Slocum and the Comanche Captive Page 7

  The smiling woman bowed and then invited Mary into the back. She waved her inside holding the blanket doorway.

  “They burned his wagon,” Slocum said. “We’ll need to find one.”

  “There is high-iron-wheel carreta someone abandoned.” Goeserman indicated the rear of the store. “You can take it.”

  “Paco, go look at it.”

  The man nodded and with a ring of his silver spur rowels, hurried out the front door to do Slocum’s bidding. Satisfied, Slocum turned back to the storekeeper. “Good man.”

  “He moves well for a Mexican.”

  “He is going to Mexico and find some vaqueros tomorrow. We won’t waste any time getting going—horses to break, and we’ll round them up and head north.”

  “You can never make it before winter.”

  “Banks had a place at Mason, he said, where he was going to winter them.”

  “He paid me cash. I know nothing of a place up there.”

  “He ever mail a letter from here?”

  Goeserman shrugged. “No, but he got one once.”

  “You see who wrote him?”

  “A lawyer in San Antonio.”

  “What was his name?”

  Goeserman shook his head. “I can’t remember. But it was a lawyer.”

  “That’s a lead anyway.”

  “Ah, dere are many of them dere.”

  “I agree. Will he pay me if he is alive?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Now I got to go to work.”

  Slocum turned when he heard Paco coming back. “How’s the rig?”

  “Great. Why did they abandon it?” Paco asked.

  “They took pack mules into Mexico instead,” said Goeserman.

  “Well, won’t they come back for it?”

  Goeserman shook his head to dismiss any concern. “Banditos killed them in Mexico and took their mules and all their supplies.”

  “Tough country,” Slocum said. “Murderers, cutthroats, and Comanches.”

  “Comanches?” Goeserman’s face paled under his white complexion.

  “They held her captive,” Slocum said in a low voice. “Killed her husband and son.”

  Goeserman pointed to the side door with a frown. “That woman in there?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “She is lucky to even be alive.”

  Slocum shook his head. “Maybe, maybe not.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Folks don’t always accept the women who come back. You understand?”

  Goeserman nodded. “Yes, that is very sad.”

  “Paco and I will look after her and find her a place where she will be accepted.”

  “You are a strange man. May be why I trust you will try to repay me.”

  “I’ll do my damnedest. May I look in on the sewing party?”

  “Sure, go ahead.”

  He stuck his head in the door and saw Mary and four women busy cutting and sewing on material. She smiled excitedly and stood up. “They are sewing me three outfits. Two for riding, one for regular life.”

  “Stay there. Paco and I are going for a drink. We’ll be back later. We have a wagon. Not a big one, but a wagon.”

  “Good. I’m excited. Can you two afford three outfits?”

  He told her it was no problem and winked at her. “We’ll be anxious to see you wear them.”

  “No more blanket skirt.” She laughed, and the joy rang out. Even the other women seemed excited for her, jabbering in Spanish.

  Dialgo looked up and blinked when they entered the cantina. “Ah, the cowboys are here.”

  “No, just us two. You seen the one called himself Matt lately?”

  The barkeep shook his head. “Not in weeks.”

  “Well, him and some renegades killed the rest of the crew. We can’t find the colonel either and they stole the outfit’s horses.”

  “Mother of God. Why did they do that for?”

  “’Cause they’re mean sonsabitches.”

  “I mean, mean—oh, they killed that horny boy?” Dialgo arched his eyebrows in shock.

  “Shot him in the forehead. Then made sure he was dead.”

  “Who was with him—with this Matt?”

  Slocum rested his forearms on the bar. “Damned if we know.”

  “Took all the horses?” Dialgo paused before filling the two shot glasses he set on the bar.

  “Yes.”

  “What will they do with them?”

  “Sell ’em for money. Only things worth a damn out there,” Paco said.

  Dialgo looked from one to the other. “The colonel—what did they do to him?”

  “Damned if we know,” Slocum said, and held up the glass to look at the clarity of the whiskey. “We looked high and low for him.”

  “He was a great man.”

  Paco raised his glass. “To the colonel.”

  Slocum matched him. “To the colonel.”

  They both downed their drinks. Paco set his empty jigger on the bar. “One more, amigo, and then I will ride to Mexico and find us some vaqueros. What will we call this outfit?”

  “Estrella Cattle Company,” Slocum said

  “Good name. We shoot for the stars, huh?”

  Slocum counted him out a few dollars in case he couldn’t bum a meal or needed a drink on the way. He shoved it over to him. “Be careful. No telling, we may be on Matt’s death list too.”

  “I savvy that, amigo. You and her don’t let your guard down either. The Comanche, he is out there, and this mad-man may come back too.”

  Slocum acknowledged he’d heard him. “How long will you be?’ ”

  “Oh, maybe as long as a week. I wish to see my wife and the little ones.”

  “See them. We’ll round up some more horses while you’re gone and be ready for you.”

  “Ah, that will be much work.”

  “Maybe when we are old, we can sit back and say once we were crazy and went to Sedalia with a herd.”

  “I always wanted to see that place.” Paco threw down the second shot with a gasp, then shook Slocum’s hand and left for Mexico.

  Slocum watched him push out the dusty batwing doors. He hoped his compadre had luck finding riders. If this half-baked scheme of his was to work, they had to have them— like they had to have horses—lots of them. Fifty to sixty at least, plus two teams to pull the cart with the chuck items. It was a long way to Missouri, and he still didn’t know if they could winter the herd at Mason. Good questions to ask. But no one was screaming answers at him.

  Sundown came and he and Mary ate supper with the Goesermans. Herman’s wife Gresalda was a pleasant Mexican woman who matched her husband’s grumblings with cheery words. In another day, she promised, Mary’s clothes would be completed. Mary wore the pleated skirt and blouse they’d made for her. In her new outfit, she looked radiant to Slocum.

  “When will we go back?” Mary asked him privately at the table.

  “When the clothes are finished. We need to round up some mustangs to break out for a string,”

  “Good, I get to help.”

  He cut her a sharp glance. “You may eat those words before it’s over.”

  She made a face to dismiss his concern.

  “Your hair looks nice.”

  “I finally can brush it. I have a brush.”

  They both laughed, and Goeserman frowned across the table at them. “Vat is so funny?”

  “Mary finally has a hairbrush.”

  The German nodded like that was nothing and went back to eating. Slocum winked at her. Having a hairbrush of her own at last was a wonderful thing after living among savages without one for months. He tried to eat and forget the image of the horny bucks taking turns on her body. A wonder she still had her mind. But Mary was a survivor.

  They left Rio Frio the next afternoon with enough food for them for a few weeks packed on two burros that Goeserman had found for them. They also had a spool of rope to make lariats, halters, leads, and tie-downs. Despite the old ma
n’s grumbling, he acted like he really was supporting their plans to make the drive—of course he’d earn plenty if they did. No doubt everything was charged to Slocum’s account at double the cost of cash, but Slocum expected that to happen. Having the supplies would help insure their success.

  They camped away from the burned-out wagon. He set up a shade made from tarp in some straggly wind-rustled cottonwoods that would be their protection. Mary wore a newer palm straw hat with a chin strap, moccasins, and a new riding outfit when they left camp to look for horses.

  The first day, they scouted a large bunch led by a blood bay stallion. He was acting wary. Slocum moved west to try and turn them back toward the trap. The stud sent them northward—mares and colts, with some yearlings. Slocum really wanted some three-to-five-year-old studs and gelded ones that had never been caught since surgery. But that might be a big order. He and Mary stood in the stirrups, forcing their horses into a long trot on the west side of the herd with a dusty cloud coming from the mustangs.

  “We need to turn them east,” he said. “You bring them from the rear. I’m going to circle ahead and head them that way.”

  She nodded behind the bandanna mask that filtered out the dust.

  He spurred his horse into a lope and began to gain ground on the herd. To avoid him, the mass swung east. The movement pleased him. With only two hands to round up horses, there were lots of problems. The roundup needed to be done at a distance, and then only to re-aim the herd where he wanted them to go. The billowing dust blinded him, and the herd’s churning unshod feet added to it. The plaintive cries of colts separated from their mothers, the stallion’s challenging screams, along with the drum of the herd’s hooves, thundered across the land.

  The sun swung westward. Slocum’s lathered horse began to weaken under him and he wondered about Mary’s. She rode far to his right behind them and obscured by the brown cloud. It had been an hour since he last saw her. He felt confident the mustangs were going at last in the general direction of the trap. Shouting at them, he beat his lariat on his leg to hurry their trip toward the catch pen.

  He began to see the flying rags the colonel had strung on bushes to funnel them. The increase of the wind made the rags work better and the band shied from them. He dropped his jaded pony to a trot and pulled back to join Mary. At last, the horses were headed directly for the trap. The wind had lifted the dust. Obviously, they had used the water source inside before and weren’t too spooked by the notion, for he could see them streaming toward it.

  “We may have us a bunch caught,” he shouted at her.

  She pulled down the kerchief as they rode side by side. “Yes, and I’m excited.”

  He felt the same. If Paco could only find them the hands.

  9

  Sorting the horses was the task the next morning. Both on horseback, they cut mothers and colts out of the bunch. When the ones they wanted were cut from the others and in the last pen, they sent the rest out into the desert. They stopped and dismounted for a drink from their canteens. The water was tepid and had a chalky taste. Slocum wiped the back of his hand over his whiskered face.

  “Well, girl, we’ve got about twenty horses in there that might make cow ponies.”

  “You intend to keep the stallion?” she asked.

  “He’ll make a stout one as a gelding.”

  She laughed at the proud horse pawing dirt and looking ready to fight them. “Well, old boy, you better get all you want. Your days are numbered.”

  Slocum swept her up and kissed her. “Don’t worry about him. He’s had his share, and a new young stud out there will fight to own his harem. Mother Nature picks the best.”

  “What now?”

  “Take our horses back. They’re done in.” He rubbed his calloused palm on his whiskered face. “Maybe shave, bathe, and rest.”

  “Sounds great. How long will we be alone before Paco comes back?”

  “Week or so. Why?”

  She gave him a big knowing smile. “So if I want to drag you off to the blankets, I can as long as he isn’t back.”

  “Any time, my lady.” He gave her a playful shove and then mounted his horse. “Ain’t no blanket up here.”

  “There is in camp.”

  He nodded, feeling good about the horses in the trap and ready for some celebrating with her.

  A half hour later, they were back at the shade. The tarp was rippling overhead in the rising wind. His efforts to tighten the ropes soon drew down its tautness, so it made only a small flap in the rising breeze. That completed, he dropped on the ground and yawned. It was the reflection of light from a shiny item far off that made his hand shoot for his gun butt.

  “Get down,” he hissed. “There’s someone out there.”

  She dropped down beside him. “Who?”

  “Maybe Comanche. A bright flash off a mirror or shiny silver concho just struck me.” On his knees, he tried to see the source, and lined up the sun’s position to decide that it must be west of them. With the sun nearly at high noon, the glare had to come to him from the west.

  “See anything?” she asked in a fear-filled voice.

  “No. That’s what upsets me.” His eyes narrowed against the midday glare, he searched for any sign across the wide horizon beyond the shallow lake. To know they were out there was better than not knowing a thing and having them slipping in to cut his throat. Still, he needed to know how many and who. Then he spotted a rider, and at first thought he wore a hat.

  “We’ve got company coming.”

  “Who?” she asked, trying to follow his pointing finger. “Oh, I see him.”

  “I’d say he was white.”

  “What’s he doing out here?”

  “That’s anyone’s guess. But he ain’t a Comanche from the sight of his hat. Better make some coffee.”

  She gathered up her skirts to get up, and paused to look pained at Slocum. “Oh, well, so much for our privacy.”

  “Yeah, so much for it now.”

  The man rode a jaded horse. A puncher by dress, Slocum guessed him to be in his forties. He removed his weathered hat, once gray, more black-stained than anything else. A tear was in the brim, and his too-long dark hair fell over his eyes. He swept it back with a coarse-sounding “Morning, ma’am.”

  “That’s Mary and I’m Slocum. Drop down and sit. She’s got coffee a-making.”

  “Ah, Mary, that would be so kind of you. I’m Heck and I ain’t had a woman’s hand at making coffee in months.”

  “Where are you headed, Heck?” Slocum asked.

  “Ah, just sugar-footing around. Thought I might go see Mexico.”

  “Know anyone there?”

  “Naw, after the war I came home and there was no one there. Our little ranch house was burned to the ground. Three graves marked me mother, father, and sister. Injuns, the neighbors said done it. Nothing left for me to stay around for, you see?”

  “Indians?”

  “Some say so—some say it was bandits. But it was long over and the grass grew upon their graves. Nothing I could do.”

  “Oh, that sounds so sad,” Mary said, adding ground coffee to her boiling water.

  “And it was. So I’ve been drifting ever since. My feet itch, I guess. Can’t stay anywhere too long.”

  Slocum indicated the ground and both men sat down. “Heck, a man named Paco, Mary, and me have several head of branded cattle we inherited that need to be driven to Sedalia, Missouri.”

  “Sedalia, huh?”

  “Yes, you ever been there?”

  “Yeah, or close, with General Sterling Price. We made us a swipe up there about the end of the war.”

  “I recall hearing about that raid. What’s it like?”

  “Rolling country. Lots of water and grass when I was up there. But them folks ain’t going to hug you being a Reb and all. See, Missouri had two sides. One South, one North. I reckon they won’t be beholding to no graybacks coming through again.”

  “That’s the railhead, isn’t it? As
far west as the tracks go?”

  Heck combed his hair back through his fingers and nodded. “Still, it ain’t no place I’d go.”

  “Cattle ain’t worth nothing in Texas. They say in Saint Louis or Chicago, they’re worth real money.”

  “Aye, but getting them there.”

  “Paco’s gone to hire some Mexican vaqueros. I need eighty mustangs caught and broke. Cattle gathered and started north to winter so we’re ready to hit the market as soon as we can get them there.”

  “All that costs money.” He narrowed his eyelids and looked around. “This place ain’t no headquarters for a big ranch.”

  “It’s a cow camp. We’ve got lots of head branded and yoked to tame them. Now some bandits shot up the crew that the colonel had. We buried them and never found his body. So Mary, Paco, and I inherited the deal.”

  “But it takes lots of supplies—”

  “We have that. I can offer you ten percent of the deal if we make it.”

  Heck looked dismayed by the offer. “You know how far Sedalia is from here?”

  “Months at ten to fifteen miles a day.” Slocum said as Mary brought tin cups and the pot. “The deal is if we can get there. There’ll be money to pay back our credit, the crew, and have some in our pockets.”

  “I guess Mexico can wait. Where do we start?”

  “Roping and gentling down twenty horses after we grab a bite to eat. They’re in a trap up the way.”

  “Twenty horses?” Heck swallowed hard.

  Slocum noticed the silver buttons on his sweat-stained leather vest. They were the cause of the flash. “Won’t take more’n a couple of days.”

  “I’ve got beans heating,” Mary said, and smiled. “I can put on more for supper. They should be done when we get back.”

  “Are you his missus?”

  She shook her head. “I’m a runaway Comanche captive. They—Paco and Slocum rescued me. My family is dead too.”

  “Yes, ma’am. That’s a real sad common word these days.”

  “We have some sugar somewhere in our packs,” she offered as he blew on the hot coffee.

  He waved her off. “It’s good enough, and I am grateful to both of you.”

  “We’ll see how long that lasts.” Slocum laughed over the rim of his cup.

  Heck nodded, busy sipping coffee.