Slocum #395 : Slocum and the Trail to Yellowstone (9781101553640) (22 page)

“Don't worry about it. Those criminals are in jail, and things are as you wanted.”

 

Two weeks later, Slocum met the Grande Hacienda men at the Rio Grande and they drove the five hundred steers to San Antonio. Tall-framed longhorn steers, the ones that brought the highest price on the Kansas market. It was a slow drive and took a week. They used a squeeze chute to brand them on a place west of the Alamo. Sobell had leased it as a setup to gather the rest of his herd for the drive north. Slocum thanked each of the vaqueros and paid them twenty dollars apiece as a bonus for bringing them up there. They all smiled and took off their sombreros to thank him. Silvia had come out from San Antonio to join him and oversee it all.

He rode over and stepped off the cow pony they had brought from Mexico for him to ride on the drive, one of three super animals Raúl had sent as a gift to his amigo Slocum.

“Your father spoils me as much as he does you,” he said, nodding to the gray horse.

She smiled, then stepped off the buggy and ran over to kiss him. “You are his favorite one.”

“I like him.”

“I like you, hombre.” She shook her head. “It took you forever to get those pokey cattle up here.”

“You can't run them to death.”

With her shoulder, she wormed her way under his arm and drove a boob into his side as she hugged him. “You know how long you've been gone?”

“Too long.” He waved Sobell over. “Put my horse up for me. I've got things to see about.”

His partner rode over and took off his hat for her. “How are you doing, Silvia?”

“Fine. I'm glad he's back.” Her face beamed as she swung on his arm.

Slocum handed him the reins to the gray. “Thanks, I'm going to call it a day. Think you can get them to Kansas?”

“Hey, they look stout to me. I hope the others that they're bringing in to go with them are that good.”

Slocum helped Silvia onto the buggy. “I'll come out and look things over.”

“They'll be here Friday, they told me.”

“I'll be back here and help get them road branded,” Slocum said, settling onto the seat and taking up the reins to Silvia's buggy horse.

“You two don't get into any trouble,” Sobell said with a knowing grin and waved them on. “I like your new horses, hombre,” he shouted as Slocum turned the buggy around and headed out.

Slocum waved that he'd heard him and winked at Silvia beside him. “He knows good horses too.”

Possessively, she hugged his arm tighter as they headed for San Antonio. They ate supper at a nice restaurant, then took the rig to the livery and had the swamper care for the horse. Then, to the strum of guitars, they came up the street listening to the dancers' music and some girl singing a Mexican folk song. Silvia made him stop and hugged him.

“This is romantic,” she said. With her head leaning on his chest and his arms holding her, they stood back in the shadows. The swivel of the dancers, like willows in a soft wind, made him glad to be there.

“Let's go to our room. I am jealous and think maybe some of these pretty girls would steal you away from me.”

He laughed. “Not tonight.”

“Oh, you never know.”

Once in the hotel room, raw passion swept them away, and he forgot the cold nights sleeping on the ground alone without her smooth skin against his own, and she shared her muscular body, which carried him to new heights of pure fire. The scent of her filled his senses, and the entire process erased all the rest of his thoughts. Sleep became a peaceful suspension of time and he awoke early. Realizing her warm body was curled into him, he eased his way out from under the covers, leaving her to sleep, and dressed in the shadowy room.

He went to the restaurant and sipped on strong coffee on the patio as the small birds awoke. The night clerk brought him a letter. It had come from Cheyenne, from Crane's saddle shop, and contained a note from Wilma.

More people wanting his hide. There would always be someone who might drop his name, or a drunk in a bar would mumble, “I know him. He was down at San Antonio this past winter.”

It was early in the year to be having to head out from his winter nest, but he needed to leave no tracks. No place was sacred enough to hide from bounty hunters. He had enough of his share of the reward money left to be comfortable. His kitten upstairs in the bed would miss him, but she was fickle enough to find another before midnight. Sobell could bank Slocum's money in Kansas. He'd open an account up there at the Kansas railhead with instructions to pay Silvia's father his part. He closed his eyes. In two days he would be moving again.

He penciled a note to Wilma, thanking her for the warning and congratulating her on her future matrimony. Sent it to Mrs. Wilma Houston, General Delivery, Ten Sleep, Wyoming Territory.

 

He laid his plans to ride away. When he gave the news of his leaving to his spoiled hacienda owner's daughter, her response was as he expected—near hysterics. But she too would be all right. She loved San Antonio and the bright lights of a bigger place much more than the border town where he'd found her. With her looks and skills, she wouldn't sleep alone for very many nights.

On the third day, he rode the gray horse north in the darkness before dawn. He wore two shirts and his jumper, but the cold wind tried to chase him back to the Alamo Plaza. Instead, he kept riding on. He spent a few days in Fort Worth in the stockyard district, hoping the weather would warm, but March was not a promise keeper that winter was over.

Twice in Fort Worth, he saw Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, dressed in tailored clothing and bowler hats. Once in a card game in the White Elephant Saloon's smoky atmosphere and the other time on a street corner with two well-dressed ladies of society in tow. They never acted like they recognized him.

He left Cowtown and stayed with an old friend near Denison. Hugh Barton and he had been together for a while right after the war. Barton found a sweet woman named Lisa and they had a passel of kids, and he farmed up there. They always made him welcome. The two adults with their five small children were cheerful company and the potbellied stove warm enough for him to linger a few days.

Slocum left thirty dollars in the Bartons' sugar bowl and rode on. It would be a long time till the cotton and corn harvest. The Indian Territory began north of the Red River Ferry. He went past the sign on the north bank that prohibited any alcohol being brought into the Indian Territory, with a stern warning that violators would be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law by Judge Isaac Parker's Federal Court in Fort Smith, Arkansas.

The loss of a few days never bothered him, winding his way through the rolling hills going north. In the midst of an afternoon thunderstorm, he met an Indian woman. She was close to his age and straight-backed with premature gray streaking her long hair, which only added to her distinction and beauty. Even with a trade blanket for a shawl, there was nothing downcast about her. Mary Rose, she told him was her name, though she mostly went by just Rose.

They met casually when he took shelter from the downpour at a crossroads store's barn where they put up travelers. Rain had driven him and the gray horse he'd named Ghost to the shelter. She was already there when he dismounted at the doorway and led Ghost inside.

“Is this the place we can stay?” he asked the straight-backed woman standing in the shadows.

“Yes, this is his hotel.” She about laughed at her own words. Amused anyway, and her smile looked inviting.

“Beats that rain out there.” He turned an ear to more thunder in the distance. The patter of heavy drops on the cedar shingles came in waves overhead. He took his clammy slicker off, hung it on the saddle horn, and stopped to converse with this handsome woman.

“You have your family here?” He looked around.

“No, my family died last fall. Diphtheria took them.”

“How sad you must be. Sorry I asked. Are you traveling alone?”

“Yes, there is a stomp. I decided I needed to go there.”

“Good idea.”

“Are you on a purpose?”

“Purpose?” He undid the cinch on the far side of his horse, straightened, and shook his head at her. “Nothing is pressing me.”

“Maybe you would like to go to the event?”

“Would a white man be welcome?”

She shook her head, amused. “Sure. We aren't cannibals.”

He chuckled and swung the saddle off his horse. “Good. I'll think about it.”

The saddle on a rack, he led Ghost to one of the empty stalls. There was hay for him, and the pen looked secure. Slocum slid the bars in place and went back to Rose and the saddle. Undoing the bedroll, he asked her if she'd eaten anything.

“I'm fine.”

“Well, would you eat some jerky?” He looked at her for a reply. “It's super good if you're hungry.”

“I would chew on some,” she said and stepped over to accept a bit of it he took out of a cloth bag.

He looked around. “Guess we can't make coffee in here.”

She shook her head. “There are bunks in the back.”

“Good.” He shouldered his bedroll. “Lead the way.”

There was a room he figured had once been a tack room. She pointed to a lantern and he dropped the bedroll, chewing on the peppery jerky. He lit a match and struck the wick. With the globe lowered, the lamp began to shed some light, and he hung it on the hook from the ceiling.

She nodded her approval. He sat down on the bench a small distance from her. “Where is the stomp being held?”

“On Sheephead Creek at a schoolhouse.”

He didn't know the location. “Is that far away?”

“No. Maybe a four-hour ride.”

“It starts tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow night.”

He nodded that he heard her. “You're sure I won't get scalped?”

“Yes. No one will bother you. You will be my guest.”

“I'd like to see it.”

“Good, we can go up there in the morning.”

“This rain passes, it will be cold again.” He figured by dawn it would be down in the forties.

She agreed. “I am ready to sleep.”

“Sure.” He rolled out his bedroll on the floor, staying away from a few drips from above. She used one of the rough-made mattressless bunks to make her bed, and he blew out the lamp.

The storm grew greater in the night and woke him twice. Satisfied the barn was secure, he went back to sleep. They both woke in the predawn.

“There will be coffee up at the store,” she told him, straightening her long skirt and blouse. Then she folded up her blankets.

“Good, I'm buying.”

“I wasn't looking for an invitation.”

“You invited me to the stomp.”

“All right, I accept.”

He saddled Ghost, tied on his bedroll, then helped her saddle her calico horse. The tricolor mare was tall for an Indian horse and it suited her, he decided. With his hands clasped for a stirrup, she stepped in and he tossed her into the saddle. Seated quickly, she thanked him. He swung onto Ghost, and they rode toward the store. Dismounting, they went inside, and the storekeeper's Indian wife greeted them. She had coffee and oatmeal for sale for twenty cents. He ordered two of each, after getting a head nod from Rose.

They ate their cereal near the warm woodstove, and the woman brought them coffee refills. She spoke to Rose about her going to the stomp. They conversed in English so Slocum understood most of the conversation. Obviously the storekeeper's wife wanted to attend but there was no way.

After the meal, they headed northwest on the narrow wagon tracks that wandered over some post oak–clad hills, and if they met someone coming back, they got off the road for them. By noon, they were at the schoolhouse grounds, and many families were camped all around the large meadow and even up in the woods.

“I know a woman who will sell us some food.” Rose directed him and led the way through the camps. He felt several dark eyes following him, but nothing more hostile than gazes. The sun finally had warmed enough that they'd both stopped using blankets to keep warm.

“My sister, Renny,” she said of the woman who came out of a sun-faded tent. The smile on the woman's face was one of welcome to both of them.

“I want you to meet Slocum,” Rose said, dismounting. “He comes to see a stomp.”

Renny shook his hand. She was perhaps a little taken aback by this white man accompanying her sister, but she recovered, offering them stew for lunch.

“We will eat with you,” Rose said and waved for him to join her.

“Where do you live?” Renny asked, dipping out her rich-looking soup into bowls for them.

“I guess wherever I wear my hat.” He thanked her for the steaming bowl and spoon.

Rose turned and smiled. “He's a cattle trader.”

“Oh,” Renny said. “Do you have a herd going to Kansas?”

“Yes, but a friend is taking it up there for me this year.”

Renny looked impressed with him, and he could see she wanted to learn more about him and what he was to her sister, but didn't dare ask. Rose saved her. “He is just a friend who I met on the road.”