Slocum and the Rebel Canyon Raiders Read online

  7

  High above, along the rim of the canyon of their forebears, a young Apache brave peered over the rocky edge. Behind him crouched a bellied older man with lines enough on his face to resemble a piece of dried fruit. His moccasin scuffed on the dirt and the youth backed quickly from the edge and spun to regard him. “Grandfather! How long have you been here?”

  “Long enough to know that my grandson has done a bad thing. Very bad, indeed.”

  The boy cast his glance anywhere but at the man who had just reprimanded him. He wished the old man would just leave him alone to prove himself to his father, and to solve the tribe’s worries. All at once. If he could but do that, he would earn his father’s respect. None of the other men in the tribe had come up with any ideas to drive the hated whites from the canyon.

  The boy stood and straightened, flexing his long, lean body. He knew that he had muscled out well and gained more than a head in height above the other young men of the tribe in the last year.

  His grandfather knew the boy was proud of how he looked. The young girls of the tribe all stared at him boldly, then when he turned to see the source of their giggles, they would cover their mouths with cupped hands and run away in packs. Silly young things, but he knew their power—and they would soon know it, too. It was the way of all things. And if the tribe ever was able to regain its canyon home, they would need such youths to populate the beautiful place, to carry forth the traditions of his people.

  “Grandson, ours is a tribe unlike other Apache tribes. Ours is a tribe apart, all because long, long ago one of our ancestors found the canyon and claimed that untrodden place, that rich lush land where our people chose to stay, to raise animals and even to raise crops. We no longer followed our prey from place to place, but stayed in one place and sent out smaller bands of warriors to bring back game. All was good for our people. We were able to defend ourselves from warring people who found us, for they were few and far between. But then some sickness came among us. We do not know how or from where, perhaps from whites who one of our warriors came into contact with, long before these whites came about among us.”

  The youth ground his teeth together hard, knowing his cheek muscles were flexing, betraying his outward calm, but he didn’t care. He had heard the same story many times. He above all others knew it, and he above all others in the tribe was trying to do something about it! And yet this old man just kept on talking, telling the same story. It was too much sometimes. Though it pained him to keep quiet, he must bite his tongue.

  The old man saw the subdued rage and barely restrained mask of calmness on the boy’s face, and he kept himself from smiling as he continued, “The sickness took the lives of many of our people. Then it slowed and eventually stopped. We thought we would be well, then. And new babies were born into the tribe, you are one of them, and your friends, the boys and the girls. But as you know, the whites found us. Who knows how, but they did. And they made their way into our beloved canyon, forcing those of us who weren’t killed by them to leave, to escape with barely our lives. They took nearly everything from us. We are too few in number to do much more than shake our fists in anger at them, from a great distance, just like old women, nothing more. We are toothless old women.”

  The youth could take no more of this foolish talk, and spoke. “How can you stand there and tell me this, Grandfather? Do you really think I was not aware of what has happened to our people? Do you not understand why I was here today?”

  The boy’s chest heaved, sweat had formed on his top lip, and the old man regarded him with a half smile for a long moment. Finally, he spoke, in the same quiet voice he had used all along. “Grandson, if you continue to shout, you shall have your fight with the whites much sooner than you would care to know. Your loud voice will bring them to us as a spring blossom attracts bees. Is that what you want?”

  The youth shook his head, glanced downward toward the edge of the canyon a dozen feet away. “No.” He looked up at the old man, his eyes glinting in dark defiance. “Not yet.”

  The grandfather clapped a hand on the young man’s shoulder and together they headed to the rocks. “Good,” he said. “For I have a plan. But it is not yet ready.” He turned to the young man and wrinkled his eyes in surprise.

  The youth stopped and regarded the wizened man before him. “But . . . you said I had done a bad thing.”

  His grandfather nodded, his eyes half-closed sagely. Then he fixed the boy with a piercing gaze. “Yes, but that is only because you should have told me first. Next time, I would like to be the one to push the rock down on the head of one of the whites. We had also better get back to the horses lest they send out angry riders.”

  The young man could hardly believe what he was hearing, and yet the old man, his very own grandfather, who walked ahead of him, had just said all that. All that the young man had longed to hear from the rest of the tribe. And now he and his grandfather would work together to conquer the evil whites and drive them from the canyon. But how?

  He ran toward the old man, caught up with him. “What is your plan?”

  But the old man merely smiled and kept walking toward the rocks where the horses were hidden.

  8

  Slocum and Deke walked back along the path they had followed, back toward camp, but halfway there, Deke swung eastward, crossed the brook along stepping-stones put there for just that purpose. They kept walking for five minutes or so, then they departed from this new trail and stepped along, zigzag fashion, through a light, low forest of piñon and scrub weed. A lanky gray rabbit bolted out from nearly underfoot just before Deke stepped on it, but the big man never broke stride.

  Slocum knew the big man was upset about Henry. Upset enough to have stepped on the rabbit and ended its little life without slowing his pace. Suddenly Slocum caught a whiff of wood smoke. But they were far enough from camp that he shouldn’t have smelled it. He looked at Deke, who had slowed and glanced at him.

  “So you smelled it. Good. I thought you were someone who was in control of his wits and senses. Now I’m more sure than earlier that you’ll be a good addition to our band.”

  Slocum said nothing, just watched the back of Deke’s head as they strode forward. He was beginning to get an idea of what he was in for, but the next few minutes would, he guessed, reveal all.

  And he was right.

  Deke stopped abruptly, raised his hands to his mouth, and shouted at the canyon wall two hundred feet ahead, “Hello the camp!”

  There was a pause, then a voice shouted, “Come ahead!”

  In a low voice, Deke said, “Follow me, Slocum. But don’t get rabbity. These boys don’t know you yet.”

  They broke through a man-height wall of vegetation and before them sat a similar setup as the big camp, fire ring in the middle, a couple of logs pulled up beside it, a neat stack of firewood with smaller pieces stacked beside that. The fire was set up with a steel tripod from which hung a black cast-iron pot suspended by a length of chain, and a coffeepot steamed on a flat rock beside the low fire. And beyond, tucked against the face of the cliff, a cave entrance was shielded from above by a rugged-looking roof, not unlike a porch roof off the front of a ranch house, supported by stout log uprights. Slocum guessed that was to protect the “boys,” whoever they might be, from rocks dropped from on high.

  Slocum didn’t have long to wait—appearing one man from each side, two men armed with rifles strode slowly, in measured, cautious steps, the business ends of the weapons not quite pointed at the ground. It didn’t appear that they had a problem with Deke, but on seeing Slocum, they slowed their pace and approached with caution.

  “Relax, boys. This here’s Slocum.”

  One of the men, a shaggy-looking blond-haired man Slocum didn’t think could have been out of his teenage years too long, shifted a wad of tobacco from one side of his mouth to the other. “That the snake man who fell from the sky?”


  Deke sighed and said, “Yeah, Doyle. That’s him. Only he ain’t no snake man, and like I said before, he damn sure can’t fly.” Deke looked at Slocum, and almost smiled. He turned his gaze on the other boy, who looked to Slocum to be even younger than the first. “Ducky, ease off on that trigger now. I told you he’s with me. You hear?”

  Slocum had nothing in the way of weapons but his boot knife, which Julep had kindly returned. The rest of his gear hadn’t yet been turned over to him, though he’d been told they found a Colt Navy, a skinning knife, and a badly broken Winchester with dented, splintered stocks. That damage had to have been from not just the drop, but from the she-lion’s vicious bites.

  The young man had to work hard to pry his eyes off scrutinizing Slocum. Finally he looked at Deke and nodded.

  “Any coffee on?” said Deke.

  “Yeah, we got us near a full pot. You know how Ducky likes hisself a cup now and again.”

  “Okay, Doyle. What say you go fetch us two more cups. We’ll all set here a minute and have us some. I got news for you both.”

  The two young men both retreated, and Deke watched them head to the cave entrance. He spoke, still watching them. “Unbelievable. Did I tell them both to go for extra cups?” He looked at Slocum, who had followed Deke’s lead and sat on a stump of wood.

  “You may have noticed, but ain’t neither of ’em is right, if you know what I mean. ‘Slow’ ain’t the word. And they can’t do a thing apart. I expect they take a piss at the same time, too. But they can shoot the sack off a skeeter at a hundred yards, I tell you what.” He nodded solemnly.

  “That how come you have them guarding whatever it is you have in that cave over there?”

  Deke sat up straight. “How come you to know that?”

  “Easy, Deke. I don’t know any more than you want me to. I just guessed you had something of value in there. And you just confirmed it. That’s it, that’s all.”

  “Well, hellfire. Like I said, you are one of the very sort I need.” He was smiling.

  “You mind telling me just what it is I’m expected to do for you?”

  “All in good time, Slocum. Right now, I got to tell my sons their uncle’s dead.”

  “Sons? And uncle?”

  “Yeah, Henry was my older brother. Different mama, but same pap. And yeah, them two award winners are my sons. Bless their mama, she was a looker, but she was not a gifted woman when it come to daily matters such as thinking deep.”

  “Then Julep, she’s your second wife?” Slocum figured he was far enough from the big man’s reach that he could ask a personal question without getting a clout from one of those chunky hands. He watched Deke’s face redden, and Slocum pulled his head back as he saw the man’s eyes widen.

  “You thought Julep was my wife?”

  “She’s not?”

  “God no, she’s my sister!” His guffaws were so rambunctious Slocum began to feel embarrassed by the noise.

  When Deke had settled down and dragged a hand across his eyes, Slocum said, “Then Henry was her brother, too?”

  “Naw. Different pap. She wasn’t too fond of ol’ Henry, bless him. He tried to woo her. Being long in the tooth never slowed him down, but it didn’t do much to impress Julep, I can tell you.” Deke leaned toward Slocum and grinned. “Why all the questions about Julep? You settin’ your cap on my sister?”

  “No, not exactly.” It was his turn to redden.

  “You could do a whole lot worse. She’s had offers, of course. But she’s as smart as my Ethel was dim. Won’t settle for any old fella from the company.” He smiled again. “It’d be just like her to fall for a fella who fell out of the sky and on her, in a manner of speaking.”

  Slocum did his best to ignore the jibing. “What’s this company you mentioned?”

  Deke’s face grew serious again and he slapped his hands on his knees and stood up. “I expect those boys got all excited about the stash, figured they’d stare at it all awhile. Come on and follow me. What I’m about to show you will, I hope, go a long way toward explaining everything.”

  They walked to the cave entrance, and just underneath the porchlike roof, Deke shouted, “Hey, boys, I’m coming in with Mr. Slocum. Keep your fingers less than itchy.” Then he led the way in.

  The interior of the cave was lit by a flickering torch mounted in a hole in the wall, looked to Slocum to be a rag soaked in oil and wrapped on a length of branch wood. The ceiling was vaulted, chipped out of the stone to a height of roughly a dozen feet at its apex in the center, and the room stretched back far into the dark. But it was what was inside the room that pulled Slocum’s breath away.

  Enough cases and unboxed stacks of munitions to outfit an entire regiment in a major war battle. Crates marked RIFLES; six-guns stacked and shiny; ammunition, boxed and unboxed, gleamed and reflected the dull firelight. A half-dozen Gatling guns, mounted on tripods, sat like sleeping vipers awaiting any excuse to spit poison, their dull-metal heads gleaming thick and solid, their business snouts stilled but poised.

  “What’d I tell you?” Deke waved a big arm toward the mass of weaponry, smiling as if he’d just announced the birth of a new child.

  Slocum whistled long and low. “That’s some stash there, Deke.” He shook his head slowly and took a step forward, his hand outstretched as if bidden by some uncontrollable compulsion.

  Immediately the two gun-toting young men, one on each side of the stacks, stepped from the shadows, their rifles poised on him.

  9

  “Easy, boys. I told you, Slocum here is with me. And you, Slocum, ease that hand back away from my goods, you hear?”

  Slocum complied, hardly aware that he had been reaching toward the stockpile.

  “Boys, you can just put up them rifles and do what I asked you to do in the first place.”

  The boys both looked at Deke. He sighed, rubbed his eyes, and said, “Find me two more cups. We got to have our coffee and I have something important to tell you both.”

  “Is it that we’re finally going to—”

  “Do what I say!” Deke’s big voice burst any quiet the arsenal might have offered. It worked, though. The boys scurried off to some deeper recess of the chamber, and clattering sounds soon arose from there.

  Deke turned to Slocum. “So I guess it’s all becoming pretty dang clear to you by now, huh?”

  Without taking his eyes off the stockpile of weapons, Slocum said, “Not much, Deke. All I see is a cave filled with brand-new guns of all shapes and sizes—and the ammo to jam in them to make them useful. What that has to do with me, with what happened to Henry, with why you all are living in this hidden canyon—any of it—I don’t have a clue.” With an effort, Slocum pulled his gaze from the steely curves of a fetching Gatling gun and fixed an inquisitive look on Deke. “But I do hope you are about to tell me.”

  “I thought for sure you were a brighter boy than all that.”

  “Nope, not me,” said Slocum, still smiling. “But I am an intrigued boy.”

  “If that’s what I think it means, then that’s going to have to be good enough for me, I reckon.”

  Just then the boys clanked and jostled into view from the back of the cave. “Pap,” said Ducky. “It just come to me that there was four cups out there by the fire the entire time, just like there always is. We ain’t never had them cups in here. You know that.”

  “So I recall. Oh well, call it my fault. Let’s get back to the fire. I got things to tell you. Slocum, too. Besides, I’m not sure I trust him in here alone just yet.”

  Deke’s words sounded playful enough, but Slocum didn’t see any mirth in the man’s eyes. Not for the first time did he wish he’d ridden the other way when those Apache started their chase all those weeks back.

  They trudged back outside, whatever was in the Dutch oven hanging over the smoldering fire and glowing coals had begun to smell d
ownright amazing, and Slocum hoped that the offer of coffee also included a bowl full of the vittles from the pot. His stomach growled like a bear cub backed into a corner.

  Once they were settled, with a cup of coffee each in their hands and a tin bowl and spoon for each filled with a bubbling stew, rich in chunks of rabbit, carrots, and potato, they all tucked in. Between bites, Deke spoke. “Boys, your Uncle Henry is dead.”

  The youngsters reacted as Slocum would expect on hearing such news put to them so abruptly. Considering their obvious deficiencies, or maybe because of them, he wasn’t sure which, they took the hard news well. Their lips quivered, their eyes glistened a bit, but they kept silent, listened to Deke’s explanation.

  Then Ducky burst into the conversation, set his bowl down, and fixed Slocum with a steel eye. “It were him, wasn’t it?”

  “What?” said Slocum and Deke simultaneously.

  “He’s the one, ain’t he? He’s the new one here sent by the Apaches, like you said. Chased by them rascals into our midst. He’s the one what killed Uncle Henry.”

  “No, no, no, no,” said Deke, swinging his big, shaggy head back and forth like a grizzly in a defensive pose. “He come to us because of the Apaches, yeah, but that don’t mean he is one of them. So put that notion right out of your mind, Ducky. And you, too, Doyle.” Deke thrust a thick, long finger at each of them. His look was menacing enough that even Slocum figured were he in their position, he’d comply, too.

  Deke turned to Slocum as if nothing had happened. “Now, about them weapons. Surprised as I am that you aren’t much in the way of figuring out such things for your own self, I’ll just go ahead and tell you, since I have just about run out of time. The guns come from a number of jobs we pulled over the past few years.” He paused, half smiling, and waiting for Slocum to react.

  “Jobs?” said Slocum.

  “Yep, jobs. You see, the folks you’ve met here only make up about half of who is part of the family, you see?”