Slocum 421 (15 page)

They were at the table eating supper, Jon, Glenna, and Slocum, enjoying her meal. Carter wasn't there.

“She told you Carter and Helen are getting married?” Jon said and passed him the green beans.

“Yes and good.”

“They are very happy,” Glenna said.

“He is delighted, and now I'm looking for a new ranch hand.” Jon shrugged. “He'll be hard to replace. You ever cut Sears's trail again?”

“I think he shot out a store window in Montana trying to kill me.”

“Glad he missed,” Glenna said and put her hand on top of his.

“So was I, but I had no idea it was him. Those cowboys who worked for me found him, and when it was over, all they said was—he won't bother me ever again.”

“Did they kill him?” she asked.

“I suppose so. They were furious, and I was busy selling cattle, so they handled it. Has Garvin come back yet?”

“Not that we know about. But I'd expect him anytime if he went to Texas like he said he was going to do.”

“It will pay to keep an ear out for him. He'll want revenge, and he's the kind that will exact it.”

“You going to hang around?” Jon asked.

“Not for long. I can stay a couple of weeks.”

Glenna smiled, pleased. “Good. There, Jon, you have some help.”

“Maybe I can hire someone by then. Cowboys are hard to find. Carter could rope either end of a critter. Some of these guys who come looking for work can't even use a lariat.”

Slocum nodded.

 * * * 

The next day he set out with Jon to check cattle. They found a longhorn cow in a bog. Jon went to shaking his head at the sight of the muddy cow who had wallowed around until she was totally mud-coated and mad, belly-deep in the bog. He dismounted and began to undress. “You get the job on land. I'll push on her.”

“Fine, but remember when she comes out, she'll be madder than a hornet and blame us.” Slocum laughed, shaking loose his lariat. They were in for lots of trouble with an angry cow and plenty of mud.

Jon waded in when Slocum had her caught by the horns. His ranch horse was ready to drag her out, but there was more than that to do. With her belly-deep in the mud, it was holding her too. The first pull, with Jon twisting her tail and getting more sloppy mud on himself, didn't budge her. Slocum got Jon's horse and tossed another rope on the noisy, bawling, protesting cow. He then led the horse along with his own and they both strained, pulling hard.

“Go! She's coming!” Jon shouted. The rope pressed hard on Slocum's right leg as both horses strained until the cow came loose and the horses pulled her sliding on her side through the mud. When she was clear, Slocum undid the rope from Jon's saddle and let go of his dally. The cow was on her feet and ready to charge them.

She slipped and fell down on her side, which gave Slocum a head start. He and his mount were off in a hard lope, and mama cow, hoarsely bawling, was up and after him like a Mexican fighting bull. He put spurs to the horse and felt like he was really leaving the country if she didn't let up. And it looked to Slocum like she'd wear both ropes till she wore them out.

Finally she gave up and ran off, and Slocum went back to get Jon.

When he found him, Jon had already caught his horse and, in his mud-caked underwear, was mounting up.

“Get my clothes and gun, I'm going home for a bath.”

“And some new ropes.” Slocum laughed at the sight of him. “You look like a chocolate candy.” He gathered Jon's things, and they rode back.

At the ranch it was all Glenna could do not to laugh about her brother's condition. “Were you making mud pies?”

While Jon was bathing, a rider came by the place.

“Joel Wynn, this is John Clark,” Glenna said to introduce them. “What brings you over here, Joel?”

“Nice to meet you. I just got word. Garvin is back with six hard cases from Texas.”

“That's bad news,” Slocum said. “Worse than a cow in a bog. How did you hear about it?”

“Rediford Moore was in town when they arrived on the train yesterday. Said the old man rented a wagon to haul them out to his place yesterday afternoon, and they were all hard cases.”

“Any names for them?”

“No, he just saw them arrive then go by wagon to Garvin's ranch.”

“We sure thank you for coming by,” Glenna said. “Keep us informed. It don't sound good.”

Wynn agreed. “Tell Jon for me. I'll get on.”

“Thanks.”

“You timed it right,” she said. “Here we go again.”

Slocum closed his eyes.
That old sumbitch didn't listen.

 * * * 

Meetings were called for folks to gather at the schoolhouse, and protection groups were formed. One man had spoken to the sheriff, who said his hands were tied until they broke the law. Everyone waited for something to happen. Slocum made a few trips west and scoped out the operation at Garvin's. The men were trying to round up his ranch horses and not having lots of success. But in time they'd have something to ride, he decided, slipping back from his lookout point and going to his horse.

Saturday night, he and Jon checked out the saloons in town. They found a few gunmen here and there, drinking beer, which meant, Slocum figured, they didn't have money for whiskey. They were tight-lipped and stayed together in the places they landed.

Slocum picked out two of the younger ones, and when they started to leave, he stopped them.

“You boys work for Garvin?”

“Yeah, what business is it to you?”

“That old man tell you about his last men?”

“No, what happened to them?” the cocky one asked.

“Most of them caught freights out of here to save their asses. Folks up here don't take to strong-arm tactics. When you start, there will be repercussions.”

“What the hell is that?” he asked his buddy.

“Means they will get back at us,” his buddy said.

“Yeah, we'll have our own,” the first one told Slocum.

Slocum looked off into the night and the dark street. “Take my word, you've been warned.”

“Who the hell are you?”

“A man who hates to see folks killed.”

In the saddle the kid jerked his horse around.

“Hey,” Slocum said, “ask the old man where his last hands went.”

“Fuck you, mister.”

Slocum shook his head. “You've been warned.”

The two young men rode off grumbling to each other.

“You warned them,” Jon said, joining him.

“I just want to cut them off before they start hurting anyone.”

“Maybe they came to be cowboys.”

Slocum shook his head. “Garvin expects revenge.”

“They won't be easy to run off.”

Slocum stepped in the saddle and turned his horse. “We will see what we can do about encouraging them to leave.”

“When will they make a move?”

“That is what I wonder.” Slocum booted his horse into a trot, and they headed back to the ranch.

 * * * 

It was in Slocum's mind that they'd first start strong-arming the weakest—old folks, widows, and anyone who would be afraid. Garvin knew them and he'd start there.

All he and Jon could do was be aware and shut it down when it started.

They rode over to Carter and Helen's place. The two newlyweds looked very happy, and Helen hugged both of their visitors.

“What brings you two over here?” Carter asked, inviting them in for coffee.

“Slocum thinks that Garvin will start on the weakest and not realize you two are married. He has ten or twelve new hands. We spoke to two Saturday night in town. They are pretty cocksure. We don't want either of you hurt.”

“Is Sears with them?” Helen asked.

Slocum shook his head. “To the best of my knowledge, Sears isn't on this earth anymore. He apparently tried to ambush me up in Montana, and the cowboys working for me got so mad they sent him to the happy hunting grounds.”

“Good riddance,” Carter said and hugged his wife.

“Just be careful,” Jon said. “We don't know what they will do first, but he didn't hire them to simply ride herd.”

“What are they doing now?”

“Looking all over hell for that remuda of his that we cut loose four months ago.”

Slocum shook his head. “Those two rode some old horses into town last Saturday night. Their muzzles were snow-white.”

They all laughed. “Why, those horses are scattered from here to hell by now,” Carter said.

“Just be careful. We'll come on a moment's notice.”

After coffee they hugged Helen and shook Carter's hand. Then they started home. No cows were bogged down that day in the wetlands.

“There ain't any way you could stay around here for a long while is there?” Jon asked as they rode.

“How is that?”

“You and my sister get along good. I ain't making light about that. But you and I fit like a glove and think a lot alike. We don't make lots of money running cows, but we do make some. You act kind a relaxed while you're here. I was thinking you might stay . . .”

“Love to, except some bounty hunter would figure out my disguise and come a-hunting me.”

“Damn shame. I really enjoy having you.”

They reined up when they saw a fire in the distance. Looked like a branding fire. They rode up on the ridge and got out their field glasses. Three men had a calf tied down bawling and were putting the iron to him.

“That damn sure ain't their calf,” Jon said. “That roan cow is one of ours. I'd know her anywhere.”

They put the glasses away, jerked rifles out of their scabbards, and set their horses downhill to stop the thieves. Half the distance away from them, the rustlers began to shoot at them with their pistols, but the range was too far for pistols. Slocum and Jon spurred their horses as the rustlers tried to get mounted on their gun-spooked horses.

One rider was thrown over his horse's head, hard onto the ground. With a rifle shot Slocum wounded another as he tried to get away. The third one lost his struggle with his horse and the pony ran off before he could even get on it.

Slocum had no doubt these were Garvin's men. He had Jon take care of the two at hand and rode out to get the wounded man still on his horse, who had stopped. He was bent over in the saddle, not moving.

As he approached him, Slocum shoved the rifle in under his leg and drew his pistol. Cocked and ready, he rode in close and jerked the man's gun out of his holster. When he did, the man finally made an attempt to swing at him. Slocum turned his horse around and in a swift move busted the outlaw on the head, caved in his hat, and sent him facedown onto the ground.

“You should never have tried that, stupid.” Then he recognized him as one of the ones he had spoken to on the saloon porch. “I told you not to stay.”

Long past dark Jon and Slocum rode into the ranch and dropped heavy from the saddle. Glenna brought a candle lamp. “Where in the hell have you two been?”

“It's a long story,” Slocum said, undoing his latigos.

“But we got a damn good alibi.” Jon hoisted his saddle and pads off his horse.

“What's the alibi?”

“We caught three of Garvin's men putting his brand on ole Roan's calf in broad daylight.”

“You what?” She frowned at Slocum.

“Let's see . . . one has a broken arm. He got thrown off his horse. One I shot trying to get away and he also has a bad headache from trying to fight me. Third one I guess got off unscathed, but they are all in the county jail. Sheriff is riding out and threatening Garvin with arrest 'cause he considers him a party to the rustling. It will send the rest packing.”

“Helen and Carter said to tell you hello,” Jon added.

“They happy?”

“They act that way, don't they, Slocum?”

“Happy as two peas in a pod.” They laughed.

“Well, tell me, how did you find the rustlers?”

“We saw a fire far off and rode over the hill.”

Glenna shook her head as they headed for the house. “You think it is over? Are we safe now?”

“Do I think that old man will give up? No. But he won't get any help out of his new hired thugs after today. The sheriff is upset enough to threaten him over the rustling because it was with his brand they were using.”

“I have food still warm. I was expecting you long ago.”

“We'll wash up and be there.” They put their horses in the corral to roll in the dust, even as tired as they were. It had been a long day. Slocum's lower back told him so as well.

After the meal, Jon told them good night and went off to the bunkhouse. When he was gone, she came over and sat in his lap.

“You must be dead tired.”

He kissed her. “I am.”

“The sheriff still thinks you're Clark?”

“I think so. He was impressed that we apprehended those boys. He knew they were gunhands, not ranch hands.”

“Can you stay for a while?”

“I think so.”

“Good. Let's go to bed. You need some rest. I can curl around you and hold you tonight.”

“Good deal.”

“You know I'll miss you again when you leave. Like I did last time you rode off.”

“You won't be alone. Let's try to sleep.”

 * * * 

The next day word was out. Ranchers were coming by wondering what it would take to get rid of Garvin.

They were his employees and using his brand—that was the case they all presented.

“We all need to ride over there with a lynch party and tell him he's got two days to vacate.”

Slocum and Jon were resetting shoes on some horses. They listened and agreed that something needed to be done. Soon the tone of things went for them to meet the next Thursday morning at the Garvin ranch. Every able man in the county was to ride up and deliver their ultimatum. He and Jon agreed to be there.

At lunch, Glenna asked him what they were going to do.

“Go over there next Thursday and tell him to leave.”

“What if he won't go?”

Jon said. “They're only giving him two days.”

“What then?”

“I imagine they will go back and burn him out.”

Slocum agreed. “Whatever it will be, it will be final if he doesn't leave.”

“Why didn't we do this a year ago?”

“Hoped it wouldn't be necessary, I guess.”

“I'll be so glad to have this over.”

“You won't wait long.”

“Good,” she said, sounding definite and putting the pot back on the stovetop.

 * * * 

Wednesday evening, early, two men rode into the Russell ranch to meet the “committee.” By Thursday morning, men were coming from three directions, before the sun even peeped up. Rifle-armed men accompanied by the clopping of hooves, the creaking of saddle leather, and the jingle of spurs, plus a few dry coughs in the predawn. They made a circle of riders surrounding Garvin's ranch headquarters, stirrup to stirrup, in the pink first light.

On signal two shots were fired and a man with big deep voice said, “Don't shoot. We have you surrounded. Garvin, you and all your hands get out here. Come out unarmed or die.”

The old man came out in his pants, and pulling up his suspenders, he looked at the crowd. “What the hell do you want?”

“If you and your men are not gone from this ranch and the area by Saturday morning, we will come and lynch each and every one of you. We didn't come to argue. You can see how many people are backing this. We will return Saturday, and if any of you are still here, be sure to wear the clothes you want to be planted in 'cause we will be back here to do that.”

“You can't do that!”

“Be here and find out.”

Slocum nodded to Jon, and they along with the others began to ride off—not listening to the old man's ranting and raving. He could do that until he was hoarse, it wouldn't do him any damn good—the deal was cut-and-dried.

“Will he leave?” Jon asked.

“I think so. Unless he takes his own life. He don't have much to live for losing his place.”

Word went down the line. They'd ride back Saturday morning and be certain Garvin was gone. The men all agreed.

They were back at the Russell ranch by noon, and Glenna had to hear the story. They told her about Garvin's response.

Folks passing by in the next few days left word that Garvin's gunhands had all left. No one had seen him in town or leaving to go anyplace. Slocum was convinced he'd try a shoot-out with the posse and bring on his own death. But good folks could get hurt that way. Maybe some killed. Slocum didn't know any solution to the matter.

 * * * 

After midnight Friday, Jon and Slocum saddled up and rode cross-country to join the many others. This time each man had a rifle on his knee; before only a few had done that. They were armed for bear. They rode in silence off the rise and began to form another big half circle.

At the warning rifle shot, a man in a white shirt, unarmed, came out of the house and held up his hands. “Hold your fire, men. It's me, the sheriff. Horace Garvin hung himself last night. I came up here to check on things. I understand your concerns. Let's not let this happen again. I want law and order here. If you had reported some of the worst of these incidents I have been hearing about here at the last, I could've shut this whole thing down a long time ago, but you didn't tell me there was this kind of violence, with women raped, and . . . Let's make this a better place to live. Now, go home and hug your families. Oh yes, and thank Jon Russell and John Clark for starting this by breaking this thing and arresting the rustlers.”

A cheer went up, and after shaking several hands, they rode home.

Glenna met Slocum and Jon and had lunch ready. “What now, big man?”

“Catch my mule. Load him up and head south, I guess.”

“No bribing you to stay the winter?” She was holding his arm tight as they headed for the house.

“I'd love to do that, but I have an itching tells me I have been here too long.”

“Then I guess we better pack you up to leave.”

Jon stopped them. “Hold everything. I hate tears and gnashing teeth. I am going over and see Carter and Helen for a few days and leave you two to have your time together.”

“Hey you don't have to go—” But Slocum couldn't stop him.

“Yeah, I do.” With that he headed for the pen to get a horse saddled and wouldn't even stop for lunch.

“I hated to run him off,” Slocum said privately to her.

“No problem. He knows how I feel about you. He's just being Jon. Jon's girlfriend died before they got married. No one has spun him around since that happened. Someday he'll find one.”

“Maybe he's like you—hard to please.”

“Maybe worse. If you ever get shed of this wanted business, come back to Nebraska.”

“Thanks. I will consider it.”

“I didn't expect you back this time and you've spoiled me.”

“Me too.”

 * * * 

He left two days later. Leading the mule and riding a stout bay horse. He wandered south by southeast. Five days after parting with Glenna, he was in York, Nebraska, headed south, when he saw a red-and-yellow painted wagon, marked
WATER AND TREASURE WITCHING
. Under that was this announcement:
WE CAN FIND YOUR NEXT WATER WELL OR LOST JEWELRY—MURTY MCBRIDE
.

He stood in the stirrups and rode hard until he was beside her as she drove her spirited horses.

“Hey, is that you?” she screeched and fell back to halt her horses. “That you under all that fuzzy face? Gods, man. Am I ever glad to see you alive. Why, there's been three bodies turned in as yours.” Then she put her hand over her mouth. “I better quit shouting.”

She finally sawed down her team to a stop. He dropped out of the saddle and stretched the pants out of his crotch. Then she came running into his arms.

“What about the house in Iowa?” he asked with her in his arms.

“Oh, hell, I'd have been bored to death. I can find water wells and jewelry lost. Plus it's lots of fun—folks really think I am,” she wrinkled her nose, “a witch, and that gives me lots of power. I am going to a man's place today and find him where to drill for water. Go with me.”

“I'm John Clark these days. Did you get all your money?”

“Did I ever. I have it so if I die my niece in Iowa is to get it or what is left. Right now I make ten dollars for finding a good well. And I average at least two to three wells a week. You need some money?”

“No, I'm fine right now.”

“Come along with me today and we can have some fun after I find his well.”

“Let me tie my stock on back. Where is this place?”

“There is a store out here, and he lives two miles west of there. John Jeffers is his name.”

“Fine.”

“Where have you been?”

“Oh, I took a herd of cattle from Wyoming to Montana.”

“And you are back already?”

“Yes. I want to be in south Texas by the time the snow flies.”

“Sounds like you will make it. I could witch wells down there, couldn't I?”

“You bet.” His horse and mule tied to the wagon's back gate, he used his hand to boost her firm ass back up onto the wagon. She was still wearing her short dress trimmed in lace that he remembered buying for her.

They were traveling along at a good clip over the rolling prairie when the store came in sight.

“Stop,” he said to her as a man on horseback out in front of the store drew his six-gun to shoot at them.

His gun blast scattered the empty-saddled horses the man was holding. Murty reined her horses out into the prairie to get out of range. Slocum, gun in his fist, jumped down and ran toward the shooter, who, in the confusion, was wound up in panicked horses. Slocum paused to take a planned shot. His bullet struck the shooter and he pitched off his horse.

As Slocum expected, more robbers came out of the store looking for him. A blaze of bullets filled the air as he dropped onto his belly and returned fire. He was under a small rise as he reloaded his six-gun, which gave him some protection. There were four other hard cases wanting to reach their scattered horses. It was everyone for his own self. One man, while on the run, was reloading his handgun. Slocum shot him in the leg.

Another man on the store porch issuing orders was silenced by a .44/40 rifle shot that Murty delivered from her wagon. Then a bareheaded man came out of the store with a shotgun. His head was bleeding, but the charge from his shotgun downed another.

Slocum was on his feet, chasing the last robber trying desperately to get on his spooked horse. When the outlaw found his stirrup to swing over, a rifle shot stopped him and he fell off. The fight was over.

Slocum saw Murty coming on the run, her bare legs showing as she ran packing the smoking rifle.

Out of breath, she asked him, “Why is that man bleeding?”

“I guess he was beaten by these would-be robbers.”

“Are you all right?” she asked the shaken store man.

“Yes, now that you two have cut down these robbers.”

“Well, you sure are bleeding. Slo—Clark can handle them now. Go inside and we will stitch and bandage you up some.”

“Oh, you don't need to fuss over me, ma'am.”

She caught his arm. “My name is Murty. Not ma'am. You may need stitches. Get inside. You have a wife?”

“No ma'am. I mean Murty.”

“There ain't a doctor out here?”

“No. I'll be fine.”

“My stitches may not look pretty, but that bad cut will be closed. Who were those men?”

“Some drifters, I guess.” She took him inside while Slocum disarmed the wounded men and moved them closer so they could be together for him to watch them better. The man shot in the back by the storekeeper was dead.

A few farm people drove up and asked what had happened. Then they went to gather the outlaws' horses and move the dead man.

“The sheriff know about this?” one of them asked.

“It just happened,” Slocum said. “We drove up and the lookout shot at her and me.”

“How is Erwin?”

“Oh, Murty is in there stitching his head where they must have beat him with a pistol.”

“He all right?”

“I think he will be fine.”

“Can we take one of those horses and go get the sheriff?”

“My boy can ride one. He'll get the law out here,” another said.

“Fine, take one,” Slocum said to the second man. “Some of you watch them. I'll go check on Erwin.”

They agreed as yet more came and the word spread. Slocum went inside and found Murty finishing up her work on the man's forehead.