by Jake Logan
“They stole her mind.”
“Is there nothing you can do for her?”
“No, and she refuses to eat as well. She says they have her son, which we know is not true, and they’ve convinced her that they will kill him for her leaving with us.”
The man narrowed his eyes. “This is La Cucaracha business, no?”
“There is no Cockroach. I think a man called Mendez Salazar is behind it all.”
“I have heard of him. His father is very rich. Why is he heading this?”
“He’s a spoiled brat. Loves power and has some way to bend people’s minds. Like he did to Martina.”
“What is the federal government doing?”
“Sending out troops to arrest people like me who have stood up to them.”
Hans nodded. “I understand.”
“I need to go check on my people.” Slocum shook the man’s hand and headed for the place where his group had dismounted.
He drew Obregón aside. “You are to watch Señora McCarty. Angela needs a good night’s sleep. I know you are upset as I am about her condition, but we need to give Angela some relief.”
“I savvy. But she gets no better?” The concern over Martina’s condition showed in his dark eyes.
“No better.”
“What will the patrón do?”
“I have no idea, but he too will be worried at her mental state.” He headed for Angela and drew her back from her ward. “Obregón will watch her tonight. You need some sleep.”
Numbly she agreed. “I don’t know if she has the strength left to even sit a horse.”
“In a couple of days, we’ll have her home, but her condition will hurt Mitch more than the loss of his arm.”
Angela leaned on him. “Oh, yes, even more so.”
“Come on. Let’s find some privacy.” He carried his bedroll on his shoulder, and they went out in the chaparral to be by themselves. To clear the space, he kicked away the rocks and then spread the bed out on the ground. They both quickly undressed and then fell into each other’s arms. The duration of their connection was short but tender. Then both fell sound asleep.
Slocum was up before the sunlight even threatened the distant horizon. Quickly he dressed, the cold air sweeping his bare skin and stealing the warmth from their bond under the covers. He left Angela to sleep and went to check on things. Obregón was asleep with his back to the building where Martina slept. He awoke at Slocum’s footfall.
“Ah, amigo, I was only resting my eyes.” Then the pistolero laughed softly.
Slocum squatted on his haunches beside his man and agreed. “The nights get shorter and shorter. She inside?”
“Yes, there is no way to escape but get by me.”
“Weak as she is, there is little chance she dug herself out?” Slocum asked, considering the chance.
“No, she couldn’t do that. What can they do for her?”
“I hope seeing her son safe will finally restore some of her sanity.”
Obregón crossed himself. “Mother of God, I hope so. Sometimes such things are worse than death.”
“I agree. We better get the others up and prepare something to sustain us. It is still a long ride to the hacienda. But I want to get there quickly.”
“Sí, my wife and family must wonder where I have been.”
“Hell and back.”
“Ah, sí, there too.”
Angela soon joined them, and the men built a fire for her to cook on. By the orange light reflecting on her face, Slocum decided she looked more rested. There were some strips of fresh beef that their host sent down for her to cook and some onions she diced to cook with it. Slocum thanked the young woman who delivered the meat, and she nodded before running back in the emerging first light.
The men were anxious to have something fresh and teased Angela as she prepared their meal. Obregón brought Martina down to the fire, where she sat on the ground, still alone in her own depressed world.
Martina looked tired and worn out. If only she would eat. Slocum had no answer for that matter. She might not be alive in many more days at this rate. But he knew of no way to raise her spirits either—perhaps seeing that her son was safe and that her husband needed her would be the spark to kindle a fire inside her. He was ready to kick her butt, but knew that would not do anything. This whole business had been so defeating—from the start. The spell the bruja in San Antonio had put on him—but Angela had thwarted her spell. Still, Martina was even worse off than he had been—only a powerful wizard could ever bring her out of it, unless the sight of her family became a new dawn in her life. He could only hope for that to happen.
They took to the road before sunup and were drawing closer every hour. When night fell, Slocum thought it was better to push on, since they were close to their destination.
At last, their horses hanging their weary heads down, they coughed in the dust as they plodded up the main road of floury dirt to the McCarty Hacienda. The stars even looked dull in the great black sky. But the beacon of the few lights on at the hacienda was enough to force Slocum at least to be grateful. If they had to go another kilometer, the horses would no doubt have balked on them or tumbled nose down into the loose dirt in complete exhaustion.
“I can see it,” Angela said in a hoarse voice.
“We’ll be there in a short while,” he promised her. Then, seeing that Martina was on the verge of fainting, he spurred his horse in close and swept her out of the saddle.
She didn’t even respond.
“Don’t die on me now!”
15
Mitch’s booming voice shattered Slocum’s sleep. “Mi amigo! Yeah, you made it back—barely, huh?”
Dull headed, Slocum sat up in the great feather bed and blinked in the bright sunlight streaming in the windows when the one-armed man swept the tall red drapes back from the panes.
“Is she . . . ?” Dread stabbed deep in his heart. Was Martina alive? His memory of sweeping her off her horse and feeling her body limp in his arms, followed by the welcome of the night before, was all blending together in a haze that he could not separate out enough to recall.
“Sleeping. But she ate something last night.”
“Good.” He lay back down and stared at the peeled ceiling timbers that supported the tall roof. “I’m sorry. We did our best.”
“More than most would do. Get up. They bring you bath water, a razor and towels. We plan a great fiesta for you and your army’s success. No one else could have done this job so well, mi amigo.”
“Has she seen that her son was well?”
“Obregón told me about that. Yes, last night, even before she ate. I think that was what helped her the most.”
“I wondered—I thought it might.”
“Ah, she will be fine in time, I am certain.”
Slocum closed his eyes. Thank God.
“How can I repay you?”
“With fresh horses and supplies. I want this Salazar skinned alive.”
“Whoa! Whoa! Give yourself a few days to rest up some, have some fun and dance.”
“Where is Angela?”
“Bathing and getting dressed for tonight’s event. That is why I came to wake you.”
“Thank you. And the men?”
“At home resting—they were very impressed with what you did. They told me many things.”
Slocum nodded his head in agreement. “They’re loyal, tough hombres. They were a big help to me.”
A brigade of pretty women carrying buckets of water burst into the room and began filling the tub and laughing. They teased Slocum about sleeping all day and promised him much food and drink if he came to the kitchen.
While they filed out, laughing at him, Mitch clapped him on the shoulder. “We are all so grateful.”
Still in a daze, Slocum thanked his friend, and then Mitch took his leave. Slocum found the hot water relaxing to his stiff muscles, and he tried to go over in his head all the things that had happened since he last slept in the fine
bed. Lots.
The party that evening was fun. Angela joined him, outfitted in an expensive silk dress. “Nothing is too good for any of us,” she whispered behind her hand to him.
“I haven’t seen Martina,” he said back.
“She is better, but perhaps not ready for all this commotion.”
He agreed and moved through the hustle of the invited guests, stopped by several who asked, “Aren’t you the man who brought Señora McCarty back safely?”
Slocum nodded, feeling uncomfortable. He’d brought her back all right, but perhaps broken. Certainly not “safe.” She might never be her old self—the smiling, beautiful hostess of the hacienda.
“What concerns you?” Angela looped an arm through one of Slocum’s and leaned against him.
“The fact that La Cucaracha is still free and no doubt up to more trouble against innocent people.”
“But you are only one man. What can you do?”
“I’m working on that.”
“Come with me. This is the event of my life.” She snatched two glasses of champagne off the tray a server carried and handed one to him. “Let’s have fun tonight. We can chase down the Cockroach later.”
He saw the pleading in her sexy brown eyes. Unable to deny her this special evening, he toasted her with his glass. “To the bruja from the small village. May the night sparkle.”
“Gracias, mi amigo. Don’t look now, but my suitor is coming.”
“Will he ask you to dance?”
“I suspect so.”
“Then dance with him. It will be his thrill.”
“I guess so.”
The well-dressed rancher, Don Juarta, bowed and politely asked Slocum’s permission to dance with Angela. Slocum restrained his amusement and solemnly said, “Certainly.”
He watched them go through the crowd and just about laughed at the look of excitement on the poor man’s face over having Angela in his arms. Slocum mused about her story of how extreme Don Juarta’s arousal was the last time that he emptied his charge on her belly.
“I take it you are Slocum?” a tall man with a clipped mustache asked.
“Yes, but I don’t think we have met.” Slocum studied the man, who was tall for a Latino, maybe five-ten. He bore the stiff back of a cavalry officer. Something about him made him look important, but his dark, inquiring gaze that sized Slocum up made Slocum anxious about the man’s purpose.
“What can I do for you?”
“Tell me all you know about Mendez Salazar.”
“Why? He had Mitch’s wife kidnapped. What else?”
“Why would an heir to a fortune in Mexico City be involved in such a common crime?”
“I guess because it’s a thrill.”
The man gave a short, silent nod as if factoring Slocum’s words into some theory he held. “Will that be the end of his law breaking?”
“No. He’s involved in crimes all over the area.”
“Oh, dear God, man. Can you prove it?”
“I never caught your name,” Slocum said.
“Raul Donovan. My father was Irish and killed in the Mexican War with your country.”
“You have taken up the sword?” Slocum asked.
“I was in the army. The military is a place to gain some rank in this country, especially with an Irish name.”
“I see. And today?”
“Today I am a private citizen.”
Slocum nodded. “Very good.”
“Will you go and look again for this Salazar?”
“I don’t think so,” Slocum lied. Why had this man come to ask him all these questions? He had a purpose—good or bad. Slocum was not certain what the ex-soldier was up to, but something about the man made Slocum hesitate to trust him.
The money of Salazar’s family could afford any spy they wanted to hire. This man might be such an agent for them. His father had already had the government send in the federales to stop any opposition—why wouldn’t they hire such a slick-talking hombre as Donovan? Money meant nothing to them.
Angela was back, smiling at this man.
“Raul Donovan,” Slocum said.
“Angela,” she said.
“My pleasure, señora.”
“Gracias. Excuse us, señor.” Then she turned to Slocum. “I must tell you something if you are through here.”
“Certainly. We must talk some more later,” he said to the man.
The man agreed and then walked off with a “Later.”
Slocum turned and led her to the side. “You know that hombre?”
She frowned, looking back to be certain Donovan was not in hearing. “No, but Don Juarta told me he is a member of the presidente’s police. And to watch him.”
“I figured as much. No doubt he is being financed by Salazar’s father.”
“What shall we do?”
“Silence all the talk of our going back out to find Salazar.”
“How do you do that?”
“Tell Francisco to keep our preparations secret and have the ranch help to do the same. I’ll do this later tonight. Donovan gets too damn nosy, we’ll cut off his nose.”
She laughed and then covered her mouth as if embarrassed.
He hugged her shoulder. “Two of us can surely outmaneuver him.”
“I hope so.”
Later Slocum found the McCarty’s segundo and told him the problem.
Serious-faced, Francisco asked, “You want me to have him killed?”
Slocum shook his head to dismiss his concern. “I can handle him.”
“I will be sure nothing is said about the preparations.”
“Gracias.” Slocum returned through the kitchen and smiled at the busy crew before reentering the party. Angela soon found him, and he explained his absence. She nodded in agreement.
Slocum knew that McCarty had earlier excused his wife Martina from the festivities because she tired easily. Slocum had only seen her at a distance. Behind her smile she still wore a haggard appearance. His only contact with her since they returned had been brief, and she’d thanked him. But while she had obviously made some improvement, she was a long way from being herself. She might never fully recover.
Angela made Slocum dance to the band of musicians, and he swung her around the floor. Out of breath, they moved to the edge of the crowd.
“You probably dance much better in a cantina.” She laughed and then threw her hair back from her face, smoothing it down.
“Ah, yes, but you are enjoying this so much, maybe you should reconsider a life with Juarta.”
“You tease me, of course. I can find better men than him, or I’d go back and be happy living in that jacal where you found me.”
He swept her up and kissed her.
“Who—” she said, coming from his embrace. Then she stopped. “Who is that man talking with Donovan now?”
“I never saw him before. Have you?”
“Sí, in the village in the mountains. I saw him in the square, when I was searching for you.”
“Donovan must have more spies here.”
“What will they try next?”
“I don’t know, but I would say they are concerned about me going back up there.”
She agreed. “I will go dance with Juarta. He may know the man’s name.”
“Be careful. I’ll watch for him.”
“Don’t worry, they won’t catch me sleeping.”
Slocum spotted a cattle buyer who shipped cattle up to the United States from the border and paused to speak to him. “How is business?”
“So-so. One day it is good, next day no one wants them. Like the old rail markets dried up on us. Cattle shipping costs are too high to ship and then sell them. We were better off taking a dozen boys and driving them to Kansas. But there are so many barbwire fences it’s nearly impossible to drive them overland now.”
Slocum agreed, and they shook hands and parted. Then he met Angela and led her off to the side. “Did Juarta know the man?”
She shook her
head. “But I saw another man from up in the mountains. His left ear was cut off at some time.”
With a slow shake of his head, Slocum tried to recall an earless man. But he couldn’t think of one he’d seen up there, other than the one whose ear he’d cut off himself, but this man was not him. He may have had long hair to disguise his loss. That needled him. Donovan had the party loaded with his spies, and they might be there to eliminate the pistoleros as well. In fact, it seemed very likely to Slocum that his pistoleros were in immediate danger.
“Come on,” he said.
He rushed through the kitchen with Angela on his heels. “I need to find Francisco.”
“He has gone to his casa,” one of the sweaty-faced women said, then lifted her large, stained apron to wipe her wet face.
“Can you point it out?”
“Rachel, show him Francisco’s casa,” she said to a younger girl who shed her apron and led them on the run.
The casa was a good ways from the hacienda. Hurrying down the dusty road, he wondered if Angela needed to stop, she was huffing so hard. But she waved him to go on.
“Francisco!” he shouted at the dark adobe house.
A lamp flickered on in the casa. The man shouted, “Coming!”
Slocum put his hands on the plaster wall and tried to recover his wind. Angela collapsed on the ground, and the young girl who had brought them coughed, supporting herself with her hands on her knees.
“What is wrong, amigo?” Francisco asked, dressing in his shirt as he came outside.
“There are some men here at the party who I think will try or have already tried to kill your pistoleros.”
“Who are they?”
“I only have one name—Donovan.”
“I don’t know him. Here, take a rifle.”
“Thanks,” Slocum said, taking the cartridges Francisco offered first and then the Winchester rifle. “There is one of them who lost his left ear. You know of anyone like that?”
Francisco made a face in the light coming from outside. “I have heard of such a man, if he is the same one.”
Several mounted guards had come on horseback to see what was wrong. Their boss immediately gave them orders. “Take four men and go find Obregón, Jesús and Cherrycow. There are killers here who may try to kill them.”
“Sí, we are on our way,” one man promised, then picked three others to accompany him. The four galloped off, and the others milled around on their mounts.
