Slocum and the Rancher's Daughter Read online

  As they crossed the country on their quest, they looked some of the cattle over, and he spotted three more cattle with AX brands in the brush.

  “What can I do about that?” she asked.

  “Who’s the brand inspector?”

  “What can he do?”

  “He can make note of the problem and straighten it out.”

  She shook her head. “He’s not going to buck Worthington or the courthouse bunch.”

  “It’s his job. Is the inspector in with the sheriff?”

  “Gantry does whatever Worthington tells him. And he’s the chief law officer in the county.”

  “I think brand inspectors have some separation from local law.”

  “His name’s Billy Hayes. But I’m telling you, it ain’t going to do any good. I’d bet those rustlers are back using a running iron by this morning.”

  Slocum shook his head. There had to be a way to stop them and he was going to find it. He remembered that pompous Worthington in the café. He looked like a bloated cow that needed deflating.

  “I want to swing by the tules. I need to check that area often,” she said. “Stock gets out in them and gets bogged.”

  “Sure,” he said, taking note of the hills and where he thought he’d left his bedroll. She turned off and they rode east. In a short while, they reined up and looked over a large patch of marsh with cattails that the Spanish called tules. He drew out his telescope and scoped the area, which was alive with many birds. He saw nothing, but in places the reeds were shoulder high and might conceal an animal caught in the mud.

  “I’ll ride around this way, you go that way, and we can meet on the other side,” she said.

  He agreed, and turned Baldy north. He was about a quarter of the way around the marsh, being scolded by some red-winged blackbirds, when she gave a shout. He rode Baldy up high enough to see her waving her hat, and headed in her direction. She must have found a bogged animal. With Baldy in a long trot, he rode that way around the marsh. Hauling cattle out of mud was never an easy deal, and once out, they’d even fight you like you’d been the cause of their previous predicament. Roberta was sitting her horse, studying the longhorn steer with over half of his belly in the mud while he was shaking his horns and tossing his head.

  Oh, he’d be a sweet one to recover.

  “He’s in pretty deep,” she said, rocking on her saddle horn.

  “There’s lot of pear cactus down here, too.” He made a sweep with his hands to indicate the numerous prickly pear beds that were on the slopes they’d need ride between to haul him out of the mud. “Just watch them.”

  He undid the rope and shook loose a loop. With three twirls above his head, he tossed the loop over the grunting critter’s horns and jerked the slack, so the rope was around their base.

  The steer began to bawl and really fight when he discovered he was caught. Slocum handed her the rope.

  “Dally that around your horn and start between those two beds. Don’t let him pull you or that pony down and into the cactus. We’ll be all day getting the thorns out of you.”

  She nodded under her straw hat, but he thought he might have embarrassed her with his comment. Quickly, she wrapped the rope around the horn and spurred the bay horse to take up the slack. When the rope was tight across her right leg, the stout pony dug in and the steer began to really bawl. He thrashed, but was still stuck and facing inside rather than out. Slocum wanted him turned around so they could pull him out headfirst and use some of the steer’s power to get him on the bank. This way, the steer was not able to help them—like it or not.

  With the steer bawling his lungs out and the pony scratching gravel and putting his belly to the ground, they tried to turn the big critter some. On foot, Slocum worked the lariat, hoping that by pushing when the rope was taut, he might make the difference and get the steer turned around.

  “We’re doing it. We’re doing it,” she said through clenched teeth.

  “Yes, yes,” he agreed. The big steer was twisted some. “Rest your horse a little.”

  She let up on the slack and he went for Baldy. He rode back and dallied the rope on the horn. Guiding the pony between the patch of pear where there was some space, he realized that he didn’t dare go much past it for the slope was too steep there for a horse to pull well. Damned if did and damned if he didn’t.

  He winked at her. “He’s really stuck.”

  “And he’ll come out mad as a wet hen.”

  Slocum nodded, and booted Baldy to haul the steer out. The pony responded and his shoes clattered on the gravel as he dug in. Slocum looked back and watched the steer’s rubber neck being pulled sideways. Baldy was digging in and grunting with all his might. The rope across Slocum’s leg was digging in, and he felt a little give and could see the steer was coming up.

  “Get ready to clear out,” he shouted to Roberta, and put his heels to Baldy. Looking back, he could see the critter’s front hooves were seeking new mud and his brown belly mark was above the surface. Baldy was making good progress.

  With every inch his pony gained, the more Slocum realized the steer was coming out. It was slow, but he was positive the steer would soon be on dry land. At last the bovine, screaming in madness, had his front hooves on solid ground. Slocum tossed the lariat aside and sent Baldy cat-hopping up the slope to escape the steer.

  Roberta and her bay were climbing the hill fifty feet away, and they stopped short of the top to look back at the angry bovine pitching its horns. Standing feet apart like a half-dipped piece of candy, he made a wild sight.

  “He sure doesn’t appreciate us saving him, does he?” she asked with a grin.

  “Ungrateful devil, I’d say.”

  “I’m just glad we didn’t have to go in there and help him more.”

  Slocum laughed. “I was thinking the same thing.”

  “Searle and I have done that.”

  “So have I.” Slocum shook his head and they rode north. “Cost you a rope ’cause I ain’t going after it.”

  She looked back at the protesting steer and laughed. “I’m not either. I’ve got more at the house.”

  When they were near the place where he’d left his bedroll, he spotted a mottled-faced cow with her nose full of pear pads.

  “How did she get into them?” Roberta looked disgusted.

  “Probably grazing too close and tossed her head at a fly and caught them.”

  “How we going to catch her? We only have one rope.”

  “Run her up in the canyon and I’ll heel her. Give me your lariat.”

  “That won’t be easy in that brush.”

  “Ain’t been nothing easy since I came here.” He removed his felt hat and wiped his wet forehead on his sleeve. With the rope in his hand, they set in after the cow in a jog trot. She looked gaunt. Obviously, the bristled pads had interfered with her grazing.

  The mesquite was thicker in the canyon, and they were soon forced to ride single file. They came to a clearing and he swung the rope, booted Baldy in hard to catch the cow, and slung the loop around her legs. He raised the rope and when he saw her step in the loop, he dallied it around the saddle horn and set Baldy down.

  Roberta shouted, “You got her.” And bailed off her horse.

  “Get two sticks to pull the pads off,” he shouted. “Don’t use your hands.”

  “I won’t.” She searched around, found some sticks, and raced for the bawling cow on the ground. It required two tries to get the pads off with her sticks, and the head-tossing cow was no help.

  At last, with the cow free of cactus, Roberta smiled in approval.

  “Great,” he said. “Get on your pony. I can shake the rope loose. She’ll be on the prowl, too.”

  “Ungrateful devils.” Roberta put a boot in her stirrup and swung up in the saddle, then reined the pony around.

  With Roberta and her horse trotting out of the clearing, Slocum rode in and pitched enough slack that the loop came loose. Since cattle got up hind feet first, Slocum turned Ba
ldy and rode hard after Roberta. The old heifer showed her athletic skills and soon was on the prod on Baldy’s heels, trying to hook him with a horn. Slocum leaned forward and gave the pony his head. Baldy shot out and quickly left the mad cow to shake her horns at them in the distance.

  Slocum coiled up the lariat and winked at Roberta. “Damn ungrateful livestock you own.”

  “They sure are.” She rode in looking impressed, and clapped him on the arm. “Don’t let anyone tell you that you ain’t a cowboy. You damn sure are a good one.”

  He acknowledged her compliment with a smile. “We better get that bedroll.”

  “Shoot, I’d about forgot what we came for.”

  “We’ve sure been distracted.”

  An hour later, he found the bedroll where he’d left it in the mesquite tree, and they ate some biscuits filled with ham that she’d fixed for their lunch. They sat in the shade, as they ate. He held up his sandwich. “This is damn good, too.”

  She shrugged off his compliment. “I can cook some, but it isn’t my calling.”

  “Got me fooled.”

  “Slocum, I need to hold this ranch together for the next three years. Somehow, some way, till Searle gets back and can help me.”

  “That might be a tall order.”

  “Would you stay that long?”

  “Can’t.” He shook his head ruefully. “There’s two deputies out of Fort Scott, Kansas, riding my tail. Sooner or later, word will get out I’m up here. A drunk in a bar will spout off or some teamster will get a little tipsy and say, ‘I seen old Slocum in Tucson,’ and they’d be down here in a few days.”

  “What happened?”

  “A kid, maybe eighteen, lost some money at cards, got drunk, came back packing a gun, and demanded his money back. I tried to talk him out of it.” Slocum shook his head. “He drew. I had no choice.”

  “That’s self-defense.”

  “Not when your grandfather owns the bank, the town, and the judge. He even foots the bill for those two deputies.”

  “I guess you have enough problems of your own without mine.”

  “Hey, I’ll help you as long as I can.”

  She reached over, clasped his forearm, and looked him in the eye. “For however long that is, I’ll be pleased.”

  “We may get it all cleared up before I have to leave here.”

  He rose and she did the same. They were only a foot apart. Her good eye looked like a liquid pool of chocolate and the smudge of dust on her cheek like a blemish. He reached out and brushed the dust away with the back of his forefinger.

  “Just some dust,” he said.

  “Oh, I must look so nice.”

  “You do. You’re a beautiful woman.”

  A red flush came to her cheeks. “Yeah, but damaged.”

  Slowly, he shook his head and reached out to cradle her face between his calloused hands. “No one could ruin you. Not Phelps. Not the worthless deputies. They hurt you, but they never ruined you—”

  His mouth touched hers, and it must have shocked her for a moment; then she threw her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his. It knocked his hat off, but he didn’t care and wasn’t going to let it upset him. There would be plenty of time later to recover his weather-beaten hat—better things were in his arms. Her firm breasts felt buried in his chest. He held her hard to him as his mind spun around like a boy’s top.

  Her mouth opened and his tongue tested her teeth, like feeding on honeycomb. He savored the closeness of her willowy body to his own. He stopped, and let her catch her breath.

  “You all right?” he asked.

  “Is that why you stopped?” Out of breath, she looked up at him bleary-eyed.

  “I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

  She pulled his face back to hers for more. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  “Hmmm,” was all he managed before their mouths meshed.

  He finally swept her up and carried her to where the dark pony was grazing through the bits. “You better get on your horse.”

  He shifted her in his arms as he walked toward the horse.

  “You afraid of me?”

  “No.” He set her on her feet and looked down into her face. “I’m afraid of myself.”

  “I’m not.”

  He shook his head and wiped his bare forehead on his sleeve. “I am.”

  “I guess we can settle this later?”

  He nodded, kissed her quickly, then went for his hat and Baldy.

  With the bedroll tied on behind his saddle, they started for home. They were back by late afternoon. As they descended the hillside, Slocum spotted a horse tied at the hitch rack.

  “We’ve got company.”

  She nodded, squinting to try and make the animal out. “I don’t know who that horse belongs to.”

  He shifted the Colt out of habit. Friend or foe, they’d soon learn all about it. When they reached the hard-packed open ground in front of the house and corrals—she brightened.

  “It’s my neighbor, Caleb Anderson.”

  “Good,” Slocum said, relieved it wasn’t someone connected with Phelps and the sheriff. They’d come around soon enough.

  “What brings you out, Caleb?” she asked, dismounting, and the gray-headed man behind the bushy mustache waded over in his bull-hide chaps and gave her a fatherly hug. “Oh, that’s Slocum. Meet Caleb, my neighbor. He owns the Cross P.”

  Slocum extended his hand to the short, thin, older cowman.

  “Nice to meet you,” said Caleb. “Roberta’s my girl. I come over to check on her. Them no-accounts in Antelope Springs sent the wrong man to prison.”

  “I understand that.”

  “Well, you two stirred up things in town bringing in those Worthington hands.”

  “They still in jail?” she asked.

  “No, they’re out on bond. They’ll flee the county. Won’t be any trial. But you knew that.”

  “I figured something like that would happen. Who bailed them out?” Slocum asked.

  “I don’t know for certain, but my guess would be Worthington did. He couldn’t afford them going on trial and talking.”

  Slocum agreed.

  “I’ll fix supper for us,” Roberta said. “Won’t be much, but you two can talk and put up the horses.” She excused herself and headed for the house.

  Slocum led the ponies, and Caleb ambled along with him in the fashion of most older men who’d been broken up in a hundred horse wrecks.

  “How’s she doing?” Caleb glanced back to be sure she wasn’t in hearing.

  “She’d’ve done a damn sight better if them three hadn’t been waiting for her and jumped her when she got back from seeing Searle taken off.”

  Caleb caught his arm. “Who done that?”

  “Phelps and two other deputies, she said.”

  His blue eyes narrowed to a hawk’s hard look. “You telling me they raped her?”

  Slocum stopped at the tank to let the horses drink. He began undoing the latigos. “That’s what she told me.”

  Caleb threw his weather-beaten felt hat in the dust and stomped his boot. “Why, them no-account worthless sons a bitches.”

  “I thought the same thing, but we’ve got to be careful. It would be her word against theirs. Three to one. She’s got too much pride to go on the stand and go through a trial.”

  “I had no idea,” Caleb said, and swept up his hat. “That makes me so damn mad I could spit nails. Where did they get the damn nerve?”

  “They’re behind that badge.”

  He twisted his mustache ends and his red face looked like he was ready to boil.

  Slocum glanced at the house, and then removed his saddle from Baldy. “Better act like you don’t know anything about it.”

  Caleb agreed. “I will. I will, but my lands, she was hurt bad enough by them sending Searle to jail on them made-up charges. Heavens, he’s just a boy. Tough boy, but man, Yuma prison is a hellhole.”

  “That has her upset, too.”
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  “I bet. Why I came over was to check on her. You just happen along?”

  “My horse colicked the night before and I came in on foot that morning right after them three left. I saw their fresh tracks in the road. They shot her stock dog, too.”

  “Them worthless devils. When I rode in, I wondered where he was at.” Caleb shook his head as he carried her saddle and pads to the shed with Slocum. “What can we do?”

  “I’m not certain. See how things pan out. Then maybe we can figure out a way to pay all these bastards back.”

  “Count me in—any way I can help.”

  “Good.”

  “You hanging around?”

  “For a while.”

  “That’s good. Obvious that she needs some protection here,” Caleb said, putting her saddle on the rack.

  When the horses were in the lot and rolling in the dust, Slocum and Caleb went to the house and washed up.

  From the porch, Slocum looked off to the west where the low sun was bleeding in the sky. Doves cooed and quail scurried out in the dry grass and chaparral. The windmill creaked, powered by the late afternoon wind—it needed greasing. Cottonwood leaves rattled. Heavenly place for all the hell that had taken place there of late.

  She called them to supper.

  Chapter 4

  Dawn found Slocum looking over the shallow tank and dam with the connecting ditch that irrigated the ten to twelve acres of barley stubble when there was enough water. Now, in the summer, the water was low, and he could see it would require a substantial runoff to fill up again, but whoever had built the system knew a lot about irrigation.

  The night before, Caleb had stayed until midnight playing rummy before he rode off for his own place. After their company left, they both were too tired to do anything but kiss, fall in their own beds, and sleep. He’d woken when a rooster quail got to bragging out in the chaparral in the predawn. The still house was dark when he’d dressed and started his survey of the place.

  The irrigation project grew enough forage for their horses.