Slocum and the Rancher's Daughter Page 9

  He hit the sandy floor of the wash on his boot heels in a run. Hitching bridle reins to tails, in minutes he was back aboard Baldy and leaving the wash with four horses in tow.

  “Hey—our horses. They’re stealing them.” And the fruitless pop of pistol shots were behind him as he topped the ridge and swung east for the rig.

  “Hold your fire!” he shouted when he came into view of the rig. To his relief, he could see Smoothers and Haney and the others looking haggard but alive.

  He slid to a halt. “Get these ponies out of here.”

  The two Mexican boys took the horses and led them away from the rig and into another wash.

  “That their horses?” Haney asked, out of breath.

  “Yes. How long have they been shooting at you?”

  “Oh, since last night,” Smoothers said. “That damn Phelps rode down yesterday afternoon and told us he was taking over the rig. We didn’t see it that way.”

  Slocum nodded. “What happened next?”

  “Dan got the drop on him and we sent the four of them packing. They didn’t go far, got their rifles and opened up on us.”

  Slocum looked off in the direction of the rocks. “I only counted three shooters left up there.”

  Smoothers nodded. “Good. You brung four horses so they’ve never sent no one for help. There were four of them when that cocky damn deputy rode in.”

  “Phelps?”

  Dan nodded from where he was stationed with a rifle near the boiler. “It was him all right, told us he was taking over.”

  Two rifle shots ricocheted off the boiler and sent everyone behind it.

  “They ain’t the best shots, thank God,” Smoothers said. “What did you get into?”

  “They’d kidnapped Bob and I had to get her back.”

  “What?” Smoothers and Haney blinked at him in shock.

  He explained to them about the whole ordeal of rescuing her and how she was in safe hands with Harte and Gloria in town.

  “That damn Phelps been busy, ain’t he?” Smoothers said. “He needs his neck stretched by hemp.”

  “Wouldn’t hurt. Let me try something.” Slocum cupped his hands and shouted. “You can surrender now or to the posse coming from town.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “If you surrender now, we’ll make certain that posse don’t lynch you.”

  “There ain’t no posse coming.”

  “Phelps, your buddy at that abandoned shack is dead by this time. She’s safe. You better believe there’s a posse coming.”

  “That you, Slocum?”

  “Yeah, I followed you to that shack by the meadow and after you left, your short friend made a move for a gun and it cost him his life.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “No, I ain’t. She’s in safe hands. The law’s fixing to change around here, Phelps. You’re on the outside.”

  “We’re coming out. I don’t know about him, but me and Manley’s giving up.” It was Dawson, the lanky rustler, who appeared in the open with his hands high.

  “Hold your fire,” Slocum said. “Where’s the fourth one?”

  “Dying,” Dawson said, reaching out to touch a large boulder to keep his balance climbing out. “He’s gut-shot.”

  “Who is it?” Slocum shouted

  “Johnny from the livery.”

  “Guess he did his last favor for you, huh, Phelps?” Slocum asked.

  “Shut up. I’m coming.”

  “Phelps had him blackmailed over a wanted poster,” Slocum said, turning to the others.

  “Real handy guy,” Smoothers said. He and Dan, with rifles leveled, started for the three men with their hands raised.

  “Land sakes, I figured we was gone gooses,” Zeke said, crawling out from under the rig with a single-shot rifle. “When’s the posse gonna get here?”

  “There ain’t one coming.” Slocum laughed.

  Zeke readjusted his overall suspenders and blinked in disbelief. “There ain’t one coming?”

  “No.”

  A frown appeared on Zeke’s beard-stubbled face, and then he blinked as if absorbing it all. “Well, my God, you coulda fooled me.”

  Then they both laughed.

  When the three prisoners were in their own handcuffs and chains, they sat on the ground under guard. The two Mexicans and Dan went for the wounded man. Slocum left Smoothers in charge of the prisoners so he and Haney could go scout the site of the well. It needed to be drilled in a place so they could use the tank for a reservoir.

  They rode over and studied the site from the high point. Slocum used his hand to show the area Haney needed to set up on. Then they went down to the dam.

  “If we can hit artesian water here, she’ll have the setup to irrigate maybe a hundred acres.” Slocum indicated to Haney the available farmland below there.

  Haney nodded. “It would make a wonderful farm. You sure she’s going be all right?”

  “Oh, yes, she has a strong constitution.”

  “I’ve been worried ever since she left that morning. She’s a wonderful person.”

  “Good, let’s get her a well.”

  “Depends what we hit down there, but in a few weeks we should know.”

  “Can we sled that rig in above this tank?”

  “I guess we could sled it anywhere after the trip here.” He gave Slocum a smug grin.

  “What about fuel?”

  “I’ll need some coal.”

  “I’ll bet Smoothers has a pile of slabs.”

  “It really needs coal for it to work right. There’s a coal mine above Barlowville. It’s got a lot of rock in it, but I was going to use it for the well I’d planned to drill at the mine.”

  “How much does coal cost?”

  “Five dollars a ton here.”

  “How long will it last?”

  “Oh, a ton will last two days.”

  “We better order three loads and then a load every second day.”

  Haney made a worried face. “They might not be able to mine that much.”

  “Get your order in. See what they can do.”

  Haney agreed, and they walked over the ground they needed to pull the rig across.

  “It sure needs some leveling.” Haney pointed out the places that were too steep.

  “Send Zeke up to the ranch and get the scraper. I saw one up there. With Smoothers’ team, he can level this in half a day.”

  Haney nodded. “What’re you going to do with the prisoners?”

  “Keep them around until we hear from the governor.” Nothing else he could do with them—loose, they’d sure run to warn Worthington and Gantry.

  “Don’t you figure that the sheriff will come out here and check on them?”

  “He does, he can wait in irons for the governor’s action here, too.”

  Haney’s face paled some under the bright sun. “But—but—ain’t he the chief lawman in the county?”

  “Haney, when I get through with him, I’m damn sure he won’t be sheriff.”

  “You sure that she’s going to be all right?”

  “Bob’ll be fine. They tried to kill her.”

  Haney took off his hat and scratched his brown hair. “Lots in this world I don’t know, but I’m sure learning quick. Don’t guess I’d stand a chance at it, but I’d sure like to court her when she gets well.”

  “You better do that then.”

  Haney blinked his eyes in disbelief. “You serious?”

  “All she can say is no.”

  “Oh, that would stab my heart.”

  “Yeah, well, you have to get stabbed a few times in life, too.”

  “I’ll remember that.”

  Slocum went to Smoothers and they squatted on their heels to talk. Slocum told him about holding the prisoners and why. The wounded one would go to his reward before sundown—gut-shot, a doc couldn’t save him. They’d found some whiskey in the other prisoners’ things and that had eased him some.

  “You watch Phelps. He’s escaped tougher
deals than this before, and I imagine that broody bastard over there is hatching a plan right now to do just that.”

  “We’ll guard ’em.”

  “I imagine you need to get back to your sawmill?”

  “We will when we get this settled.”

  “Haney’s sending Zeke for the scraper,” Slocum said. “And I’m going back to town and see what’s happening. Keep your guard up. Worthington learns we’ve got them, he might bring an army down on us.”

  “Yeah, Zeke just took my wagon and the two Mexicans to help load it. You be careful in town. And check on her, too. We’ll be set up over there drilling when you get back.” Smoothers looked as concerned as Slocum had ever seen him.

  “Good. That’s where I’m going first—to see about her. It’ll be dark by the time I get there, so I’ll have some cover.”

  Smoothers gave a scowl at the seated prisoners. “How long before you hear from the governor, do you reckon?”

  “That I don’t know.”

  Smoothers sucked on an eyetooth. “We might get plumb tired of them.”

  “Don’t lynch ’em. That don’t solve a thing. I’ll be back.”

  Smoothers rose stiffly. “Bring some good whiskey back, my good stuff’s about gone.”

  With a grin, Slocum clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll do that.”

  He’d do lots more, too. Better get to town and see about Roberta and what was happening there. In long strides, he left Smoothers and headed for Baldy—he checked the sun. Past midday. It would be late when he got there.

  Chapter 9

  In the middle of the night, a quarter moon hung over the sawtoothed hills to the west. Slocum had ridden by starlight, and Baldy signaled growing weary by short snorts in the dust as they approached the dark town. To not let anyone know about his arrival, he came in the wide way to Gloria’s place.

  He dismounted behind her shack, wondering if Harte’s man was guarding the place. Aside from the crickets creaking, nothing was out of place when he tied Baldy to a mesquite tree limb. Listening for sounds, he loosened the wet latigos—nothing. Gun in hand, he started for the shack.

  Then his world went dark and he remembered falling facedown. He’d lost his hat in the blow, and recalled smelling the acrid dirt when he came to lying on his belly—his wrists behind his back were in irons. Who hit him? Gantry? Or someone else?

  “Get up slow,” Gantry said. “You’re under arrest for murder.”

  “Who did I kill?”

  “Someone in Kansas, the poster said. I wired ’em. They have two deputies coming for you.”

  “Where’s Bob and Gloria?”

  “I don’t know—they weren’t here when I got here.”

  “You know your deputy Phelps kidnapped Bob and took her down south to some old shack and planned to sell her to some Mexican slavers.”

  Gantry shoved him out in front of the starlit shack. “Stay there.”

  The lawman got his horse and came back with it. “That’s another damn lie about my deputy. Who’s going to believe a wanted man that Kansas is willing to come after?”

  “Anything’s happened to Bob and you’ll pay for it.”

  The lawman laughed aloud. “When? When you get out of jail?”

  “You can think it’s funny now. Better get it all in, ’cause you won’t laugh later.”

  Gantry caught him by the arm. “Listen, you troublemaking sumbitch, I may not have to give you to them deputies. I can show them your corpse and collect my five hundred bucks reward.”

  “They won’t pay it. You ain’t the first one they suckered in on that reward deal. They never pay it.”

  “They better or they won’t get your ass.”

  Slocum shrugged as he walked along to his own horse. “Tell them to wire the money then—they won’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “They never have.” He looked at the star-pricked sky. He had Gantry on the right string. All he needed to do was pull it some more. “There must be half a dozen folks across the country still waiting for their reward money.”

  “Shut up, you’re making me mad.”

  They headed toward town. Slocum was bareheaded and walking ahead of Gantry, who led both horses. The cuffs cut into his wrists they were on so tight. Not much he could do but go along. There’d be chances later on for him to escape.

  Where had Harte and the women gone?

  When he was locked in the cell by himself and Gantry was gone, he used the bunk to sleep, hoping his sore head would quit throbbing. The day’s heat made the jail sweltering when voices woke him. It was Worthington and Gantry arguing about something. Slocum pretended to sleep and listened.

  “What’s your deputy got done on the other situation?”

  “He’s got the drill rig in his custody.”

  “You know that for damn certain?”

  “Sure. If not, he’d send me word. Phelps is a good man. I keep telling you that.”

  “All right. Where are those damn women?”

  “Hell, I don’t know,” Gantry said, sounding disgusted he’d even ask him. “They took a powder.”

  “Does Slocum know anything?”

  “Naw, he expected to find them there, too.”

  “Somebody knows. Somebody knows right where they are.” Worthington began to pace the jail’s dirt floor, squeezing his chin.

  “Well, I’ll be fucked if I know.” Gantry dropped in his wooden swivel chair, and it protested when he leaned back. “They’ve got to be somewhere.”

  “Brilliant. Brilliant. Hell, everyone has to be somewhere, even corpses in the cemetery. It’s where they are that we need to know.”

  “I’ll put out some feelers. Damn café’s closed. Has everyone asking questions and pissed off. That dumb old Mexican cook at the saloon cooks everything with too much hot peppers. Nobody likes his slop.”

  “Probably does that so he don’t have to cook so much.”

  “Yeah, that’s probably why he uses them.”

  “You going to check on Phelps today?” Worthington asked.

  “I told you, I’d’ve heard if he’d had any problems.”

  “Wish I was that damn sure. We’ve got to find the women.”

  “Hell, I don’t know where to start.”

  “Damnit, Gantry, you got as much to lose as I have. Find ’em.” Worthington stomped out the door.

  Gantry shook his head and walked over to the cell that Slocum was in. He looked around to be certain they were alone. “I wired them bastards in Kansas for my money.”

  Slocum, acting sleepy, raised up. “What did they say?”

  “I ain’t heard yet.”

  Slocum nodded, lay back down, and acted like he was going to sleep.

  “Them bastards want you—they better send the money.”

  “They won’t,” he mumbled after the sheriff.

  “Joe’s bringing you some food from the saloon. Don’t try nothing. He’s got orders to shoot to kill.”

  “Sure.” Gantry was leaving. Might be his chance to escape, depending on how tough the guard was. He closed his eyes and slept some more.

  “Wake up. I got your food.”

  Slocum raised up and looked at the white-whiskered tray holder. The man held the tray and fumbled with keys, using the barred door to hold up one side of the tray until the lock finally clicked. He fought trying to open the door, and at last had it back and started into the cell. “Here’s your meal.”

  Slocum jumped up, reached over the food, caught him by the vest, and dumped food and all down his front. He slammed the man hard against the bars, then swept the six-gun out of his holster.

  “I—I—” the man stuttered.

  “I’m not going to kill you. Shut up.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  “Get over on that bunk. One yell out of you and you’re dead.”

  The man tripped and fell down, then scrambled on the bed. By then Slocum had the cell door locked, and tossed the keys on the desk. He took a .44/40 Winchester
off the rack, and searched through the drawer till he found rounds for it. Jamming cartridges into it, he kept an ear open for any sounds. When the rifle was loaded, he pocketed several extra shells in his vest.

  The livery was half a block away. Not many in the town knew him on sight or knew he was in jail unless Gantry had told them. Slocum would sure need Baldy, and Gantry’d left him at the livery. Carrying the rifle against his leg and the old man’s Colt in his waistband, he started for the stables. The sign shone in the sun. It looked like a long way away. His boots rumbled on the boardwalk as he passed several folks who never raised an eyebrow.

  Then, with sweat pouring down from his armpits, he stepped into the shade of the livery. The sweet smell of alfalfa and the sourness of horse piss assailed his nose. No one came. In the aisle of the barn he discovered Baldy, still saddled, and pulled up the girths. From his location, he could see out the open doors if anyone was coming. Cinches tight, he mounted, and ducked under the rafters and rode outside into the bright light. Still no alarm. He turned Baldy east—the skin crawled on the back of his neck. Then, in a short lope, he left town.

  On the rise, he stopped and looked back. It might be a trap. His escape had been too simple—too easy. No sign of any pursuit. Still, he wasn’t satisfied. His head had begun to pound again. It damn sure wouldn’t be a good day despite his “release from custody.”

  At the crossroads, he took the left-hand road to Barlowville. Somewhere up in those hills ahead, he’d wait and jump anyone riding up his back trail, if there was somebody back there. The women’s safety niggled at him, but Gantry couldn’t find them, or so he said. With Phelps in irons, they must be safe. He certainly hoped so.

  In a dry wash, he waited over an hour by sun time and no one came by. So he remounted Baldy and cut across country to the ranch. It was well past sundown when he got there. No one was around the place. He switched horses and headed for the drill camp.

  When he drew near, he could hear the steam engine running and the pounding of the drill. There was lantern light at the rig. He dismounted. Haney waved at him with his free hand. With the other hand on the cable, he was feeling each pound to be certain that his drill didn’t wedge in the rocks and break off the cable. If it became stuck, he had to clutch the cable or lose it.