Slocum and the Santa Fe Sisters Page 6

  “Probably after your sister has her baby, if we get a break in the weather.”

  “How long a break?”

  “It will take more time with a baby along, oh, five or six days. But we may need to rest a few days, too, along the way.”

  “My father will reward you. He is a very rich man.”

  “I know of him.” His knowledge was that the family store was very large and a main trading company.

  “Have you ever been married?” she blurted out, surprising herself with her own question.

  “No, I could never stay in one place that long.”

  “What a shame. Someday, when all this is behind me, I’d like to find a nice man like you.”

  “There are—” He didn’t want to reveal too much to a relative stranger. “Because of my past, there are men who would make staying in one place deadly for me.”

  “My father is a very powerful man.”

  He walked toward the bed in the corner of the room and shook his head. “Not that powerful.” Then he stopped. “Why don’t you take the bed? I’ll sleep by the fire.”

  “On the floor?”

  “I’ve slept under much worse conditions.”

  “You’re a good man, John Slocum,” she said, then walked slowly to the bed and lay down. For several moments, she remained huddled up in the blanket, as if fearing an attack, but then she relaxed and her breathing became even.

  Just before dawn, Slocum awoke and went out to relieve his bladder. He could see a light on in the small kitchen window. The women were up and fixing food. When Elania woke up, he’d better send her over to join them.

  When he went back inside, she was already up and preparing to leave. “I should go help them.”

  “Go right ahead.”

  “Could I perhaps . . . come back tonight?” she asked shyly.

  “Of course,” he said.

  “I feel safe here. Thank you.”

  “I’m glad. You’re safe with me.”

  “And I will find a way to bathe today. I must smell like an old chamber pot.”

  He nodded his approval about the bath, and she ran off. After she’d gone, he fed the fire some more wood. What was Julie doing, besides freezing her small backside off in Wolf’s camp? He couldn’t help being concerned about the gentle Navajo woman who had touched him. But the poor girl had made her own bed and now must lie in it.

  He joined the others in the kitchen. In the candlelight, he sipped fresh coffee while the women all worked. The fort men came in yawning and stretching. They talked softly about the day’s work needs. Feeding stock, butchering a large fat hog and rendering his lard. The women were about out of lard to cook with.

  They served the men some fresh-made flour tortillas wrapped around slow-cooked spicy buffalo roast, mixed with mashed frijoles and hot peppers. Elania washed dishes and acted like Slocum was not there. Perhaps she was still afraid of all men, including him.

  The day, while cold with an inch or so of dry snow on the ground, promised to be a calm one, not too wrought by a sharp wind. Slocum told Willow he was going to scout some to look for the killer and for her to tell the colonel where he’d gone.

  McKee must have been sleeping in; he wasn’t up yet. Willow suggested that Slocum take one of the men with him for his safety even though all he planned to do was look for signs. The tall woman sounded concerned. She told him to be careful and for him to be armed with the Sharps he had recovered. He rode northeast in the vast open snow-drifted country that topped Cap Rock.

  Twice he saw the travois tracks and barefoot hooves of some small band of Indians. No telling the number of small bunches of renegades avoiding reservation life without many resources and only some cheap black-powder rifles. Trying to live as their fathers had in the once-strong horse-centered, buffalo-hunting societies. A dream that was fast evaporating everywhere in the West.

  This was how those red men wanted to live—the way their ancestors had before. But the endless supply of the bison that fueled their past existence was nearly gone.

  By midday, Slocum could smell smoke from a buffalo dung fire. There was a certain flavor he recognized that was not from oak like their wood fires at the fort. He reined his big horse up and tried to see the source. Nothing in sight. He crossed another rise and discovered two filthy tepees. Some starving horses stood around hip shot.

  Rather than simply ride in and get himself shot, he reined up, pushed his coat back so he could reach his handgun. “Hello the tepees.”

  A fat squaw ducked her head under the tepee flap and came out wrapped in a blanket. In some guttural Indian language she spoke to whoever was behind her.

  “I am peaceful.”

  She looked at him like she doubted him or didn’t understand.

  “Where is your man?”

  She shook her head. It was a no-savvy kind of reply.

  “Hunting.” She made a sweep to the northeast.

  “How many men are here?”

  Another woman, who was suckling a baby, came out of the other tepee. “She speaks no English. We have little food. Our men are hunting.”

  “The colonel will feed you. Follow my tracks.” He pointed to his back trail. “Who killed the fort hunters?”

  She shook her head. “No kill hunters.”

  “No. Do you know the killers?”

  “No.” She shook her head.

  “When your men return, tell them to go to the fort on my tracks.”

  She agreed and watched him ride off. He never saw the Indian hunters as he made a wide circle before he returned to the fort. When he got back, Juan came out and took his horse.

  “You see any killers?” Juan asked.

  Slocum shook his head. “Did a few starving Indians come by?”

  Juan nodded. “The colonel sent them back with food and told them to come to the fort. You think they killed his hunters?”

  “The woman that spoke English said no.”

  “That the truth?”

  Slocum shrugged. “Who knows?”

  Juan agreed. Then he asked, “Why are they out here?”

  “They know there are a few buffalos left. They don’t want to be on reservations and opted to find enough meat to remain free.”

  “I see. They have a grim future,” Juan said to Slocum.

  “With their old-style life, yes. But they could join us. Thanks for putting up my horse.” He went to the kitchen, and when he stepped inside, he hung his heavy coat on the peg, then his hat. When he turned around, Elania held up a fried pie for him to eat and had a steaming mug of coffee in her other hand.

  “How was your day?” he asked her, chewing on the sweet apple filling.

  “Cold and useless. Some Indians came here.”

  “Yes, they were starving. Did you recognize any of them?”

  “One I saw when I was a captive. He blinked a few times when he saw me here. I guess he thought I’d report him.”

  “Did he ever rape you?”

  She quickly shook her head then lowered her voice. “I know every one of those bastards that did that to me. I won’t forget them.”

  “Could you tell their tribe? All I saw was the two women.”

  Her eyebrows formed a frown. “What did they look like?”

  “One was short and fat. She acted like she couldn’t speak any English. The other one was tall and thin. She was nursing a baby. She spoke decent English.”

  “Her name is Penny. The fat one is Blue Flower.”

  “How do you know them?”

  “They’re Cheyennes.”

  “You were in a camp with them?”

  “Yes. We were traded four or five times when we were out there. Each time, we’d get raped all over again, to see, I guess, if we were still any good. In m
ost cases I could have told them, ‘I’m as good as those women you manhandle in your tepees.’”

  He put his hand briefly on her shoulder as a gesture of comfort. She flinched, but didn’t move away.

  “My place is warm. You want to go rest? I swear you’ll be safe.”

  “Sure, I’d like that. I always feel safe with you.”

  He waved at Willow, who was working behind the counter, chopping up some cooked meat. “Elania needs a break, okay?” he said.

  Willow nodded, and he and Elania got up to leave.

  “Did you learn anything today?” McKee asked as they went by him. He was seated at a table by himself, dealing out a game of solitaire.

  “It was cold as a witch’s tit and nothing much out there alive. You spoke to the Cheyennes from the camp who are starving?”

  “I told them to come back with their women. You think they’re any danger to us?”

  “What do you think, Elania?” To McKee, he said, “She knew them.”

  She shook her head. “No, they’re just trying to survive.”

  “I didn’t know there were many Cheyennes this far south and west.”

  “They’re anti-reservation ones,” Slocum pointed out.

  “I guess. But it’s tough with the buffalo numbers so small these days to do that.”

  “They can’t eat cows either.”

  “No. The ranchers would get mad. Thanks for looking around for me.”

  “No problem. I’ll be taking a siesta if you need me.”

  “Sleep tight.” The old man reached over to place a card in the sequence.

  “Thanks. I haven’t seen any threat to the fort but they still may be coming. Nor do I know who killed your men.”

  McKee nodded and went back to studying his cards again. “Well, do your best to find out.”

  Slocum agreed, and they headed for the kitchen.

  He spoke to Willow to be cordial while he put on his coat, hat, and gloves. Elania put on the old but warm coat that Willow had given her. They left the chattering Indian women working in the kitchen. As they walked to his jacal, the young men were loading firewood on a carreta to haul to the main building in case it snowed again and to train the young oxen team.

  They waved to Slocum and Elania. Obviously they had seen her leave his hut earlier that morning, but they made no lewd or suggestive remarks. They were all aware of what she’d suffered and knew that, at the moment, she needed an honorable protector.

  The jacal was thick walled, with only small windows, so the fireplace had kept it warm and cozy.

  As soon as they entered, Elania immediately sat down near the fire, still huddled in her massive coat.

  “Are any of the women angry that you left? Or jealous?” Slocum asked casually.

  She hugged her knees. “No, I don’t think so. Willow will whip you with a quirt if you try anything.”

  “That a fact?” He imagined the tall, powerful woman using a horse quirt on someone for misbehaving. No doubt she would do that if anyone took advantage of Elania or her sister.

  “She laid down the law the day we came. We’d lived like slaves in the various camps, and she wanted us to know that this place would be different.”

  “You are a brave, strong woman,” Slocum said. “Some man in Santa Fe will be lucky to have you.”

  “I hope I can find one as good as you are.”

  “You’ll find him. He’s out there.”

  “But I fear my father, when we return, will put us both in a nunnery. He’ll say we’re ruined.”

  “The man who falls in love with you won’t care about your past.”

  “Do you think so? It’s not as if we had a choice.” She shook all over in a sudden fury, as if she were reliving a part of that past. “You know Katrina, my sister, is praying for them to put her in one?”

  “Really?”

  “She hates sex, and now that she is so sick every morning because of the baby, she despises men for being the cause.”

  “Let’s rest some,” he suggested. “And then it will be supper time.”

  She walked over to the bed and stretched out, still huddled in the heavy coat. Slocum hunkered down by the fire. In a moment they both fell asleep.

  5

  “Slocum, wake up! McKee needs you!” He barely recognized Willow’s voice, amid the furious pounding on his door.

  “Coming!” he shouted, jumping to his feet.

  “What’s happening?” Elania asked, sitting up.

  “Not sure, but something’s wrong.” He lifted the bar and cracked the door open. Cold air swept over his face.

  “What is it?”

  “A wagon train was attacked by renegades and they need help.”

  “Tell him I’ll be right up there.”

  “Hurry. It sounds bad.”

  “Thanks, Willow.” He watched the tall woman, wrapped in a blanket under the stars, head for the main building. After shutting the door, he grabbed his coat, hat, and gloves.

  “What can one man do?” Elania asked.

  “I won’t be alone.”

  He buttoned his coat and rushed to the door.

  “Stay here with me,” she begged. “You’ll get yourself bad hurt trying to save a wagon train. You might even get killed.”

  He was tempted to go over and kiss her good-bye, but he didn’t want to frighten her. “He needs help. I’ll see what I can do.”

  “No, please don’t go—” Then she burst into tears.

  He was almost out the door. “I’ll be back,” he reassured her. “Now stop crying.”

  “I can’t . . .” she sobbed, her shoulders shaking. Sighing, he went over to her, lifted her chin, and lightly kissed her cheek. Her tears tasted salty.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be back.”

  When he walked out the door, the sharp cold hit his face. The frost crunched under his soles and he saw activity. The men were saddling horses at the corral. McKee must have been sending them with him.

  When Slocum entered the store, he noticed a man with a freshly bandaged head.

  “Herman Duval,” McKee introduced the man. “He was bringing us things we ordered. Says he was ten miles east of here and a band of renegades attacked him. He got a small wound on his head that the women had fixed.”

  “My name’s Slocum.” He shook the man’s hand. “How many attackers?”

  “Maybe a dozen—but they’ve killed two of my men.”

  “You get any of them?”

  “I don’t know. I left to get help when my two best were killed.”

  “You have some stick explosives wrapped and ready?” Slocum asked McKee.

  “I’ll have Juan get some,” the old man said. “Have one of the men carry the Sharps and ammo. You may need it, too.”

  “Yeah, we might. They Indians or breeds?”

  “Breeds, I think,” Duval answered.

  “What difference does that make?” McKee asked.

  “Breeds are meaner and dirtier fighters,” Slocum explained.

  Juan burst in. “The horses are saddled, señor.”

  “Talk to Slocum. He’s my commander in this fight.”

  “Juan, we’ll need blasting sticks tied in three-stick bunches.”

  “Sí, I can get them.”

  “Wait,” Slocum said. “We also need each man well armed and we need the Sharps rifle as well.”

  Juan nodded. “Sí, señor, we will have it, too.”

  “I guess that’s all. Alive or dead, we’ll see you later, McKee.”

  “I’m going, too,” Duval said.

  “I thought so.” Slocum nodded his approval. Despite the man’s wound, he looked tough enough to be of some help. The four boys were not veteran soldiers but they wo
uld listen to his orders.

  “Take care,” McKee said to him and stood up. “I’d only get in the way.”

  “We can handle it,” Slocum said.

  He saw that Carlos had the Sharps. Good, he’d shot it before. The other two had Winchesters, and Willow gave them cartridges in drawstring bags. Once outside, and ready to mount up, he told them to listen to him. “We can whip any army, but you must do as I say.”

  They, very sober-like, nodded. Their horses breathing steam and pawing to go, they rode eastward across the snow. He told Duval to lead the way and the man nodded, lashing his horse with long reins. Slocum disapproved of his doing that to the horse, especially since they were facing ten tough miles, but they followed the man and kept up with his pace.

  In less than ten miles they could see, against the rising sun, the wagons and hear shots coming from them. Good. Some of Duval’s freighters were still alive. Slocum told Carlos to dismount and shoot one or two of the riders who were milling around out of rifle range from the wagons.

  That would teach them something.

  “What if I hit a horse?” Carlos asked, lining up the rifle on the tripod.

  “That’s as good as hitting the rider.”

  Everyone else remained on horseback. Carlos took aim and fired the large-bore gun. The ear-shattering round went for the group. A hit horse reared and fell over backward on his rider. Carlos reloaded and fired again. The second bullet struck a man, and the third round cut down another. He looked at Slocum. “More?”

  “No, they’re fleeing. Good shooting.”

  “Damn, Carlos,” one of the boys said. “You blew the hell out of them.”

  The others cheered.

  “Watch for them coming back. They didn’t run far,” Slocum warned, and they rode in to join the wagon train.

  A man with a blood-streaked face came out to meet them. “What took you so damn long?”

  “We came as quick as we could,” Slocum said, irritated by the man’s sarcasm.

  “How many men are wounded?” Duval asked, dismounting.

  “Four or five.”

  “Duval, you try to patch them up,” Slocum instructed him. “You other boys help him. Carlos and Juan, ride with me.”

  They charged off to try to see where the attackers had gone. They reached an overlook and spotted the handful of riders. Carlos leaped off his horse and Slocum nodded for him to go ahead. Juan set up the tripod. The shorter man took aim and the gun roared. In the wind the black-powder smoke was swept away. He quickly reloaded and took off the second rider.