Slocum 421 (10 page)

He agreed and kissed her again.

As if he had never kissed her—

Slocum hitched the team after breakfast, and they left for town. The drive was a two-hour trip one way. A few clouds were gathering, and they could sure use the rain. Things were dry for springtime. They'd planted her potatoes, cabbage, and carrots. Glenna wanted different seed for later plantings, flour, baking powder, sugar . . . her list went on.

They were making good time when he spotted the dust coming from the west. Someone was coming or several someones were coming toward the main road. They'd soon meet them.

“Horses and riders,” she said and reached for the Winchester.

He agreed, keeping an eye on them as they drew up in the road. A shift of wind exposed them. It was Sears, three men, and an older man on a big black stud horse.

When he reined up, Sears booted his horse over toward them. “Well, rifleman, we meet again. He your new husband, Glenna?”

“Wouldn't be none of your business anyway,” she said, scowling at him.

“What are you up to, Sears?” Slocum asked him. “You sure aren't working cattle, are you? Scaring more homesteaders away?”

“You better mind your own business, stranger. You might get a bullet between your eyes.”

“Draw then. This .44/40 might improve your manners.”

“Just who the hell are you?” Garvin demanded and started his horse toward them.

“Stay there, mister. I think Sears wants to toss in his chips here.” His hand used the rifle barrel to direct Garvin to back up.

“Shoot him,” Garvin said.

Sears took a hard look at Slocum, shook his head, and turned his horse away. “Shoot him yourself. That sumbitch will kill you.”

Slocum's attention shifted, and the rifle centered on the older man. “It's a good day to die.”

Garvin shook his head, tried to cover his red-faced anger, and reined his horse back to the others. “My day will come.”

“Wear a good suit of clothes that day,” Slocum said. “Drive on, Glenna.”

The sullen riders sat on their horses as the old man, with his hands on his saddle horn, steamed. Two of the men still had their arms in slings.

Slocum stood up, his legs braced, as she swept the rig around them, and he held the Winchester ready to answer to anyone who wanted to be shot. They soon were away from Garvin and his men, and he put the rifle on safety.

“I'm sorry they are so hard to live with.”

“Not your fault.” She reined the team down to a trot. “I'm just proud you were along. Saved me killing two or three of them myself.”

He took the reins back and laughed. “Yes. You might have done that.”

They shopped in town, loaded the buckboard with their supplies, ate lunch in the small café, and then she went to see about buying a church dress at the seamstress shop while he bought some leather for saddle repairs.

“You're new here, ain'tcha?” the saddle-maker asked him.

“Yes. I'm helping Mrs. Russell and Jon out at their place.”

“Nice lady. My name's Earl Stokes. Give her my regards. Guess you heard about the big blowup the Double G Bar bunch had here last Saturday night?”

Slocum shook his head.

“Well that bunch is rowdy and bossy as hell. They all came in to drink and take over the saloon. But when they came out about midnight, someone had tied tin cans to their horses' tails and, they say, cut their cinches. About bought out all my cinches. I have more coming, but it will be a few weeks. They got all busted up and are offering a hundred-dollar reward for whoever did it.”

“Sounds serious.”

“Broken arms and legs and busted heads. They sure had hell.”

“Reckon they've got enemies?”

“Oh, they run roughshod over everyone. Old man wants to run off everyone and have the range to himself. I never caught your name?”

“Clark,” he said and shook the man's hand.

“Staying long?”

“Long enough.” Slocum picked up the rolled-up hide.

“Tell them two hello for me.”

“I will.” He left the shop and put the hide in the loaded buckboard. Glenna soon joined him and asked if he'd met the saddle maker.

“Nice guy. He told me all about the wreck those boys had Saturday night here.”

“They told me about it in the dress shop too.” He helped her onto the spring seat, then joined her and untied the reins.

“Guess they really want the ones who did that to them.”

“Marie in there said three had already quit over the fracas and others were going to leave when they got healed.”

“It's working.” He clucked to the team and then started the drive out of town.

She agreed with a nod, and when they were beyond prying eyes on the prairie, she hugged his arm and bumped his shoulder with hers. “Anything to get rid of that nuisance makes me happy. I wish you could stay forever, but there is no way I know to permanently hide you.”

“Right. But for now, I enjoy your company and your generosity toward me.”

“Hey, my life was pretty dull until you came along.”

“The saddle maker ever court you?”

“No. You mean Stokes?”

“He sounded like you were a favorite of his.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Another day, another time, maybe.”

“Hey, if I am in the way—”

“You damn sure are not in the way of anything.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“What do we do next?”

“Blow up a corral and scatter his horses.”

“How hard is that?”

“We have to sneak in when they aren't looking, use the candle fuse and strap all the blasting sticks to posts, and get set for a big blowup. The horses will panic, and with the corral down, they will run away I hope.”

“Sounds good.”

“We might set another at the bunkhouse if we have time to do it.”

 * * * 

Jon and Carter checked on the cattle and at night made cedar shavings. Slocum tested two of the tubes to be certain the fuses ignited. One took an hour and a half, the other one required near two hours, but they both ignited in the end. He knew his plan would work. Next came the final part. Cutting the blasting sticks in two, arming them, and crimping the cord on the firing tube. They had lots of strong plain cord and cut it in lengths to go around the posts to hold the blasting sticks in place.

They left their horses in a draw nearly a quarter mile away from the ranch headquarters. Glenna insisted on coming along and holding the horses.

“No matter what happens, you stay here. Things get hot, you ride like hell for home,” Slocum said.

“Yes, yes,” she agreed.

They hung their spurs on their saddle horns. With the stealth of Indians they came up out of the willows and approached the corrals from the backside. The night guard's whistling to stay awake warned them. He was somewhere near the pens. Slocum told Jon and Carter to stay there and to listen for two owl hoots before they came in. He had managed to get along the fence when some sleeping horses had a kicking fit and distracted the lookout.

When the man stepped off the fence, after ordering the horses apart, which made little difference, Slocum conked him on the head. He crumpled to the ground. Slocum hooted twice and then quickly gagged the guard with his kerchief. By then Jon and Carter were there and they tied the man up.

“What do we do with him?” Jon whispered.

“Leave him for now, but we will take him with us if we have to.” They nodded and set to work.

Things went swiftly, and soon the entire setup was in place and ready. Carter even got one tube set up underneath the bunkhouse.

The man was still groggy, so Jon and Carter carried him along blindfolded. Slocum carried the man's rifle. On the way he whispered in Jon's ear not to talk and to warn Glenna as well. Carter heard and agreed with a nod in the starlight.

“Who—” she started, but Jon silenced her.

The man was moaning. Slocum whispered in his ear to shut up or he'd cut his throat. That silenced him. They carried him south along the creek that fed Garvin's ranch from north to south. Then they left him barefooted, tied to a tree, blinded and gagged.

“One word from you about who we are and you are a dead goose. Savvy?” Slocum asked.

The man, obviously shaken, nodded.

They rode off for home, on a roundabout course, leaving fewer hoofprints by riding down the creek rather than in the grass. Near two o'clock they were home and put up their horses. After all that, they couldn't wait to hear what destruction they'd done. It began to rain a few hours later, which, Slocum realized while in bed with her, was the best trail washing he could have planned on. Hugging her from behind, he went back to sleep.

Garvin's men should have the clue after this deal:
It was leave or die.

A deputy sheriff showed up at the ranch two days later asking questions. His name was Kenyon Welles. He was a short man in his thirties who rode a plain bay horse and looked like a cowboy.

Jon knew him and introduced Slocum as John Clark. “Nice to meet you, sir,” the sheriff said.

He removed his hat when Glenna came to the door. “Nice to see you, Mrs. Russell. Got a question or two to ask. Night before last someone or several someones blew up the Two G Bar ranch's corral and scattered their remuda to the winds. Of course it rained that night with thunder and lightning, and that drove the horses even further away.

“They say they had a guard out there and that the raiders must have killed him, but I got reliable word that he ran off after the deal and jumped a freight train that next night. They also blew one charge off under the bunkhouse, which hurt about three men seriously when they were thrown out of their bunks. Someone wanted them gone. You four have any idea who could have done that?”

“No idea. Does Garvin have any help left?” Glenna asked.

“Not many. Several quit and left like that guard did. I don't blame them, but one of them said someone even hung a dummy up at the crossbar and it had a sign on it telling them to leave. They are like rats jumping from a sinking ship. You don't know anyone hated him that much?”

“We all hate him. Every small rancher and homesteader hates Garvin and his crew's high-handed ways, but as to who did it that's your guess,” Glenna said.

“Mrs. Russell, I have that impression from talking to folks. These men don't have many folks like them. But it still is breaking the law to blow up someone's property and injure folks, and it is my job to find the offenders. They also claimed some parties, earlier, tied tin cans on their horses' tails and cut cinches when they were in town. That caused them a whole bunch of injuries.”

“We know you are doing your job, Kenyon, but Garvin has pushed and threatened everyone in this country. I'd say I'm grateful to whoever did it. You find him and I'll start a fund to get him off,” Glenna said.

“Just remember, I am only doing my job.”

Jon nodded. “We know that. Thanks for coming by.”

“Good day, ma'am, and the rest of you. Nice to meet you too, Clark.” He rode off.

When he was gone, Carter slapped his knee. “That ole night guard hopped a freight train and was gone. Kenyon learned that much anyway. We put the fear of God in him all right. I bet he was still barefooted.”

“Probably. I bet they're six months getting their horses back with whatever help he does have left,” Glenna said and took a hard look in the direction the deputy rode off in. “And they won't find them all.”

“Right,” Slocum said. “Do I smell lunch?”

“You do. Wash up, killers.” Then she laughed.

That night in bed, the two of them were still talking about their results.

The consensus in town was that Garvin was down to four men who could even ride horses, and they weren't finding them very fast. The estimate was that he was over a hundred head short.

A hand who worked in the livery told Slocum, while he waited on Glenna to get her new dress fitted, that all they had to ride were the old horses they could catch on foot. He chuckled and said, “Three of them went through here a day ago. They'd been in that bunkhouse when it blew up, and so they up and quit. They couldn't hear jack shit. I had to shout at them to even talk. I think it will be Garvin and Sears as the only ones left to find them horses.”

“They can't do much good.”

“Garvin's too tight to hire some local boys around here to go look for them horses.”

“Good enough for him.”

“I think he's close to selling out.”

“You hear that for a fact?”

“No, but he better. That outfit that's after him will blow him up next.”

Slocum agreed. He saw that Glenna had come out of the dress shop. “Thanks. You hear he wants to sell, send me word.”

“I sure will, Mr. Clark.”

He left the man leaning on his pitchfork and assisted Glenna onto the loaded buckboard, then went around, climbed on himself, and took up the reins.

“You get the dress?”

“They still need to make some stitches. It will be ready next time we come to town.”

“Sounds good. Anything else?”

“Three more of his men quit who lost their hearing.”

“I learned that too. But they were warned. The swamper at the livery thinks he's down to just him and Sears.”

“They are not finding the horses very fast either.”

“That many horses, and they'll only get wilder the longer they are free.”

“You're right.”

Slocum clucked to speed up the team, and the warmer day felt good. He needed one more good plan to push Garvin over. He was teetering on the brink; all he'd needed was a shove.

When they dropped into the cottonwoods and willows along the creek, a shot rang out. Slocum charged the horses to get the hell out of the dense, head-high brush beside the road, wondering where the shooter was at.

“I don't see anyone. Keep going,” Glenna said, drawing his six-gun out of his holster between them. “I'm fine, but I still can't see him.”

“There he is,” she said. The pistol roared, and he could smell the gun smoke as he held down the spooked team.

“Get him?”

“I got his horse. Guess I was shooting too low. What should we do?”

“Get our butts home. No telling how many there are of them. You know who it was?”

“Sears. I'd know him anywhere. I didn't mean to shoot his horse.”

“You couldn't help about shooting the horse. I'll get myself a horse and come back. Remind me to reload my Colt when we get to the ranch. And my answer is no, you don't need to come back. Too dangerous.”

“I'm not afraid.”

“I know you aren't, but I may have enough trouble for myself.”

“I won't be a problem to you.”

“Glenna, stay at the ranch.”

“And wring my hands?”

“Yes.”

“Well, isn't that a fine kettle of fish to stew over.”

“I know nothing about stewing fish. But one person is enough to worry about in this case. That's me.”

“I could choke you. I want to go along and help.”

“I don't need help. Do you understand?”

“You will. And you will rue the day you left me behind.”

“Glenna, I don't want you hurt.”

“Oh. You are like all men. You think I'm some sissy and can't help.”

“I know you are capable enough. But two people is one too many to worry about chasing down a bastard like Sears.”

“What will I tell Jon and Carter when they come in?”

“That I went to find him. And I'll be back.”

“They'll want to find you.”

“Tell them where I went then.”

“Why not leave them a note?”

“Glenna.”

“I know you don't want to have to worry about me. Slocum-Clark, you are the most stubborn man I have ever met.” She clapped her hands on her legs.

He swung the rig into the yard, making a cloud of dust, and headed it for the corral. She gripped the seat bottom on both sides hard so as not to sway much, but they both did, and he hauled them down near the corral.

“I can unharness them. Go get a horse. I'll send Jon and Carter to help you when they come in. How will you mark the trail?”

“Break limbs off as I go.”

He was soon inside the corral, building a loop in the riata. The horses were spooked and moved down-pen to escape him.

“Take the bay horse they call Spook, Slocum. He's an old stud horse that they caught running with a band of mares. He's tough but will sure get you there.” Glenna's knees were against the second rail from the top to help balance her standing, and she held the tall corral post to observe his actions.

His first throw missed, and Spook really shied when he realized this man wanted him. Busy reeling in the riata, Slocum moved to head him off. The next loop whirled over the horse's head as he ran by at full steam. The noose went over Spook's ears, and Slocum set his boot heels in to stop him. He wondered for a moment if the horse would drag him, but Spook stopped, trembling all over as Slocum approached him and coiled rope at the same time. He made a halter and led the horse to the barn. The blood bay blew boogers out the end of nose and nickered a lot to Slocum. Slocum spoke to him in soft words to reassure him and settle him down. The lariat hitched to an iron ring, he brought out his blankets and saddle. When they were tossed on Spook's back, Slocum talking the whole time, he drew up the girth and the big horse shied, but not much. Glenna was at the gate, holding his rifle from the buckboard.

“You have ammunition for this rifle?” she asked.

He nodded, more intent on how the bull-necked horse would act when he finished saddling him and had the bit in his mouth

“What about food?” she asked. “I have some jerky we can put in your saddlebags.”

“Sure.” The horse circled away from him at the sight of the rifle, like it might be a club. Slocum caught up with him and jammed the gun in the scabbard. Then he pulled the horse up closer. Glenna ran for her jerky, disappearing through the back door. Slocum mused at the showing of her white legs with the dress hem raised to free her to run. No need to mount the horse until he had the food loaded—he wasn't called Spook because he was a sleeper, Slocum knew that.

She had the jerkey wrapped in meat paper and stuck it in the saddlebags. “Don't let them shoot you.”

He kissed her and with one arm hugged her. “Thanks. You're great.”

She chewed on her lower lip. “Get the hell out of here.”

“You be careful and have a gun handy. No telling whether they may be real desperate by now.” He grasped the headstall in his left hand and cranked the horse's head around against his left leg. That made him spin around, but he couldn't buck if he was spinning.

At last seated in the saddle, with his boots in the stirrups, he shouted, “Hee-yah!” in the bay's ear. The spurs gouging his sides confused Spook's mind enough to make him charge out of the yard, and Slocum turned him northbound on the road. They left in a fury of flying hooves and dust. Spook never had a chance to buck, and Slocum was on his way back to the horse Glenna had shot in the road.

A short while later, he reined up short of the obviously dead animal. Still tense, Spook shuffled sideways. Buzzards that had been on the ground, surveying their next meal, had taken wing at their approach, which made the horse shy at their flapping wings. Sears's saddle was still on the horse, pinned under the dead piebald's body.

Dismounted, Slocum searched around the place for signs of boot tracks. They were there, and obviously he'd come back after they left to try and recover his saddle. No way he could do that, and even his Winchester was pinned under the body. No way to get it out either. So Sears's only gun now was no doubt a pistol. That was good news. And he was on foot, unless he came with someone, and there were no signs of that. Once he left this brushy site on the creek, he'd be out in the sea of Nebraska grass and should be easy to find. Slocum sent Spook for the high point on the hill so he could scope the country that lay west—in the direction of the ranch—to see if he could spot Sears. The horse was powerful. He cat hopped up the steep slope and soon stopped on the highest point. With the field glasses from his saddlebags, Slocum viewed the country for sight of Sears's hat. Lots of swaying grass moving like an ocean in the wind—where in the hell had he gone?

No sight of him. The prairie had gobbled him whole, Slocum mused. It had taken over two hours for Slocum to get back to the ranch and then return to the scene of the attack. No telling how far Sears had gone. Slocum set off from the hilltop and planned to ride farther west and look more for any sight of the man.

 * * * 

In another hour, he spotted smoke and headed toward it. Maybe he should have brought Glenna along. At least he'd have had company to share this empty country with. Then he spotted the soddy and the area cleared for a garden. There were some corrals, chickens, and wash flapping on the clotheslines.

He used the glasses to scan some more. No one was in sight, nor did anyone move. Then he centered his vision on the body of a dog close by the door. Fresh blood shone where his head had been caved in. Why kill a dog at your doorstep? Nothing else around that place was that far out of being perfect. He replaced the field glasses in his saddlebags.

Rifle across his lap, he approached the home place—real wary. He dismounted—the silence, save for the busy chickens scratching and clucking in their own world didn't concern him. Where were the residents?

Smoke came from a cookstove. He could smell the flavor of it. Too warm to need heat. He slipped into the house and let his eyes adjust to the shadowy interior.

A wide-eyed woman, gagged and naked, was tied on the top of the bed. He set the rifle down and drew the knife from his belt. The woman fainted. Swiftly, in a few seconds, he cut the ropes and then took the gag off her face.

She rolled over on her side in a fetal crouch to hide her nakedness and moaned.

“Lady, I'm sorry.” He tossed her a wash-worn dress and turned his back. “Who did this to you?”

“Garvin's foreman—Sears. He also stole a horse. I heard him ride off on one of them. Thank God you came. I might have died tied here.”

“How long ago was he here?”

“I don't know. It was like an eternity laying there tied up.” She straightened out the dress she'd put on. “My name's Helen Gladdis.”

“Slocum's mine. I'm looking for that same man. He shot at me this morning.”

“Sears?”

He nodded.

“He was alone this time—”

Slocum narrowed his gaze at her. “He's been here before?”