Slocum and the Bixby Battle Read online

  “And that Ranger is loose. No telling what he’ll do next.”

  “Kelly said it was a woman done it all.”

  “A woman broke them out? What’s he thinking? No damn woman, single-handed, set the hay on fire, stole our saddled horses, turned the rest out so we couldn’t chase them and beside that let those damn hogs out. Did I leave anything out?”

  “No, Colonel, besides the stovepipe on the house being plugged up.”

  “Jones! You had guards.”

  “I think a woman must have coaxed the guard on the front porch away and cracked him over the head when he was staring at the tits she bared for him.”

  “What about the one on the roof?”

  “He was watching the one taking a bath in the horse tank before all this happened.”

  “Weren’t they suspicious about all this show business?”

  “I guess they were just horny.”

  “Any of these women still around?”

  “No, they seemed to have vanished when hell broke loose.”

  “Goddammit! They were plants here.”

  Jones nodded. “I thought so, too.”

  “Get some men in the field to find them. That Ranger could be the death of us all. Shoot that Debaca bitch, too. Send word to McKlein—he better cut off any word of this getting to Austin or San Anton.”

  “I will.”

  “And Jones, one more thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “Kill that fucking Slocum!”

  25

  The cattle were bawling. Calves separated from their mothers were crying. An acrid smell of smoke hung in the morning air. Crows called in the distance, and Slocum sat a bay horse in a grove of live oak, out of sight of the working crew. He watched a rider duck into the brush after a half-grown calf trying to escape. In an instant, he was jerked off his horse and three women were binding and tying him, with a gag over his mouth.

  One down, ten to go. Donna waved to him and they dragged the trussed-up cowboy back under a cedar’s boughs. Number two walked over to take a leak. He went around some brush and was venting his bladder when he was struck over the head with a club from behind. Quickly, several women’s hands took him away into the cedars. Number two was also bound up.

  Another rider chased a long-tailed heifer into a huge cedar thicket. A riata snaked out, caught him and unceremoniously put him on his butt, with two women anchoring it down, their heels dug in. Three down. They swiftly put him in wraps. Through his scope, Slocum studied the one who looked to be in charge. He sat a blue roan, wore a brown business suit and shouted a lot at the Mexican boys flanking and doing the work. His hat was flat crowned, the brim bent down front and back. A high-priced-looking one. But everything about him spelled money—must have been why Bixby made him the head man there.

  Through the scope Slocum could see the man smoked expensive cigars, too, and the sunlight shone on the gold chain for a watch on his vest. Slocum wondered about his origin, since he was unfamiliar.

  Out of breath, Donna joined him.

  “Who is the segundo?” Slocum asked, dismounting to talk to her.

  “They call that one Amos.”

  “Watch him. What now?”

  “The men working the cattle—five of them are with us. There is another—has a rifle.”

  “I haven’t seen him.”

  “Part Apache, they say. Call him Blanco.” She shook her head in disapproval over the matter.

  “We better find him before we take Amos down there.” She nodded. “We have been looking for him. I can go north and skirt the herd.”

  “I’ll go the other way.” Damn, a rifle-totting Apache might be their downfall; he would sure be what they needed to eliminate next. “Donna, don’t take any chances. Shoot him if you have to.”

  She nodded with a hard set to her full lips and ran off the other way, disappearing in the cedars.

  Slocum jerked the Winchester out of the scabbard. He kept to the bluff and moved slow from place to place, knowing the Apache could be anywhere, poised and waiting. He might have seen all their handiwork, taking out the riders. Slocum glanced at the sun. They didn’t do something soon about Amos, he’d get suspicious about his men’s absence.

  Damned if you do or you don’t. He eased his way along, looking close and checking as he moved, staying concealed, but having to make it through some open places that exposed him.

  He heard the shout of someone he suspected was Amos, calling at the top of his lungs for someone. Slocum could no longer see the man, only the boiling dust above the cedar tops where the crew was working.

  Then down in the valley near the creek, he caught a fleeting sight of a figure running low with a rifle in his hand. Only one thing on earth ran like that—an Apache. He had to get off this bluff and get down there. Obviously the Apache had not seen him, for he was headed for Amos.

  No way to warn the women that might be between him and the roundup boss either. Slocum slid on his boot heels in the loose talus and hit the canyon floor running. His breath was short, but he measured it out. The dope business had weakened his strength and he still felt it.

  He paused in some cover to regain part of his breathing. Sweat soaked his shirt and ran down his ribs. Eyes closed to shut out the biting perspiration, he mopped his face on his sleeve and tried to see what was happening through the boughs. Still too far back, he ducked out and ran for the next grove.

  Where had the Apache gone?

  He pushed into the dense growth for cover, and then the weight of a body on his back told him he’d found the Apache. Or the Apache had found him. Instinctively, he drove the butt of the Winchester backward into his assailant. It was enough to give him a chance to twist and see the blade miss him by inches. He forced the rifle up with both hands and smashed it into the Apache’s face. The knife clattered on the barrel of the long gun and flew aside. Both confined by the branches, Slocum drove a knee into the Indian’s crotch and then gave him a whack with the gun butt to his head when he went forward with a grunt from the kneeing. The Apache started down, and Slocum hit him hard on the back of the skull with the gun butt.

  Close to shaking, he stood, to gain some composure. The worst was over with the Indian out cold on the ground. He needed to take Amos out next. Three women on the move with pistols in their hands came running by.

  “Over here,” he said and they stopped bug-eyed, not expecting him. “Tie him up. It’s the Apache.”

  “Oh, good.”

  “I’ll handle Amos,” he said.

  Moving into the open, the rifle in his hands loaded and ready, he skirted another bunch of cedars, hoping to see the man again. Then he heard a horse coming from behind and whirled around. On his roan headed for Slocum, Amos appeared with his six-gun in hand. He blasted away at Slocum, who dropped the rifle, drew his own Colt and returned fire.

  Amos’s horse shied to the side at the shots and saved the man. He was out of Slocum’s sight in a moment. The diversion forced Slocum to circle the thicket on foot, and by the time he was around the cedars, Amos was long gone down the canyon.

  “Damn,” Slocum swore, holstering his pistol and heading back for his rifle.

  “We have the rest of them,” Tia said. A rebozo over her head, she ran across the open ground to join him.

  “Anyone hurt?”

  “Only the bandits and they will live.”

  Slocum whirled at the sound of an approching horse. Donna came charging into where his army of mostly women had begun to gather and bring in their prisoners.

  “The Apache?” Donna asked, leaping off the horse and rushing over.

  “We have him. Amos got away.”

  She wrinkled her nose and smiled, readjusting the bandoleers over her breasts. “We can get him.”

  “He’ll tell Bixby, though, about our raid here and make him more on guard with his other operations.”

  “He won’t know where we will strike next.”

  “You’re right. I hope the Ranger comes back tonight wi
th a report on the jail.”

  Donna smiled. “I hope so, too.”

  “What do we do with these prisoners?” Tia asked, looking concerned as the women brought them in.

  “Take them to the cave until we can put them in the jail.”

  “Should we find out Bixby’s plans from them?” Donna asked with her hands on her hips.

  “Good idea. What about the vaqueros?” Slocum asked.

  “They are with us now,” Tia said.

  “Let’s raid Bixby’s horse herd. A lighting raid and get all of them we can. Afoot they won’t be much of a threat.”

  Donna nodded. “Take Reco and Juan.” She indicated two of the vaqueros. “They will help you. I will take the women and the prisoners back to the hideout. I can get the information from them.” She made a cross look that defined her determination.

  “Come on,” Slocum said to the two men.

  They set out in a long trot; the men rode good enough ponies and they had a two-hour ride ahead of them.

  “You men know the layout at the ranch?”

  “Ah, sí, señor,” the older one, Reco, said. “We can take those horses and they will never know they are gone.”

  “Good, we’ve been lucky and not got anyone on our side hurt so far in these raids. I like that idea.”

  Reco’s plan was to take a sack of oats from the shed and act like they were on regular duties. If no one had told that Reco was in on the ambush, he would not be suspect. So they could get the grain easy, lead the horses off to the back of the lot like a normal thing, then out of sight, cut the fence and be gone. The whole plan sounded almost too simple, but since they were willing, Slocum felt it was worth a try.

  “While I am getting the grain, Juan can get the ones saddled up and ride out with them as soon as I am out of sight of the roof guard.”

  “This raid on his saddle horses succeeds, and Bixby might get the notion his men will soon be on foot.”

  Reco smiled and nodded. “He is not a good man but we had no work.”

  “I savvy,” Slocum said.

  Slocum reached the canyon behind the horse lot where he was to meet the two. He could see the repairs made to the barb wire. Very temporary stretches. The whole thing needed replacing, but it wasn’t his fence and would be worse when they were through with it.

  He dismounted and began taking down wire. Using the cutters from his saddlebags, he pulled staples and snapped the four spans apart, rolling strands back out of the way because he didn’t want the innocent horses scratched or cut. The job complete, he put the cutters and gloves away.

  “I don’t know why we got to check this fence . . . Fixed it two days ago after they cut it.”

  Slocum muzzled his horse so he didn’t nicker. He made him back into the cedars and wondered who was coming.

  “I think if we get paid this week, I’m cutting out, Jesse.”

  “Put your hands high and no tricks,” Slocum ordered, getting the drop on the two. “You should have left a week ago,” he said, taking their pistols and making them dismount.

  “You that Slocum guy that broke out of jail?” the older one asked.

  “Yes.” He bound their hands and made them sit on the ground.

  “Sumbitch, you running off the horses again?” the younger one asked. “That’s sure going to piss off the boss.”

  “Good. Let him get good and pissed.” Slocum listened to see if the two vaqueros had started their plan. No sounds indicated anything. A fighting rooster crowed and then nothing but the windmill’s clucking.

  “Where you taking us?” the bound men asked when he herded them along.

  “Jail.”

  “What for? We ain’t done nothing.”

  “The raid on the ranch. Stealing her cattle. Montez’s murder. That Ranger’s got plenty to charge you boys with.”

  “Hey, we never done none of that. Let us drift out of here.”

  “A new judge that don’t belong to Bixby and McKlein will decide that.” Where were those boys?

  Someone was coming in a hurry across the lot and soon came in view, followed by a couple dozen horses. Reco was smiling.

  “I got them. Who are they?” He frowned at Slocum’s prisoners.

  “More prisoners. Where’s Juan?”

  Then there were rifle shots and more charging horses. Men began yelling. Slocum nodded. It was time to get the hell out of there. Juan was on his way to join them.

  “Them two can ride double. Get them on a horse and let’s get these horses moving.”

  “Sí, señor!” Reco practically threw the pair on one horse, gave the lead to Slocum, and they began to round up the horses. In no time they were headed down the canyon with the ponies running ahead. Slocum looked back up the brush-choked canyon. Bixby, how do you like walking?

  26

  Jones looked like a man who’d been dragged through the Texas brush. His eyes were bloodshot and his face was scratched like a wildcat had got hold of him.

  “Well, what’s left?” Bixby demanded.

  “Not much, Colonel, they got the branding crew today. Them gunhands of ours been pulling up stakes like tumble-weeds in a big wind. Most all their bedrolls and gear are gone from over in the bunkhouse.”

  “What the hell did they ride?”

  “Some left on foot—that’s really wanting to leave.”

  “You saying it’s time we cut and ran, too?”

  Jones looked up, pained. “Maybe, sir.”

  “We got any horses left to ride?”

  “I can get some.”

  “We’ll need three good pack horses, too.”

  Jones nodded that he’d heard his request. “We ride hard, we can be over the border in forty-eight hours.”

  “I guess we’re forced to do this, aren’t we?”

  “I don’t know a thing else we can do.”

  “Get me there and I’ll pay you well.”

  “I’ll get you there—it’s my ass, too.”

  “Now get the horses. I can be ready to go in twenty minutes.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  27

  The prisoners numbered ten by dark. Graham brought in three. The Ranger and Slocum sat around a fire in the cave and discussed the day’s activities. Wrapped in a blanket, and looking more rested, Amanda came to join them.

  “There must be five or six men at the jail. All armed. The woman you sent with me this morning, Maria, took me to see another woman, Señora Aquiria, who takes their meals to them. She says they are very nervous and she worries they might even shoot her when she takes them food.”

  “What have they got in the jail worth guarding?” Slocum asked.

  “I don’t know. No prisoners, the señora says.”

  “That beats me,” Slocum said. “Why stay in a jail without prisoners?”

  “There must be a reason,” Amanda said, adjusting the blanket over her shoulders. “What’s in the office?”

  “Damned if I know, I was so doped up when they had me. I can’t remember much about it,” Slocum said, trying to figure out what it could be.

  “There is a green safe in there,” Tia said.

  “Maybe McKlein thinks as long as he holds it, he’s safe.”

  The Ranger nodded. “He ain’t, but he might think that.”

  “Where’s Bixby hiding?” Slocum asked.

  “Holed up in the hotel, they say.”

  Slocum nodded. “He sure wasn’t at the ranch when we made the raid. They don’t have very many horses over there. Donna sent two vaqueros with the other two and told them to hide Bixby’s horses way west.”

  “You asked about this Amos,” the Ranger said. “Filbert Amos, was the sheriff in Day County. Lost the election and went to hiring out his gun. He’s a tough dog, they say.”

  “I’m glad he’s such a piss-poor shot on horseback,” Slocum said.

  “I don’t know anyone can sling lead on a running horse.”

  “Me either.” Slocum turned to Amanda. “Does Bixby have anyone at your
ranch?”

  “He left some gunhands to guard it. They shot at one of the men who tried to go back.”

  “Tomorrow we’ll go see if we can’t take that back from them,” Slocum said. “They might get tired and burn it.”

  “A wonder they haven’t.” Graham shook his head.

  “Time for your supper,” Tia announced and the women began to bring them food.

  “Didn’t you ever get any of her messages at Ranger headquarters?” Slocum asked, taking a plate.

  “No, or someone would have been down here. She told me she sent several.”

  “They must have intercepted all of them.” Amanda shook her head.

  “Hey, I came as soon as Captain Rob said get up there. I got here, and right away all those deputies guarding the road made me suspicious. I knew things weren’t right. When I confronted McKlein about it, his men jumped me. Then you know the rest.”

  “Strange they didn’t shoot you.”

  “That would have been the kiss of death. No one ever murders a Texas Ranger and don’t get run down.”

  “Probably right—they didn’t know what to do with either of you.”

  “Probably,” Graham agreed. “Tomorrow, ma’am, we’ll get back your ranch headquarters.”

  “Thank you.”

  “We’ll try,” Slocum said and picked up a fresh-made flour tortilla. He glanced at the line of sullen prisoners seated and tied together against the cave’s wall. They were only the start.

  28

  Bixby rode behind the three pack horses. He kept glancing over his shoulder to be certain they weren’t followed. Feeling uncertain, he wondered what McKlein would do when he learned that he’d pulled up stakes without him. McKlein could be a vicious enemy. Still, he had Kerby Jones up front—a good man with a gun and loyal. Plus he still had over half of his treasures left, despite all the money spent on the attempt to take over the land. More than enough to do him well into his old age in Mexico.

  He drew in a deep breath of the creosote-scented air. They were down in the “dead country,” he called it. Twisted mesquite trees a long time lifeless made bleak reminders. Patches of shriveled-up prickly pear, seared black on the pad edges from drought. Lots of loose sand and spindly greasewood that gave the hot air the creosote perfume. The horse hooves curled up a fine dust that floured his clothing and coated his nostrils. He’d be grateful to reach the Rio Bravo and part with this worthless portion of the USA that they should have given back to the damn Messikins.