Slocum and the Bixby Battle Read online

  “You’ll be filling a buzzard’s guts if’n you don’t keep them hands up.”

  “You’ve made a big mistake coming here, boy. I don’t know what that Messikan bitch told you—”

  “Get off that horse!” Bixby’s words had sent hot jolts of rage up Slocum’s jaw.

  “Huh—”

  “Get off that horse.” Slocum reinforced his threat by jabbing him in the ribs with his rifle muzzle.

  “Here,” he said to Amanda, handing over the rifle. “Shoot them if they decide to run away.”

  “He’ll kill you,” she whispered, realizing Slocum’s intentions, her deep concern mirrored in her brown eyes.

  “I don’t think so.” When Slocum stepped toward the big man, he wished he’d had time to put on his boots. The sticks were jabbing his bare soles as he moved about.

  A broad smile spread over Bixby’s full face. He rubbed a big fist in the palm of his left hand. Satisfaction danced in his blue eyes. A look of smugness swept his full mouth.

  Slocum drove in hard. His first three blows to the man’s cheekbones sent him reeling backward, though he threw some wild swings. Bixby managed to land a glancing blow to Slocum’s shoulder, but took two hard hits under his eyes that staggered him.

  “You’re going to learn some manners this evening,” Slocum said, dodging a wild haymaker and nailing in two more quick fists to Bixby’s head.

  “About what?”

  “About who you call a bitch.”

  “Ha, her—”

  Slocum’s fist pounded his nose, and Bixby ducked back, slinging blood. “I’ll call that bitch a bitch—”

  “Not while I’m around.” Filled with a newfound fury, Slocum moved in and in five punches had the big man sprawled on his back. He stood over him, ready for any attempt by him to get up.

  Bixby shook his head, stunned, and then tried to rise, but never made it. Blood ran in streams from both his nostrils, over his mouth, and he spit some of it.

  “I ever hear you call her bitch again, I’ll whip you with my pistol.”

  “You ain’t heard the last of this.”

  “You want more?”

  “No.”

  “Then shut up. Bixby, you aren’t driving any more folks out of this country.”

  The big man never answered. Slocum stepped over and jerked him up by the collar until it threatened to choke him. “Dig out that forty dollars for the horse Wilson shot.”

  “The hell—” His words cut off when Slocum’s boot toe caught him in the gut and threw him down on his back.

  “All right—” Bixby managed, as he drew out a wallet and put the money on the ground.

  “You two,” Slocum shouted at the riders when he’d swept up the cash. “Get off your horses and help him on his. Next time, you two bring shovels.”

  “What for?” the mustached one asked.

  “So you can bury the son of a bitch.”

  The two struggled to put their boss on his horse. They kept glancing back, giving Amanda and Slocum the shifty-eyed look. When at last they had the groaning Bixby in the saddle, Slocum laughed out loud.

  “If you two boys don’t want your ears notched like Taker and Nichols got theirs done for them in San Antonio, you better take a big powder out of this country after today.”

  They never answered, but plenty of white showed around their eyes before they hit their own saddles and, leading the bent-over, groaning Bixby, headed for the road.

  “You’ve hurt your hand?” Amanda asked with the rifle in the crook of her arm.

  Slocum shook his head, watching the threesome disappear around some cedars. His fists did hurt, but aside from some skinned knuckles, they’d be all right.

  “You know you have really provoked him.”

  Slocum nodded, the anger still draining from him.

  “My husband did that, too.”

  He nodded that he’d heard her. Her husband was dead, too.

  7

  “What the hell happened to you?” McKlein asked. “Damn, you get kicked by a mule?” The lawman walked around Bixby’s desk, looking hard at the man, then poured himself some whiskey.

  “You know this sumbitch she hired named Slocum?”

  “No, but he beat up and ear-notched two of your men in San Antonio.”

  “Nichols and Taker?”

  “Yeah, them two. I got word late yesterday he fixed them, or someone that works for him did it.”

  “How many men has he got?” Bixby shook his head. The sumbitch was alone when he jumped him.

  “No telling.” McKlein took a seat and studied the liquor in his glass.

  “What the hell we going to do about him?”

  “Why don’t I arrest him for murder?”

  “Fine with me, but how—”

  “He won’t ever make it to jail.” McKlein gave a smug look at the whiskey then took a big drink of the contents.

  “That’s the best plan yet. My men ran off all her stock up on that creek. Said that they ran them to kingdom come.”

  “Good, she’ll have to give up before long. Did she try to see the Rangers while she was there?”

  “My contact said no. Since they never answered her telegrams, she probably gave up, huh? Shame they never got them messages, huh?”

  Bixby’s face hurt like a festered boil when he agreed with a nod. He’d get that damn Slocum. The vision in his right eye was still blurry, and the lids barely parted enough to see light. Damn him.

  “I’ve got to hire some more deputies,” McKlein said.

  “What for?”

  “So she don’t send any word out. Need more guards on all the main roads.”

  “Hire them.”

  “Cost thirty a month per man.”

  “How many men?”

  “Six, two on each road.”

  “Here’s two hundred a month.” Bixby took the gold coins from the center drawer in his desk and piled them up. “Be damn sure they don’t let anyone out that could get word to the Rangers.”

  McKlein picked up the coins. “I been doing the job, ain’t I?”

  “Yeah. Now arrest that sumbitch.”

  “I’ll handle Slocum.”

  Bixby stood by the window and watched McKlein ride out. One more matter handled.

  8

  Slocum reined up the team and from the distance studied Amanda’s ranch headquarters before they began their descent to the valley floor. The two-story house that rose over the smattering of adobe structures and corrals reminded him of the haciendas of Mexico. Hemmed in by the limestone bluffs, the creek bottomland shone golden brown, with rolling acres of a good corn crop on the stalks.

  “Mi casa,” she said with a smile.

  “Pretty place,” he said and clucked to the team.

  Dogs began to bark as they came up the lane between the cornfields. Rail-and-post fences lined their way.

  “You’ll have a wonderful corn crop,” he said to her.

  “Yes, but I have many to feed.”

  Several women came running, and bashful, dark-eyed children were holding back, but they spied on the two of them. In colorful dresses, from the attractive to grand-motherly, the women of the ranch all looked excited at the return of their patron.

  “Señora, Señora,” they cried, acting pleased to see her.

  “This is Señor Slocum,” she announced. They bowed their heads then smiled at him. “He has come to help us.”

  “What happened to your other horse?” one of the older women asked, looking at the black one.

  “Someone shot him.”

  “Do you know who?”

  She turned to Slocum. “A man called Wilson.”

  “Ah, he works for the Colonel,” the woman said. Others with hatred in their eyes nodded that they, too, knew the man.

  “But Señor Slocum made the Colonel pay for the horse,” she said to them.

  An “oh” came in approval from the women.

  “What has happened while I have been gone, Margarita?” she asked
one of the older women.

  “They ran your cattle out of the Rio Bianco land.”

  “Where are the men?” Amanda frowned at her, searching around for sight of them.

  The woman folded her arms and drew her head erect. “Trying to gather all those cattle they chased away.”

  “I have a deed to that place,” Amanda said to Slocum.

  “Who ran them out?” He looked over the women for an answer.

  “Who does everything bad around here?” Margarita said.

  Slocum nodded. He needed to learn more about Bixby and his total operation. “Do you have a map?”

  “Yes, in the house.” Amanda turned back. “How’s Mena’s baby?”

  “Doing better,” Margarita said.

  “Good. I want the men to meet Slocum when they return.”

  “Sí, señora. I will send them to the house.”

  “Good. Let’s go inside and find some lunch,” she said to Slocum.

  “Fine,” he said and followed her over the limestone walk to the front door.

  “Pepe, take care of the señor’s horse, too,” she shouted to the youth ready to drive off the team.

  “Ah, sí.”

  Slocum smiled at her. “These people have been here on this place a long time.”

  “Yes, my grandfather was here when the first Americanos came to San Antonio. He knew them well, Travis and Sam Houston, and fought against Santa Anna’s forces for Texas as I told you.”

  “And you are the last of the line?”

  She nodded slightly. “My husband and I prayed for children. You would have liked him. He was a good man—half and half. His mother was from Tennessee and his father was Mexican.”

  “Tell me again how he was killed.”

  “Shot in the back. No one we know saw it—perhaps only the killer was there—”

  “No, these buzzards travel in pairs or more. Two in San Antonio, and Bixby came with two more. If someone shot your husband, then I’d bet good money that someone saw it happen.”

  “But how will we get them to talk? The sheriff is no help.”

  They stopped to wash their hands at the pitcher and bowl in the hallway. She motioned for him to go ahead. She used her teeth to remove her goatskin gloves. His hands washed and his sun-heated face rinsed down, he dried himself on the towel and watched her. The woman was pleasant to look at despite the road dust and travel wear; she still maintained a certain aura about her that he liked.

  She finished and motioned for him to follow her.

  The long dining table was as he’d expected. Two women were standing at ready beside the door he decided led to the kitchen.

  “Bring some wine and food,” Amanda said to them.

  “Sí, señora. Good to have you home. You too, señor.” They both hurried out of the room.

  “These people speak lots of English,” he said, showing her to her chair.

  “We are Texans. We are Americans. Our children here go to school.”

  “I understand that. Your enemy ran off your cattle. Well, someone did. That’s strange that no one has made them stop. The law, the Rangers?” He took a seat. Corrupt local officials were one thing, but the Rangers had always been the force that ran off the Indians and shut down the corrupt politicians.

  He took his seat and the younger girl filled his glass with a red wine. “Gracias, señorita,” he said, putting his cloth napkin in his lap.

  “You are welcome, señor.”

  He nodded and shared a private look with Amanda. They were Americans. “When did you last try to contact the Rangers?”

  She shook her head. “I have telegraphed for the Rangers three times and they did not come.”

  “I know some Rangers. I’ll wire one first time I get to town.”

  “You must be careful. Take some men with you where you go. After the way you beat him up, he will for sure try to kill you.” She snapped her fingers to show him how quick Bixby would respond. The anger in her eyes flared like a fire doused with coal oil.

  Slocum agreed and they ate their lunch of tasty strips of marinated beef, frijoles and fresh tortillas. When they’d finished, he smiled at her. “Let’s look over your maps.”

  She nodded and rose, then led him into a side room and pointed to the map on the wall. “These are my holdings. That is where the men are at, trying to gather back the cattle.” Her finger for a pointer, she showed him the boundaries and the water course. “Bonito Creek is a very strong one. Even in a dry year, the springs flow.”

  “And this is Bixby’s land?” he asked, looking at the bordering portion.

  “Yes.”

  “I see his problem. You have the water and he doesn’t.”

  “He could develop water. Since my grandfather’s time we have opened springs on our other places, and we have dependable water there, too.”

  “Ah, once again you control the water.”

  She frowned in disapproval at him. “My father could have owned that land, but he considered it too rough to utilize for grazing.”

  “Amanda, you don’t understand. All that Bixby wants is your water.”

  “But—”

  He hugged her shoulder and laughed. “Greed, my dear, can be a deep thing for men like him.”

  “What can I do?”

  “Kill him in the end.”

  “Kill him?” Her thick, dark lashes fluttered at his words.

  “Either that or destroy him. He won’t quit short of his goal to force you out of here.”

  “Then let’s kill him. An eye for an eye, no?”

  “Let me try to discourage him first.”

  “What will you do?”

  “I’m not sure yet. Is there a boy here on the ranch that could guide me?”

  “I am sure that Montez can get you the best one. He should be here by evening.”

  “Wonderful. Now you can show me the layout of this place.”

  “The house?”

  “Later.” He smiled at her. “I mean the corrals and buildings.”

  “Surely.”

  She took him around to the various quarters for the families, the pens and the blacksmith shop. He met the ranch’s resident smithy, a well-muscled man called Cortez who was busy making horseshoes in his forge. He gave a few pumps on his large bellows that sent the sharp aroma of burning coal in the air, then stripped off his glove to shake Slocum’s hand.

  “Señor Slocum, this is Cortez.”

  A few words were exchanged and they went by the saddlery, where an ancient man with gnarled fingers wove a riata from strands of rawhide. The sharply defined smell of lanoline hung in the air as he dappled his fingers in a dish of it to soften the stiff rawhide and make the finished lariat pliable. He gave them a toothless grin and a nod.

  “Carlos is the best braider in the West,” Amanda bragged. “Next year he will be ninety-two. Still a young man, no?” she said to Slocum. The old man grinned, pleased at her words.

  “Good to meet you,” Slocum said to him in Spanish.

  The old man said in return, “Gracias,” busy crossing and working tight his efforts.

  Extra saddles were on the wall racks. Bridles and sets of harness were all oiled and well cared for. The ranch was a tight operation; he noted the fine horses in the corrals. They were sleek and well bred, not ordinary mustangs, but the product of selection and a breeding program.

  The place had an outer perimeter of rock walls from the days of the Comanche raids. But the gates were gone after many years without usage.

  “We need to post guards on the gates,” he said.

  “You don’t think—”

  “I think so far they’ve failed in their attempts to run you off. They killed your husband, they’ve run your stock off, and you have not left or offered to sell them your ranch.”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then we must defend the place from attack.”

  “How?” she asked as they headed for the house with her nodding and speaking to various women on their way. C
hildren ran about playing, and their laughter rang in the air.

  “We need the gates blocked with wagons or carretas at night, so they can’t charge in here like they own the place. Second, an armed man at each gate. High up, so he can duck behind the wall but see for a long ways anyone approaching. We may want to cut and burn some trees out there that would afford them close-by cover.”

  “You really expect a raid here, don’t you?”

  “I would rather be ready than sorry later.”

  “That is why I hired you.” She shook her head. “But raid my ranch—I can’t believe it.”

  “A raid wouldn’t bother him one bit.”

  She clasped his arm. “Slocum, I can’t thank you enough.”

  “Oh, you might.”

  “Oh.” She checked the sun time, then lowered her voice. “We have time before the men return for us to work on it.”

  “And spoil my siesta?”

  She poked him hard in the ribs. “I’ll spoil it all right.”

  He studied some gathering clouds. He needed next to see Bixby’s operation, then plan his own trickery—there would be a way to make the Colonel’s days unpleasant in return. He felt her arm encircle his waist and she pressed herself to him so her ripe breast was in his side.

  Who needed a siesta anyway?

  9

  Slocum met her vaqueros in late afternoon when they rode in on their spent horses. Her segundo, Montez, dropped heavily from the saddle and shook Slocum’s hand. The last blood rays of sundown shone high on the main house. Horse and rider alike were done in.

  “Did you find most of the cattle?” Amanda asked her foreman.

  “Some are gone—”

  “I understand,” she said to him. “Slocum has come to help us.”

  “It is good. These men do things I can’t understand. Why chase our cattle off into the brush?”

  “So that you will leave. So that you will quit,” Slocum said.

  “But this land belongs to the señora and has been in her family for many years.”

  “Amigo, that is why they want it. The water.”

  “But we have developed the water for years.”

  “True. But they want your hard work for the taking.”

  Montez shook his head and studied the wide-brimmed sombrero in his hands. “I guess we have grown soft since the Comanche is gone.”