Slocum and the Long Ride (5 page)

Slocum took a seat on the closest bench, and Goldie brought him a heaping plate of scrambled eggs, fried side meat, German potatoes, biscuits, gravy, butter, prickly pear jelly, and peach jam. Topped that with coffee and a slab of her own carrot cake.

“Ah hell, Goldie, you're spoiling him.”

“I'll have you know I spoil all of you peckerwoods.” She waved her index finger at all of them around the circle. “So there.”

Dan slid in on the other side of Slocum. “His name is Gomez. Raul Gomez. He's an outlaw that even the Federales go around. You savvy—he either pays them or their bosses. But he's a real mean, sorry sumbitch. At any rate the authorities down there don't mess with him and his crowd.”

“Is he selling the cattle he's taking in Mexico?”

“I'm not sure of much of anything. These boys of mine could fight a circle saw, but them banditos are tough too.”

“Have you met them head-on yet?” Slocum asked him.

“Yes, we broke up the attempt they made to drive off several head. It ain't only cattle rustling. They raped Johnny Boyd's poor wife Lisa until she's lost her mind.”

“Dan's not lying. That poor woman sits in a rocker all day and mumbles and screams out loud, ‘Don't fuck me!'” Goldie shook her head in disgust. “She ain't the only one. Others never reported it.”

“They raped some school-age girls at the Cone place,” Dan said. “And one of them bastards killed a four-year-old boy. This Gomez is a bad deal and has got to be stopped.”

“When you headed them off, did you do any good?”

“No. It was a running gun battle. But I figure that only pissed Gomez off and he'd sure come back loaded for bear the next time he tried to raid us.”

“He has to have a big beef market down there, you reckon?”

“I don't know. He had lots of cattle when we ran them off, and we got most of ours back.”

“How many?”

“They had close to a hundred head in the bunch when we jumped them. We shot four of them and wounded some more. But they got most of their men back and ran down south again.”

“Must have been some running gunfight.”

“It turned into a running one once we got them on the go. We chased them way down into Mexico. We were taking casualties on his men. Until I figured they might lead us into a trap down there and we hauled our asses back home.”

Slocum considered that. “There's been no more action from them since then?”

“No, but the Apaches went on the rampage all over up here right after that. We figured that's keeping them home.”

“This guy must have a market somewhere. Cattle in Mexico are cheap and no big place to sell many at one time. So why steal so many unless someone wanted to buy them?”

“Old man Clanton has all the markets over here sewed up. He steals half of his in Mexico to fill his orders.”

Slocum knew all about the Clantons and their dealings. Gomez might be selling them to him all right.

Goldie refilled their cups and gave Slocum a slight bump with her butt. “These men are just starting to heal up from that scrap. It was blood and bandages around here for six weeks.”

Slocum nodded and said, “The only way to stop him is to take the war to him. You kill him or he kills you. As long as he's down there running a gang, he'll be right back up here raiding stock and raping innocent women again. You got better eating stock than those brush-eating Corrientes that are south of him, so why not steal your white-faced and roan cattle?”

“They are better eating anyway. I'll get ten more tough guys and we can go armed to the teeth. Think we can whip them.”

“You may have to fight the Federales if you go down there.”

“How can we duck them? I only want Gomez's head on a stake.”

Slocum nodded. “You just have to take that chance and be on the lookout for them.”

“I have my belly full of these bastards. I'll go find me a dozen more men. Can you wait a few weeks?”

“I can, but remember this. You are taking a big chance tangling with politics in Mexico.”

“I damn sure intend to stop this Gomez once and for all.”

Slocum nodded and stretched out his legs under the table. “You'll need lots of answers about your enemy.”

“What do you mean?”

“Have you ever scouted his fortress or his army?”

“No.” Dan looked hard at him.

“I mean, you must find out some of his strengths and weaknesses. You can't just ride down there and start shooting. If you intend to make a raid on him, you have to know what the hell you are going up against. Where his belly is most exposed at.”

“How will I do that?”

“Let me slip down there and look it over. Hell, you might not have enough men or don't need that many.”

“They'd kill you.”

“Hell, others have tried doing that. I'm still here. I think I can infiltrate them. Figure out their points of strength.”

“What will that cost?”

“My expenses.”

“What do you think that will be?”

“A couple hundred I'd guess.”

“I don't want you dead.”

“Who'd cry?”

“Damn it, this ain't a suicide run, is it?”

“No.” Slocum shook his head.

“When do I go look for your corpse?”

“If you don't get a telegram or me back from there in six weeks.”

“Damn, I don't want you killed.”

“I want a Mexican saddle, a brown horse, no brand, a serape, some Mexican blankets for a bedroll, some old knee-high boots, a vest, and some big-roweled spurs.”

“When are you going down there?”

He considered the question. “In the morning.”

Dan shook his head. “Damn, I'll have to get busy to find all that crap.”

“Good. I'm leaving at sunup.”

Dan stood up and sent his men off to get all the things he listed for them to find. “Get a move on you.”

Then his concerned-looking buddy turned back to Slocum. “Get some sleep. You haven't had much lately. They will have all this stuff for you here tonight.”

“Fine.” Slocum sipped on the rich coffee.

Goldie was gathering dishes as everyone else started to leave. In a low voice, she said, “Go upstairs. First room on the right. They'll all be gone, but for a few clowns on guard duty. I won't be more than a few shakes of a lamb's tail getting up there.”

“Fine,” he said, agreeing to his sentence in bed with her. How long since they'd had an affair? Maybe four years, but it was in Mexico then. Goldie was a pleaser of men in bed; she knew how to do it right.

He went upstairs and looked out the second-story window at the river headed north for the Gila. The Santa Cruz wound through all the mission country in southern Arizona and even passed Tucson headed to join the Gila. Giant cottonwoods lined the small river, and it irrigated lots of places on its route. Dan had several fields where he raised crops and hay.

Taking his time at undressing, Slocum listened to the variety of birds that sought the tall yard trees for protection and fed on the ground. Every kind of bird was there, and in the winter more joined them. He hung his vest, six-gun, and holster on the back of the ladder-back wooden chair. Took off his boots next and socks, then his three-button shirt came off over his head. He was down to his waist overalls and had unbuckled the belt when Goldie came rushing into the room out of breath.

“You are getting slow—I can recall you getting stripped in no time to climb on me when I worked for Lady Bird Halman. You remember that? It was up in Silver City, New Mexico. God, I won't ever forget that time. I did a double take at your pecker and thought to myself you'd rip me in two with it. Oh, I still can remember you working me over.” She had her britches off and was unbuttoning the dress she wore over them. Her breasts popped out, capped with dollar-size nipples, and soon the rest of the big gal's full body was shining in the room's bright light.

“Well I was a size or two smaller back then, but you get more to love this way. Damn it is good to have you here. I had a bad itching, and you can fix that.”

He twisted her around and kissed her. Her mouth was as sweet and wet as a fresh watermelon. And brother, she could still kiss and get a guy going
.

Afterward she said, “Oh, baby, I think it was better today than ever.” She was trying to get the loose hair out of her face with her fingers. He was braced on his arms over her.

“You through for the day?” he asked.

“Hell yes.”

So they did it again and then he took a nap.

By dark his items of clothing were there: a pair of leather pants that string-tied in the front; a white cotton shirt, hand-woven; knee-high soft boots that fit him fine; and a vest made from tanned sheepskin with leather on the outside, rough-stitched like some woman in camp must have sewed the two pockets on it. There were also two bandoliers to wear crisscross on his chest—.50-caliber cartridges. The tube-fed Spencer repeating rifle looked to be in perfect condition. He had used one enough in the war to know that when the action was tight they shot well.

There was a serape to wear over his clothes for warmth, and some fine goat-skin gloves, two pair of them, plus some real Mexican-looking saddlebags, with powder and balls for his .44. Then he saw the extra cylinders.

“We got you a good .44 Remington. You can load and exchange those cylinders easier in it than in a Colt,” Dan said.

Slocum agreed.

The sombrero was an expensive one, but it had been worn before, he discovered as he put it on.

One cowboy could not resist and gave a
wha-hoo
.

Dan frowned at him. “This business is all secret. Your life may depend on what he finds out down there.”

The guy nodded and sat back down.

There was some silver trim on the holster and gun belt with the large buckle. When Slocum tried it on and it fit, he nodded. “Fine.”

Then he sat down and tried on the large rowel spurs they had for him. They clunked like church bells when he walked around in them. “You all did a helluva good job.”

There was also a large knife that you wore in a harness under your clothes, and you could reach back at your collar, draw it, and throw it. Another fit in his boot top, and a .30-caliber derringer went inside his vest.

Plus a dozen sticks of blasting powder, loaded, carefully wrapped with long fuses, to place in his saddlebags. Also a leather container to hold the rifle tubes tied on the saddle. What hadn't they found for him?

“You can cut the fuses to size very easy,” Dan said.

Slocum agreed.

“Here's the money belt, three hundred, most of it is Mexican money.”

Goldie brought him a silk black kerchief and tied it around his neck, then kissed him. The men all laughed.

“We found a good high-headed, pacing horse too.” Dan chuckled. “No brand on him.”

“Good, you hombres stay out of my way.” They all laughed.

He carried the clothing upstairs and redressed. He found he'd need to practice before he could draw the knife from the harness behind his back and make a smooth move with it. He finished dressing and decided that in a few days he'd be comfortable wearing it all. Before the moon rose, he left the ranch and rode to Patagonia to see Saundra. He knew his costume would scare her unless she heard his voice first. The pacing horse was high-headed, but he made real good time crossing the rolling country going back to Patagonia. Riding this horse was another thing he'd have to get used to. Nothing wrong using him as a traveling horse, but he preferred a ranch horse for himself.

He arrived midday and hitched Pancho to the rack before taking a seat on a bench and hoping Sandy would leave the hotel and he could see her. He wrote a note to her finally and had a young boy deliver it to the desk clerk.

He came back to Slocum.

“Señor, he said he would take it to her room.”

“Gracias.”
He paid the boy another dime.

The freckle-faced youth asked, “Any more messages you need delivered?”

He shook his head.

“You need me, I'm Henry. Just whistle and I'll come.”

“Sure.”

The young boy skipped off with two dimes in his fist—no doubt for the candy counter. Slocum looked up and saw Sandy searching for him.

She soon stopped before him, but not looking at him. “What's wrong?” she asked.

“I'm going to Mexico and try to learn about some outlaws. Can you get a ride back to your school if I'm not back in time?”

“When will the Apache threat be over?”

“Soon, I suppose. Do you need money to stay here?”

“No, I have enough. When will you come back?”

“I'm not certain. I hate to leave—”

He was silent for some passing ladies, then began again, “I hate to leave you here.”

“I can manage. I hate that we can't be together.”

“Things happen. If I am ever near your schoolhouse, can I come by?”

She nodded. “Yes—do. I must go now. Be very careful.”

“I will.”

•   •   •

After she left, he rose, then unhitched and mounted Pancho. He rode out of the jam-packed town still full of folks waiting for word they could go safely home. It was straining the town's facilities. But Slocum knew there was no immediate answer to the problems of overcrowding.

He rode across the border to a small village, looking for information about Gomez. In a cantina he lounged with his chair to the wall, and a skinny
puta
came by and tried to coax him into paying her for her ass.

“I am young and I can entertain you in bed,
mi amigo
.”

“Oh, I don't think so.”

“No, no. I can make you a grand stallion or you don't have to pay me.”

“What is your name?” His attention was hard on two men who had just come into the cantina. They looked like banditos, or at least they swaggered into the place like bullies who owned it.

The bartender greeted them, and it was obvious he did not know them. They told him they were new in the village and asked if he had any pretty
putas
. He said there were some in there.

The biggest man rested his elbows on the bar and gazed around the room like he was surveying the crowd of mostly peons in white clothing, heads down, not wanting any wrath from this man.

“Who made this beer?” the second man asked, spitting out a mouthful on the dirt floor. “This is too bad to serve to the public.” He was a bulldog, shorter than his compadre. “What do you say, Ringo? Should we shoot this
bastardo
for serving us horse piss?”

“That is the only beer I can buy, señor.”

Slocum was still thinking on him calling his partner Ringo. There was a Johnny-come-lately at Tombstone went by that name, but he was a Texas cowboy who was handy with a gun. He was a gringo. This man must have taken his name to impress crowds like this one. What was the bulldog's name?

“
Cristo
, I don't know what to do. Kill him for keeping such ugly
putas
in here or poisoning you.”

He grabbed a seated peon by a fistful of his shirt. Then he raised him up and asked him in his face, “How do you vote,
mi amigo
?”

“I no vote, señor.”

The big man threw him down on the floor and kicked him in the ass, “Get the hell out of here then. You worthless piece of shit.” The young man, hardly more than a boy, rushed out the swinging doors and was gone.

“I should have shot him in the ass, huh?”

Ringo approached another table, right next to the last one. When he moved to the next one, those at the first table got up and ran out the door. His haughty laughter rang out. “They have no dicks. No stallion in them. You have a big dick?”

The pale-faced man he had asked shook his head. “No, señor.”

“What are you, a pussy?”

The man shook his head.

“I think it is time for you two to leave.” Slocum's voice was low but audible.

He quietly told the girl to get aside. Then he rose slow-like and hitched his gun belt in place. “You don't want that old man, you want me.”

“Huh? What did you say?” The
pistolero
blinked in disbelief at him.

“He said he wanted you, Ringo,” Bulldog said with an evil grin.

“What's your name?” Ringo gave him a head toss.

“My name is not important. You, sir, are a bully. I think you should get on your horse and ride away from this village. These people are gentle people. They have no weapons, how can they fight you? They can't, and you punish men who are gentle men. Load your asses up and go. Otherwise this cannot end peacefully, like things here do every day when folks like you aren't here harassing people.”

“You must be a
pistolero
. You are well armed.”

“I am the man who challenged you to either fight me or leave.”

“Oh, I see you want to fight with me.”

“No, you don't want that.”

“Why not?”

“What would your mother think of you in those clothes all bloody in a cheap coffin?”

“My mother is a whore in Juárez. She wouldn't care anything about seeing
you
dead.”

Then the bartender put a snare around Bulldog's neck and had him with his back pulled hard to the bar. “Go ahead, señor. I didn't want him to try anything.”

“Ah, Ringo, it is your last chance to get on your horse and ride away—alive.”

Bulldog made growling sounds in his throat, trying to get his fingers under the noose choking him. He was backed over the top of the bar by the rawhide tool.

“Be calm,
mi amigo
. I will kill that bartender that has you now after I kill this gringo in men's clothing.”

Ringo went for his gun, in slow motion to Slocum, whose pistol blasted a large cloud of gun smoke even before Ringo's pistol was fully cocked. The bullet went straight into his heart. In the next moment, Ringo's eyes widened in disbelief. He staggered, then fell down dead on the dirt floor.

But it was the sounds of Bulldog being strangled to death by the bartender that made Slocum sick to his stomach. Finally the bartender's assistant reached over and cut the big man's throat with a large-blade carving knife. No more gasping. Blood flew everywhere. The bartender let go of the noose, and Bulldog's body slumped on the floor. His left leg kicked in his dying reactions.

“Give me a glass of that beer,” Slocum said. “Who cleans up in here?”

The bartender, with the beer, said, “All of us are so grateful to be rid of them.
Gracias, amigo.
Drink all the beer you wish.”

“Come, my girlfriend. The smoke is too bad to stay in here. Where is your hammock at?”

She came skipping across the room and took his arm. “I will show you.”

“Don't charge him either,” the bartender said after her.

She shook her head. “I wasn't going to anyway.”

Out of the batwing doors into the blinding sun, she took his arm, and they stopped to get his pacing horse to lead along with them.

“Where will you go next?”

“We can talk about that later. How far is your place?”

“Just a short ways. Why?”

“Is it far enough that we are going to ride this horse?”

“Oh, no. See that jacal on this hill? That is my casa.”

“How did you get that nice of a place?”

“A woman and her three children died in there after a mad dog bit them. They died a horrible death. There was nothing anyone could do for them. People said their maddening screams were even in the adobe walls. I have never heard them.”

“Good. I hate screams too.”

“You never told me your home?”

“Where I sleep? Anywhere I lay down.”

“Let's put him in the corral out back and unsaddle him. There is some hay. I want to learn all about you.” She patted the arm she held. “You are a powerful man. Those men were killers who came by here often and scared the villagers. Me too.”

“I am only going to stay one night.”

“You are on a mission, no?”

“You could call it that. How did you know I had one?”

“I guessed it. At times it gets too hot to sleep on the ground. A hammock is nice if you don't fall out.” She laughed. “Me and a customer did that one night in the middle of our business.” With a laugh out loud, she hid her face on his sleeve. “We were too wild, huh?”

“Too wild is right.” At her corral he unsaddled Pancho and put him in the pen. Grateful to have the saddle off, he rolled in the dust and wiggled on his back to stop the itching or whatever. They went to her adobe casa. A tattered bottom blanket was the door, and the south wind flowed through the place, surprisingly cool.

She shed her dress over her head. That was all she'd had on. He hung his gun belt rebuckled on a chair's back where it would be handy.

“You have no wife or children?” she asked.

“No.”

She shook her head at his answer and then hung his vest on the wall. He removed his sombrero to place it on the other side of the chair's back, then she made him sit on the seat and pulled off his tall rawhide boots. He decided that perhaps she was being slow and deliberate in undressing him to make the evening with him pass more slowly, but he was bone-tired and she did not impress him.

When at last she had him buck naked, she asked, “Hammock or pallet?”

“Listen, I am too tired to make love to you. Let me sleep in the hammock.”

She waved her finger at him. “If you fall out, don't be mad at me.”

“I won't.”

She acted pissed, but she'd get over it.

•   •   •

When he awoke, he gave her money to go buy them supper from a street vendor. She wiggled on her dress and ran off to find food. He went and watered his horse, then stopped to look at the array of stars. He wondered if the Apache business was about over and if Sandy could go back safely to her schoolhouse.

He and the skinny one ate the rich chunks of browned beef, onions, and sweet peppers, wrapped in large snowy flour tortillas, while seated cross-legged on a blanket on the floor.

“I told her I had a gringo who might not like her hot peppers.”

He shrugged between bites. “Some are fine, but hot-hot is too much. You did good.”

“Where will you go next?”

“I look for a bandito named Gomez.”

Her eyes flew open and she about choked on her food. Huffing for air, she shook the tortilla in her hand at him. “Oh, he is a killer and madman. Don't go there. He will kill you.” Tears ran down her face. “He is a mean sumbitch and his men are meaner than tigers. Oh, please don't go down there.”