Slocum and the Bixby Battle Read online

  Pedro’s mother was crying. He could hear her in the background as Montez and the others gathered around him beside the corral.

  “Get me a fresh horse. I’ll go get the Rangers,” Slocum said, filled with a new determination to stop this range war business. But his greatest concern was for the safety and recovery of the young man.

  “You can’t,” Amanda cried. “We need you here.” She handed aside the lamp and tackled him. “I lost one man to them. Not you, too, Slocum.”

  He hugged her and patted her on the back. “I better go.” “I can go to San Antonio,” Rafael said. “I know the back ways.”

  “They may be guarding them, too,” Slocum said.

  “Give me two pistols and I will make it.”

  “You’ll need saddle holsters for them, so they’re hooked on the horn for your quick use.”

  “Sí,” Rafael said.

  “I’m going to the house and write the letter,” Slocum said. “Go get some food and supplies, too. I’ll have it written in a few minutes.”

  “Take a good horse of mine,” Amanda said, “and be careful.”

  “I will, señora.”

  “I know where such a holster is,” Montez said and hurried off.

  In no time, Rafael rode out the back way from the ranch, planning to skirt north this time for San Antonio. Slocum wished him luck, then checked with both wall guards. No sign of anything. The gates were blocked with wagons and he felt secure enough, so he went back and joined Amanda.

  “You are upset,” she said, joining him as he swept into the house.

  “I have these gut feelings and I can’t help them. Something is going on out there and I can’t put a finger on it. I should ride to Bixby’s and see if Pedro is a prisoner of theirs.”

  “But it is late and you’ve had no sleep.”

  “Things are happening fast in this deal.” He couldn’t clear his mind of his need to go and see about Pedro, alive or dead. He was uncertain. Maybe they would hold him as a hostage. Damn, he had to know what happened to the youth. And if he found out who had done this—he planned to personally kick their ass up to their shoulders.

  He caught her by both arms and kissed her hard. When they tore their faces apart, he wet his lips, tasting the honey on them. “I must go try to find Pedro. If he’s alive I may be able to save him.”

  “But it’s so late.”

  “Maybe not too late for him.”

  “Can I go?”

  He shook his head. “I’d love to have you with me, but this isn’t the time or the place. I must go alone.”

  “Do what you must then. But please, Slocum, be careful?”

  “I will. Let’s have some food and I’ll go.”

  She surrendered and led him to the kitchen. There, she served him some cold chicken and warm beans wrapped in a tortilla, plus fresh hot coffee. Then she went after something. In minutes she returned with a tightly woven wool vest. The quality was superior. The brown stripes in the off-white bands made the garment look dressy.

  “To keep you warm. He would have wanted you to wear it.”

  He slipped into it and buttoned it with the silver conchas. “Very nice.”

  She pressed it down with her hands and tears appeared in her eyes. “Come back to me, Slocum, please?”

  “I will, Amanda.”

  The ride to Bixby’s required a couple of hours. He shortened it and was there in an hour and a half. He left her bay tied out of sight in the wash, then made his way to the bunkhouses. A light in one window told him something must be in there. For any light to be on at this hour of the night was a giveaway.

  Careful to stay in the shadows, he moved in that direction until he could ease up and peek in from the side at the room’s contents. Saw nothing. Ducked down and then looked back. Whoever was guarding in there was asleep in a chair with a shotgun across his lap. Then when Slocum peered again in the dirty smudged window, he could see Pedro slumped over in the back, bound to a chair. Slocum wondered where he was wounded. No telling. He needed to open the latch, slip inside and batter that guard over the head, so he could get Pedro out of there. The latch string would not work—felt stuck on the inside. He dared not do anything to awaken the guard, who could spread the alarm.

  Damn, Bixby and the sheriff had to be in cahoots. They could all rot in jail for what he cared about. Still, in court, things would be hard to prove without witnesses or someone to give testimony. Maybe the Ranger that Rob would send up here would have some ideas. He hoped he would send more than one, but usually it was one trouble, one Ranger. McKlein had no doubt been blocking Amanda’s telegrams or a Ranger would have been there already.

  He pulled gently on the string again. Nothing. Must be latched inside. It was not going to unlock for him. If he used his foot to smash it open, he’d have to go in guns blazing and that would wake up the whole camp. He wanted a bigger gap between him and the ones that would chase him.

  Maybe he’d better check on the horses they had saddled—if they had any. In the pens, he found a half dozen snoring, asleep on their feet. He unhitched them and led them out of the corral. Quickly, he stripped off the saddles and bridles, then sent the ponies out the gate for the pasture. Good. That would slow any pursuit.

  Being cautious, he saw, then heard the figure come out of the bunkhouse, coughing away. Close—if he had come outside a few minutes sooner, he might have caught Slocum heading off the horses. Pressed to the corral and squatted down on his heels, Slocum watched the silhouette of the individual headed for the lighted window.

  Maybe changing the guard. Slocum moved to a parked wagon, slipped under it and soon was back in the shadows of the bunkhouse porch and fifty feet behind the one headed for the door.

  Two raps and the guard inside demanded to know who it was.

  “Kerby Jones.”

  Slocum sucked himself against the wall. Jones looked around, then stepped inside the doorway. They left the door open for some reason. Slocum undid the strap over the hammer of his Colt and hurried to get beside the structure, ducking his head, for the rafters were lower than the porch.

  “About time you got here,” someone grumbled.

  “Yeah, you would have slept the damn night away.”

  “You hear any more about them guys that them greasers jumped?”

  “No, Twister came in about dark, said he’d seen Kurt wearing a raincoat and scared shitless.”

  “How’s that?”

  “They sheared his fucking head, took all his clothes and told him they’d cut off his balls next time if he didn’t quit the country.”

  “Holy Jesus. Who else did they do that to?”

  “Must have been a half dozen or more. They ain’t no sign of Blacky and that lanky Texan, Earl.”

  “Blacky was tough.”

  “Yeah, but them Mexicans are tougher when they want to be.”

  “You figuring on staying on then?”

  “Hey, he only pays ten bucks over cowboy wages for this job. That Mexican dies over there and we can all hang.”

  “Aw, he’ll hide his body, won’t he?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I’ve got a better idea.” Slocum stepped inside and pointed his six-gun at them. “Start undressing.”

  “Oh, hell—”

  The two made faces, but they obeyed him.

  “What the hell we doing this for?” the balding one asked.

  “So you will remember that the next time I catch you, I’ll geld you.”

  “You sumbitch—”

  Slocum busted him over the head with the butt of his gun. “Now you finish getting undressed,” he said to the other one as the first gunman lay crumbled to the floor.

  “I’m stripping. I’m hurrying.” With shaky hands, he shed his clothing and soon stood like a white fence post.

  Slocum had gone to check on Pedro. He slipped behind the youth to cut the ropes securing him to the chair.

  “Can you hear me, Pedro?”

  “Sí, señor.”

>   “Good, I’ll get you untied. Do you think you can walk to my horse?”

  “I will try.”

  Slocum doubted the boy could do much walking. “I’ll tie these two up and then we’ll go to the horse.”

  “Fine,” Pedro agreed, rubbing his wrists.

  “Where did they shoot you?”

  “It was only a scratch.” He lifted his shirt to show the place on his side.

  “You must have lost some blood. The saddle had plenty on it.”

  Pedro forced a smile. “I knew he would go home.”

  “He did.” Slocum tied up the unconscious cowboy then motioned for the naked one to sit in the chair. He quickly tied his hands behind his back and stuffed a rag in his mouth.

  Then he made a gag for the moaning one on the floor and stuffed it in his mouth. That silenced his groaning.

  He told Pedro to throw his arm over his shoulder so he could support him, and they headed out the door into the night. Their gait was slow, but soon they were out in the starlight, headed for the dark cedars, and the itching on the back of Slocum’s neck let up. He loaded the youth into the saddle, then led the horse down the wash. When they came to where the wash entered a wider one, he stepped up in the saddle behind Pedro.

  “You making it?”

  Pedro nodded with both hands wrapped around the saddle horn, and Slocum hoped the boy didn’t faint. Someone needed to get through to the Rangers. He hoped that Rafael was on his way. The Bixby hands would be harder to get the jump on after the things done to them over the past few days. Still, him and her men’s efforts must have put the fear of God into some of them.

  “You making it?” he asked the youth.

  “Trying, Slocum, trying.”

  14

  As day broke over his shoulder, he smiled at the rooster’s loud crowing. He wondered if the swaying youth in the saddle in front of him had even heard the cockerel greeting the morning.

  “You still there?” he asked, reining the horse toward the main gate.

  Pedro mumbled; he’d make it.

  “Señor Slocum—oh, you have Pedro!” the guard on the gate shouted. “I’ll move the carreta for you.” He disappeared from view and soon the cart was pulled aside.

  “Thanks,” Slocum said and headed the horse in. Weary as his riders, the gelding snorted loudly in the dust and raised his head, entering the compound to the bark of dogs and cheering of the children to welcome them. Slocum nodded and dropped heavily to the ground. He reached up and helped the blanch-faced youth to dismount.

  “How is he?” a woman asked from behind his back.

  “Doing good. His wound does not look to be too serious.” He held Pedro up as he tried to make his sea legs work.

  “We can take him,” Montez said. The foreman and another stepped in and supported the youth.

  “Who did this to you?” Montez demanded.

  “Bixby’s men. They got your letter, too,” he said to Slocum.

  “It’s okay. Another man has gone for the Rangers.”

  “I’m sorry—” Then his knees buckled and several women sucked in their breath.

  “Get him in bed and check his wound,” Slocum said. “The ride may have worn him out.”

  Satisfied that enough people were seeing about Pedro’s welfare, he headed for the house. His eyes felt like sand pits and his mind was clogged with all he knew about the enemy. Bixby had a dedicated effort out to stop any messages getting out of the area. That meant that he and McKlein were in cahoots like Slocum suspected—Amanda’s accusation in the first place.

  “Morning,” he said to the women in the kitchen, busy preparing food and shocked to see him.

  “Pedro’s all right. A little worse for wear, but he’ll be fine.”

  He saw a dark-haired teenager cross herself and then nod to him in approval. A cute one, no doubt more than flirtation there, for she looked very sincere over Pedro’s safety.

  “How is the food?” Slocum asked.

  “We can serve you in the dining room,” the woman in charge said.

  “I can eat right here. What can we eat?”

  She smiled at him. “We have coffee?”

  “Fine, pour me some,” he said and held out a fresh cup for the woman with the pot to fill.

  “We have eggs, frijoles and some carrizo,” the boss one said, sweeping her hair from her face with the back side of her hand. “Take a seat,” she said, holding a straight-backed chair for him to sit at the side of the great table covered in produce from the garden and red meat being cut into chunks for some dish they would prepare.

  “We are supposed to awaken the patrone when you got back.”

  “Let her sleep and you can tell me all the gossip while I eat.”

  His words drew a snicker from the younger helpers. The boss shook her head as if to scold him and ended laughing aloud with the others.

  “Well, what is the gossip this morning?” He sat up in the chair as if ready to hear anything.

  “Tina is going to have a baby.”

  The girl took a step from the group and gave a bow. Hardly showing anything at this stage, she looked pleased over her condition, though the whole thing had brought a blush to her face.

  “Boy or girl?” he asked between sips of the hot coffee.

  Unable to speak, she shrugged at him.

  “So it is healthy,” he said to ease her misery.

  “A certain hombre is cheating on his wife.”

  “Oh.” Then he nodded as if taking it in.

  “But we won’t tell you his name,” the boss said.

  “So!” Amanda said from the doorway. “You would let me sleep all day to let all of you flirt with him?”

  “Oh, no.” He twisted to smile at her.

  “Well, did you find Pedro?”

  “Yes. He’s at his mother’s house and I’m sure he will live.”

  “Wonderful!” She hugged his neck and then she smiled at the girl with a platter of food she delivered to him. “So you plan to fatten him, too.”

  Everyone laughed. Amanda ordered herself breakfast and took the steaming coffee cup from the hand of the girl. She pulled up a chair beside him.

  “You look very tired.”

  “I could sleep, but fear that I need to do more to upset Bixby’s men.”

  “You better sleep a few hours first.”

  “Rafael should get there with luck by tonight.”

  “I am certain he has gotten past their lookouts by now.”

  He nodded and hoped she was right.

  “What’s that noise?” he asked at the first boom. “Sounds like a cannon.” He threw down the napkin from his lap and hurried out the back door. Blinking his eyes against the bright sun, he shouted at the guard on the wall in front. “What’s going on?”

  “They have a cannon, señor.” The guard pointed to the edges of the cedars.

  Holy shit, he had never figured on a cannon. Where did Bixby get one of those? The army. Another boom from an explosion shook the ground under Slocum’s boots and he raced to the front wall. He reached the scaffold the guards used and scrambled up to look for the gun. His arrival was in time to see another round come in and explode a hundred feet short of the wall. It blew apart a good-size cedar bush and threw boughs and dirt into the air around the place where it hit.

  “Got an old Sharp’s rifle?” he asked Amanda as she and the others hurried to peer at the attackers.

  “Coming,” she said and spun around to head for the house.

  “Will they blast us next?” Montez asked from the ground.

  “They might if they find their range. Better get the women and children back further,” Slocum said, coming off the wall.

  “I will. Everyone! They might soon lob a grenade in here and kill many of you. Women and children go to the stables and stay there until this is over. Now!” Montez ordered, using his arms to herd them back.

  Amanda approached out of breath, and obviously the weight of the buffalo gun was heavy enough to slow he
r down. Slocum took the rifle with a thanks, let down the lever and took a cartridge from her.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Keep low. We’re going to knock out their gunner.”

  Her shoulders sagged and she dropped her head as if lost in the hopelessness of their situation. Slocum had no time to plead his case. The rifle resting on the wall, he pulled back the first trigger so the lighter last one was ready. Then he looked through the haze and smoke at the man ready to torch off the cannon. He watched him light the fuse on the barrel of the gun.

  “Down,” he shouted and ducked under the wall.

  The whizzing sound first, then the boom of the blast. It struck ten yards from the front gate. The explosion rained down debris on him and the other guard on the stand. Quickly Slocum centered the sights on the X where the gunner’s galluses crossed the middle of his back. The main man was busy giving orders to the crew. The rifle lurched into Slocum’s shoulder and smoke came from the muzzle long after the projectile left it.

  The huge sphere of lead struck the gunner hard in the back and sent him ass over teakettle. He didn’t get up either.

  Then a younger one tried to get the gun crew to come back and went to waving and giving orders. Slocum shook his head and held out his hand for another round from her. He reloaded, set the first trigger and grimaced at the target. Nothing else to do—he needed to break their will to fire that old gun or the whole ranch crew and their families would be shelled to death before the sun went down.

  The Sharp’s gave its lusty report and everyone held their pained ears looking downstream. Then the gunner disappeared. Slocum ejected the shell and looked back at the cannon. No one was near it.