel. A yellow slicker over the man’s saddle protected his gear.
“Good enough,” Slocum said. Then he swallowed a big slug of the scalding hot coffee and came close to choking on it; he drew a deep breath to cool his tongue and mouth. Damn. Freezing outside and on fire inside. He sure hoped he wasn’t wasting too much time drinking this stuff.
Finished, he gave her the cup, took the reins to his horse from Ray, and swung up on the wet seat as Lopez joined him. They set out in a lull in the storm. Their horses’ hooves sliced the mud as they loped northward. The clouds opened and the light began to increase from the near-darkness of night to the subdued shade of thick clouds. They pushed hard, seeking the far ridge, and then drawing up to search for a sign of the horse herd. Nothing.
They crossed the next wide swale, and Slocum saw the riderless horse standing ground-tied. Damn—they were too late. He pointed out the mount to Lopez, and both men charged their ponies for the animal.
Slocum spotted the body facedown in a patch of sage-brush as he slid his horse to a stop and dismounted. The man’s clothes were soaked through, and the diluted red blotch of blood on his back was the size of a dinner plate.
Slocum knew without turning him over. Reeves was dead.
“No bueno por nada,” Lopez said, kneeling beside him. Then he removed his sombrero and made the sign of the cross with his head bowed.
“You’re right, it ain’t no damn good,” Slocum agreed. They’d shot her father, her uncle, Luther, and now Reeves—a simple vaquero who rode for the brand. A man who’d given his life for thirty saddle horses. Backshot by cowards. Slocum closed his eyes. There was no end to this death and destruction. He could hear the screams of men dying and fighting on the battlefield at Gettysburg, the cannons blasting great craters all around him, tossing men and horses and pieces of men and horses into the air with each thunderous round.
He and Lopez half carried and half dragged Reeves’s small body to the horse, and then they loaded his corpse belly-down over the seat. Lopez tied him on the far side and Slocum did the near side. Neither man had a word to say.
They mounted, Lopez led the horse, and they headed back for the wagon.
“Where did they take the horses?” Lopez asked.
“Scattered them, I guess.”
“Probably,” Lopez agreed, and they rode in stunned silence.
“Maybe we can round them up,” Lopez finally suggested.
“No, I want to get everyone back to the ranch. We can defend ourselves better there until help comes.”
“The Rangers?”
“Yes, I believe they are coming.”
“What will we do if they don’t come?”
“We’ll cross that river when we get to it.”
“I savvy,” Lopez said, sounding satisfied.
Slocum looked to the west. More dark clouds were gathering, and he knew the next storm would catch them before he could ever get the whole crew back to the headquarters. There he could make a stand. Otherwise, Taylor would pick them off one at a time.
He twisted in the saddle, studied the cedar-studded slope, and wondered where Taylor’s crew was hiding. In truth, he didn’t want to know—he simply wanted to get Sam and her men safely back to the ranch. He moved in to hurry the pony bearing the bobbing body. Lopez nodded that he understood, and they soon were loping for camp.
24
The funeral was a solemn occasion. In a break between storms, they wrapped the body of Ornesto Reeves in his best blankets, and then lowered it into the grave dug by his various pards. As all heads bowed, Slocum read from the Psalms.
“Yea, though I walk through the valley of death,” he began as the men and women stood in a semicircle. Reeves had been in that valley and had gone on. When Slocum finished reading and gave an amen, the others answered him, each in his or her own muttered way. Miguel and Hermosa crossed themselves and then took on the task of refilling the hole with shovels.
“He was married and had a family?” Sam asked under her breath.
“Lopez said so,” Slocum replied.
“Can I send his wife his wages?”
“Yes. One of them will take it back when this is over.”
“Over?” Her arm shot out and caught his arm. “They’ve run off my horses, killed poor Reeves. What else will they do?”
“I told you this won’t be over until they have their way. I believe that until your ranch house is in ashes and you are gone, it won’t be over at all.”
“You don’t think—?”
“That’s the way a feud works. The last one standing wins.”
“You mean that I caused my own father’s death? And my uncle’s? And Luther’s too?”
“You’re all that stands between Taylor and owning these places.”
“Never will Dayton Taylor own an inch of these places.” She drew her shoulders back and turned to the shorter Angela on the far side. “Do you believe Slocum?” Sam asked her.
“I think he knows this Taylor pretty good,” Angela said.
“His time’s short,” Slocum said. “If those Rangers are coming and he couldn’t stop them, then he doesn’t have much choice but to make a push to get you out of the way before they arrive.”
“When will he try that?” Sam asked.
“Anytime.” Slocum turned to call out. “Ray? Lopez?”
“Sí, señor.”
“After you all get through here, bring everything you need and everyone with you to the house. It’s the best place we can defend from.”
“Maybe they won’t try anything,” Sam said.
“No, he’s gone too far now. He’s past shooting up things. He has a murder hanging over him.”
“Like he murdered my father and uncle and Luther.” Slocum reached out and caught her arm. “He didn’t kill your uncle. I know the truth about that now.”
“Who did it then?” She frowned at him.
“Devereau and Slade, the rustlers. And to make things worse, Troy, who’d been with them in the rustling, tried to stop them from shooting your uncle and the rustlers shot him.”
“I knew all the time that his wound was no accident.”
“Riders coming!” Teo shouted.
“Everyone get to the house!” Slocum shouted. He saw the dark look that both women gave him. Two of the hands raced for the bunkhouse as Slocum waved to Teo to get down from the barn roof. The siege was about to begin. Slocum could only hope they could hold the attackers off.
Lopez ran for the house with two gun belts in his hands. In his good hand, Ray carried a gun belt and a rifle.
“The others coming?” Slocum a
sked.
“They’re right behind us,” Ray said as he ran by him.
When he turned back, Slocum noticed that the women were busy closing the thick oak window shutters. The sound of horses grew closer. Anxious, he looked for the men who had gone to the buttkhouse. At last they appeared carrying several old and new firearms, and rushed past Slocum for the house as if dogs were on their heels.
Slocum ran backward as the first of the mounted men appeared. He drew his Colt and fired five rounds at them. The distance was too far, but he wanted to show that they’d been seen. The empty pistol in his hand, he crossed the wet yard and reached the porch as Angela held the door open for him.
“I thought you wanted to be killed,” she said.
“Not yet. Everyone listen! Don’t shoot unless you can hit them,” he ordered. “Save your ammunition. We may be here for a while.”
“How many riders?” Sam asked, coming in drying her hands on a sack towel.
“Maybe a dozen.”
“You may as well give up,” McCurdy said from his chair.
“I can shut him up,” Angela said through her teeth.
“No, don’t bother.”
“Here they come!” Lopez shouted, and the roar of the rifles fired from inside the house deafened Slocum. Outside, the screams of wounded horses and men filled the air. The acrid stench and smoke of black powder filled the room.
“They misjudged our force,” Slocum said as he rushed to a rifle slot and studied the carnage in the yard. Three horses lay dying, and at least four men were still in the mud. That cut the odds to almost even if you counted the women.
“Watch the back side,” he ordered. Turning, he heard the blast of Sam’s scattergun and the horror-filled screams of someone out back.
“They won’t want much of that,” Sam announced from the back room as she reloaded her scattergun.
“No, they won’t, but everyone must save your ammo,” Slocum warned them as the men moved from one shuttered window to another to check the various slots for a chance to shoot at the raiders.
“Be sure you can hit them if you shoot,” he warned.
He watched Ray reload a Colt single-handed between his knees. Slocum rubbed his tender chin and the short stubble; this bunch would fight. They also had food, water, and ammo. Angela came around with a pot and cups, and poured coffee for each man.
