Slocum and the Bixby Battle Read online

  She nodded. “He paid his help in those coins.”

  “So you think he took it and went for the border?”

  “Sí.”

  “We get through here, we better ride south and find him.”

  She nodded in the deep shadows. “We don’t have to ride too fast. He’ll be there when we get there.”

  “You know”—he held up a finger to make his point—“you just might be right about that.” They both laughed softly.

  A rider came in. Slocum rose and walked over to see what had been learned. He brushed the sticks and dirt off his seat of his pants as he went.

  “Her name is Toya,” Donna said of the girl returning.

  “There are three men in the jail. McKlein is playing poker in the Rosa Nigra Cantina and his right-hand man Sutter is there, too. I think several of his deputies have already run away,” Toya reported.

  “A couple of us can cover the cantina,” Slocum said. “How do we get in the jail?”

  “Leave that to the women,” she said. With her hands on her ample hips, she did a shake for them and drew several whistles even in the dark.

  “Slocum, you go with Toya and her women. I’ll take the rest and arrest McKlein and Sutter,” Graham said.

  “I like that,” Slocum said and noticed that Donna had his horse and hers ready to go. “You boys get old McKlein for me. My head still hurts from him doping me.”

  “Take your time,” Graham said. “We won’t move in for an hour yet. Then you be ready to take the jail.”

  “We aren’t going to storm it with guns. We’ve got whiskey, food and good-looking women,” Toya said to the Ranger. Then she reached out and playfully pulled his hat brim down.

  “However,” the Ranger said, looking about, embarrassed, in the dim light as he straightened his Stetson.

  Donna handed Slocum the reins to his horse and whispered, “He would be a good man for the señora.”

  “Yes,” Slocum said and stepped into the stirrup.

  The three rode at a trot to the edge of town. Then they hitched their horses behind some cattle pens and snuck around until they were in the alley. Three more joined them.

  “You have everything?” Toya asked the other women.

  “Sí.” They showed her their baskets with food and bottles.

  “Good,” she said and turned to Slocum. “What do you want?”

  “Now I want a clear shot at the jail in case things don’t work. If for any reason they go sour, then Donna and I will rush in with our guns blazing, so hit the floor. Where can I best see it from?”

  “Go two buildings down and there is a narrow way between the saddlery and the old dry goods store. You can squeeze through it. From there we have been watching the jail.”

  “We’ll be in place. Remember if it goes wrong in there, get on the floor. Good luck, ladies.”

  He and Donna hurried down the alley. A cur dog barked at them, but at a hiss from Slocum, he gave a yelp and left. The space was narrow enough that Slocum had to scoot sideways. He thought that whoever had put the lap siding on the last building, they must have had a short-handled hammer or they nailed it on the studs and then set up the wall. Must have done it that way, he decided as he scraped his belt buckle on the building and held his hands over his head.

  Donna was cussing under her breath. He smiled because she had more sticking out than he did.

  “Go back—there’s a rain barrel or something out there to duck behind.”

  “Now you tell me—I will,” she said, annoyed.

  When he reached the end of the corridor, he spotted two large wooden crates stacked up on the porch of the dry goods store. He removed his hat, stepped out on the boardwalk and soon was on his knees behind them.

  He frowned as he heard the guitar and someone singing, coming up the street. Donna joined him again and poked him in the ribs. “I will get that Toya. A snake could hardly get through there.”

  “They’re coming,” he said.

  She bobbed her head. “I heard Juanita singing.”

  “A-ha! You hombres having fun in there?” one of the women asked the jailer.

  Slocum could see someone doing a hat dance to the rapid beat of the guitar on the jailhouse porch. Guitar strings rung and the dancer held her skirt up high enough to make the steps inviting.

  The door of the jail opened and yellow lamplight flooded out on the boardwalk.

  “Quick, get in here,” someone hissed, and the prancing, laughing women with their baskets on their arms went rolling through the door.

  Slocum sat back on his butt and closed his eyes for a minute. This had been a long day: they’d taken the Debaca ranch back, they’d raided the empty Bixby place, and now they were going to finish up arresting McKlein and his deputies.

  “Someone on horseback is coming,” Donna hissed. “Could be more of his deputies. There’s two horses.”

  On his haunches and the grip of the Colt in his fist, Slocum watched the starlight play on the blanketed rump of the Appaloosa the one man rode. In a snowy field of white, fist-size black moons dotted the animal’s backside. The other man rode a solid-colored horse.

  Slocum recognized the Kansas deputy Abbott Ferd, when he dismounted and went to knock on the door. The music in the jail stopped.

  “Sheriff here?” Abbott asked.

  “No, he’s down at the cantina.”

  “We’re deputies from Kansas. Looking for a guy named Slocum. You ever hear of him?”

  “We’re looking for him, too.” The deputy holding the door wasn’t letting the Abbott brother look in the jail.

  “Where can we find him?” Abbott demanded.

  “Goddamned if I know or we’d’ve had him.”

  “He still around?”

  “Somewhere’s I guess. Come back in the morning. Sutter can tell all about him.”

  “Who’s he?”

  “The undersheriff.”

  “Got a hotel around here?”

  “Yeah, the Dixie, two blocks down on the right.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Sure.” The jailer closed the door.

  When the two rode off, Donna frowned and poked Slocum. “They want you?”

  “Right,” he said. “Soon as we get the jail under control, we’re going to Mexico.”

  She reached over, caught him by the neck and kissed him as the guitar went to playing across the street. “Good.”

  Thirty minutes later, Toya came out the front door, looked both ways, then ran across the street.

  “Those three are locked in the cells and gagged.”

  “Good. Go down and tell Graham. He should be ready to arrest the sheriff and his man.”

  “Those men”—Toya stopped and turned back—“they wanted you?”

  “They ain’t getting him,” Donna announced. “We are leaving.”

  “Vaya con Dios, mi amigos,” Toya said and waved as they headed for the corral and their horses. She ran off the other way to tell the Ranger that the jail was ready for his prisoners.

  32

  “A fine horse ranch?” Bixby said.

  “Oh, sí señor. It has a river that runs through it all year long,” Señor Valenti said. A small man smartly dressed with a pencil mustache and wavy black hair, the land agent was describing a place for sale. “There is much grass and a beautiful casa.”

  “I want to go see it. How much?”

  “Oh, four thousand dollars.”

  “It better be a castle for that much money,” Bixby said, annoyed at the high price.

  Valenti held up his hands. “Perhaps we can, how you call it, dicker some.”

  “Yeah, we’ll need to do that.” Bixby glanced over at Jones. “What do you think?”

  “Live water and grass. Sounds good to me. Let’s go look.”

  Bixby nodded. Valenti promised to meet them in the morning with a carriage and show them the place. That made Bixby happy—gave him all day to play with his new pet Loe Linda.

  When the agent left, the two
men agreed that this might be what they were looking for.

  “I’ll go take me a siesta and send back your girl,” Jones said.

  “Do that and we’ll have supper about dark.”

  “Cheap enough living down here,” Jones said.

  “Yes, but there are also little ways to make money.”

  “Good horses sell well on both sides of the border.”

  “Yes,” Bixby agreed and showed his man out.

  In minutes, the barefoot vixen was back and Bixby smiled. She might wear it out. Ah, and such fun trying to. He watched her shed the dress over her head. The sight of her brown nakedness took his breath away. Already he was becoming hard.

  At sunup, he and Jones ate breakfast with the wrinkled-faced street woman who cooked on the sidewalk outside the hotel entrance. In the cool first light, they squatted on their boot heels to eat her scrambled eggs, pork, tomatoes and hot peppers wrapped in tortillas. The burros laden with sticks for firewood clopped past them up the stone-paved street. Bleating goats with milk-strutted bags came next. Then two mules, each with giant clay pots strapped on them, carried water from the river.

  Women’s shrill voices mixed with the peddlers’ shouting. The sharp mesquite smoke from the old woman’s cooking fire found Bixby’s nostrils and he was glad when the next breeze took it away. Yes, he liked it below the border.

  Both men rose and stretched. She served them more coffee in their tin cups. He paid her and nodded. This old lady would make a fine ranch cook—she had been making them tasty food for their various meals.

  “Would you come to my new hacienda and cook for me there?”

  “You have a jacal for me to live in?” When she smiled at him, he saw that her front teeth were gone.

  “I think so, but I will know today.”

  “You tell me. I come cook for you.”

  The trip out to the ranch required a two-hour drive, and when they crossed the river, the carriage wheels splashed some water.

  “Oh, it is the dry time. That is why it is so low. But see the cottonwoods—they are healthy.” Valenti pointed out the gnarled old trees that lined the course.

  Bixby nodded. The ranch house was low-roofed and the place, he discovered, had sat empty for some time. The sticks of furniture left were dusty, and cobwebs cloaked everything. Broken pottery was strewn on the tile floors, and a skim of dirt covered the surfaces.

  “Where are the owners?”

  “The old man died and his children live in Mexico City.”

  “How many hectares?”

  “Two thousand.”

  “I would pay no more than that for it.”

  “Oh but señor—”

  “Two thousand. Too much work to do here.” He looked up as Jones came in the front door. “How are the corrals?”

  “They need lots of work.”

  “My final offer.”

  Valenti dropped his head in defeat. “This is a hacienda and land grant.”

  “Get the papers drawn up or forget it.”

  “Sí,” the man said and shook his head. “I will bring the papers in two days. It is your ranch. You will have the money?”

  “Yes,” Bixby said. “We’ll be along.” He shooed the land agent toward the buggy so he could talk to Jones in private.

  “What do you think?”

  Jones nodded. “Make a fine horse ranch.”

  “My opinion, too. Hire some men to protect the place—there are bandits down here. Then hire some to help to clean it up, and also get a wagon and team. We’ll need to haul supplies and furniture up here.”

  “Sure,” Jones said and winked at his boss. “This’ll do just fine.”

  “Perhaps being run out of Texas was a big favor for us.”

  “Yeah, going smooth down here so far.”

  Bixby clapped him on the shoulder and headed him for the door. He would have liked to have owned all that land in the hill country—but instead he would own an empire in Mexico. Viva Mexico.

  Things continued to go smoothly. Valenti brought the papers and Bixby paid him. Jones hired four pistoleros to guard the ranch. He also found two large families to clean up and then work the place. The old woman with two grandkids came to cook. Soon the tile floors shone and things were settling down. Loe Linda and her girlfriend Marie hung curtains and made the house look better.

  Bixby was settling in. Jones had looked over the range and reported several cattle wearing the brand he’d bought with the place. Bixby sent him and another man to find a fat one to butcher. They cooked it over a pit and had a small fandango.

  Listening to the music of the guitar and watching his Loe Linda hat dance, Bixby grinned and wondered about McKlein. Had the man escaped in time? No telling.

  It was long past midnight when Bixby awoke. Someone was in his bedroom. He reached for the gun beside the bed. A strong hand closed on his wrist and stopped him. Where were the guards? Jones?

  Loe Linda screamed, but they dragged her from the bed. Bixby could hear her struggling, but two strong men pinned him facedown. Nothing he could do.

  “Who are you?” he asked in a quavering voice.

  “You know who we are. You sumbitch, you left me to them bastards.”

  McKlein. Bixby’s heart stopped. Those others were raping his Loe Linda on the floor. How many of them were there?

  “No. No. You don’t understand—” When he tried to twist around, they reinforced their hold on him, forcing his face into the sheet.

  “Yes, I do. That Ranger caught me in a card game. You never even sent word to warn us. You just ran like a goddamn rabbit.”

  “No. I had no chance. How did you get away?”

  “No help from you. We broke out.”

  Bixby felt someone getting on the bed. “What are you doing?”

  Fear gripped his guts. He tried to see, but the two henchmen pressed his face hard into the bed.

  “I’m going to rape your asshole till you can’t scream anymore.”

  “No!”

  33

  An American newspaper in his hands, Slocum set back in the chair and read the news. His gaze fell on an article on the front page: “Ex-Sheriff McKlein Escapes Jail.”

  He blinked as he read on.

  Both the sheriff and his undersheriff Sutter, under indictment for murder, robbery, malfeasance of office and various other crimes, escaped in the daring breakout. Two jail guards were murdered in the escape. Local officials and the Texas Rangers are offering various rewards for the pair dead or alive. These men are armed and dangerous.

  Slocum set down the paper and looked across at Donna sipping coffee. “McKlein’s broke out of jail.”

  “Where did he go?” Donna frowned at him.

  “Somewhere down here in Mexico, I’d wager.”

  “He might be looking for his rich friend, too.”

  “Strange that we can’t find him.” Slocum folded up his paper as the bartender brought their breakfast to the table.

  The man delivered the plates of eggs, pork, rice and a bowl of salsa. “Señor, there is a man over there wishes to talk to you.”

  Slocum looked at the man in dust-floured clothes. Did he have information for him about Bixby? He gave a head toss and the man walked over.

  “Have a seat,” Slocum said. “What can I do for you?”

  “This man Bixby—”

  Slocum picked up a corn tortilla in his hand. “You know where he is?”

  “Sí. But he may be dead now.”

  “I’ll pay you if you know where I can find him.”

  “Bixby bought a ranch on the Rio Diego.”

  “You know where that is?” he asked Donna and she nodded. “Go ahead,” he told the man.

  “Five tough gringos came one night. They strangled his segundo Jones to death, then they raped him.”

  “Jones? Bixby?”

  “Raped Bixby.” The man made a sick face and held his hands to his ears. “Oh, the sound of his screams were so bad. No one could stand it. My wife and child
ren they cried.”

  “What did they do to him after that?”

  “They took him out in the desert and left him to die out there, they said.”

  “Did he die?”

  The man shook his head. “I don’t know. I took my little ones and wife and fled those evil men.”

  “Can’t say as I blame you.” Slocum straightened his leg and drew out some coins to reward the man.

  “Five men up there?” He put the money on the table for him.

  “Gracias, señor. Ah, sí, five bad hombres.”

  “Well. Would you have some breakfast with us? What is your name?”

  “Miguel.”

  “Bartender, bring my friend Miguel some food.”

  They spent the meal going over the ranch’s location so that Donna knew exactly where they must travel. As he finished the last on his plate, Slocum wondered what had happened to all the gold that Bixby supposedly had. To the victor went the spoils. McKlein must have it.

  “Did Bixby have some heavy trunks when he moved out there?”

  The man shrugged. “I don’t think so, but we moved furniture and so many things.”

  Slocum shared a questioning look with the woman wearing the bandoleers. What had happened to the treasure? Time would tell.

  They parted with Miguel after the meal and went out in the cool morning air.

  “Let’s get our horses.”

  “Will we need any supplies?” she asked.

  “We can eat some jerky. We’ll stop at a store to buy some cornmeal and brown sugar and mix it ourselves.”

  “Fine,” she agreed with a smile and clung to his left arm. “I am afraid we will catch them and I will lose you.”

  “Nothing in my world is forever.”

  “I want it to last that long.” She leaned her face on his sleeve.

  Late the next day, through the lenses of his brass telescope, he could see the ranch house and the activity around the place. So far he had counted four gringos about the place and a few Mexican workers. No sign of Sutter or McKlein, who he’d know on sight.

  “What are they doing?” she asked, lying on her back and chewing on a long seed stem.