Slocum and the Diamond City Affair (9781101612118) (14 page)

“I came to shake your hand,
mi amigo
. My name is Diego. I have no money to pay you, but if I can ever help you, call on me.”

“Gracias.”
Slocum felt comforted by the sincere person. Others soon came forth to line up, the women to kiss him on the cheek, the men to shake his hand.

“They are giving you the key to their city,” Teresa said in a soft voice.

“What will it open?” he asked her aside.

“Oh, my jacal, I guess.”

“Good enough.”

She nodded toward the cantina. “The men want to buy you a beer over at the cantina.”

“That would be nice.”

She shoved her flat hand against his muscle-corded belly and shook her head at him. “I will be in my hammock when you can get away from them.”

“Keep your fire hot. I won't stay long, darling.”

She blushed and pushed him to go across the square. “Make sure it is my bed that you find later.”

He nodded that he heard her request and strode off to the saloon, stopping several times to hear some words of gratitude from the villagers. Inside the saloon, a shout went up when he appeared. They all smiled, and more men moved in to get a chance to shake his hand. Someone brought him a beer. He thanked them and told them he was only there to help them run off the bad ones.

After a short while of listening to their problems with the wild bunch, he agreed they needed more protection and thanked them for the beer. Out under the stars, he crossed the square and reached the small, dark street that led behind the storefronts.

“Señor?” a woman's voice called to him.

“Sí?”

“Why do you bed that
bruja
? There are several nice women who would welcome you to their bed.”

He tipped his hat. “
Gracias
, but do not worry about me.”

“I will worry about your sanity too, señor. I will burn candles to save your life. You are in deep trouble going to her.”

He went on, not seeing Teresa's accuser. She was mumbling Hail Marys for him and he smiled to himself as he went on. At Teresa's place, he stopped in the shadows and waited in case he was being followed. No one came.

In the backyard by the hammock, he began to undress. She awoke and stretched her arms. “You did not stay long?”

“I was anxious to get back to you.”

She sat up and fluffed her hair. “Mmm, that sounds good.”

Undressed, he eased himself onto the swinging bed. In seconds, her warm skin and tempting body were against his wind-chilled form. Under the thick, woven, cotton blanket they snuggled, and the temperature began to rise between the two of them.

His quickly rising erection slipped into the entry of her vagina as she kissed him wildly. A quick notion pricked him:
Why did they think she was a witch
?

17

The next morning, he awoke to a fighting cock's bragging that the sun was coming up. Careful not to dump a sleeping Teresa out on the ground, he eased out of the hammock. He needed to get on with his search for Valdez. Dressed, he studied the scratching game birds taking apart the horse turds, looking for undigested grain in them. The lead male was crowing, then scratching and searching among his brown-colored females for something edible. Tough animals to even survive in such a harsh land. Common breeds of birds would have died by this time.

Teresa tackled his waist, then raised her face and tossed her hair back for him to kiss her. “What will we do today?”

“I must go look for Valdez.”

“Will you come back to me?”

“If I can. There is another of these outlaws who is hiding behind Old Man Clanton's skirts who needs to be taken care of as well as Valdez.”

“I will look for you to ride back. Come with me. We will have some breakfast and coffee before you leave. Mia is cooking in the square.”

“I'll saddle my horse and join you there.”

“No, Ronaldo can saddle him. I want you with me—to show off. Wait here one minute. I will go get my son to saddle that fine horse.”

Maybe he would have time to quiz her about her powers? Soon she returned and snuggled close to his waist.

“Ronaldo will have your horse ready when we are through with breakfast.” So she guided him to the square, where the woman Mia cooked food and fresh tortillas.

Teresa ordered their food and then poured two tin cups of coffee for them.

Slocum gave her the money to pay the woman for their food. Teresa frowned at the coins he gave her. “Too much, hombre.”

“No, she can use it.”

With an “oh well” shrug, she went over to hand Mia the money. Mia dumped the coins in between her cleavage and turned to grin at him. “
Gracias
, señor.”

An hour later, he kissed Teresa good-bye and left the village. Several residents told him how to find Valdez, but they all told him to watch out, that he and his compadres were mean, tough men with no hearts for anyone. Slocum rode southwest into an unfamiliar desert country that he felt was as tough as the outlaw residents.

The tall cactus was more like tall tubes than the Arizona saguaros with their balanced arms. Great beds of pad cactus caused him to detour as he followed the game trails rather than a road the outlaws might use. He wanted to simply scout around the region and learn all he could about the man he sought.

Midday, he found a windmill, a tank, and a squaw shade with some brush corrals. A short, pregnant young woman came out carrying a baby and asked what he was looking for.

“A drink for my horse and myself.”

“The water is there. You are far from the roads, señor. Who do you look for?”

“Maybe I wish to be away from the roads.” He dropped from the saddle, removed his hat, and wiped the perspiration on his sleeve.

“When did you eat last?” she asked with concern written on her face.

“This morning.”

“When you get through with the water, come to my shade. I can fix you some food.” She waited for his reply.

“Thank you. I can pay you.”

She paused, hoisted the baby up. “If you can, that is fine.”

He watered the horse and drank from the pipe. The water had a salty flavor. Then he tread the soft, sandy ground under his boots on his way to hitch his horse on the smooth, worn wooden rack. His hat off, he ducked to go under the edge of a palm frond roof and straightened once he was in her house.

She rose up and smiled at him, filling a plate with some long-cooked brown beans. She put two folded tortillas on top of them and then told him to sit on a blanket. With the plate put in his hands, she gathered her skirt to sit down close beside him.

“Do you have a woman somewhere?” she asked.

He thanked her for the meal and said, “No wife.”

“You are not a Mexican, yet you still dress like one.”

He glanced up and smiled at her. “Maybe I'm a ghost?”

“No.” She shook her head, amused at his words. “You are too much a real hombre to be a ghost. They are like smoke. You are too
grande
to be one of them.” She laughed at his answer.

“Maybe I am the spirit Kokopelli that the Indians speak of?”

“You may be him all right.” She giggled. “But you are a big one if you are him. What is your name?”

“Slocum. What is yours?”

“Lucia. Slow-cum?” She drew his name out. “Does it mean anything?”

“Does Lucia mean anything?” He used a piece of a tortilla to dip out his beans. They tasted better than he'd expected.

“It means I get lonely out here.” She dropped her gaze to her belly, which showed her condition.

“Where is the baby's father?”

“He needed money and went to Arizona to find some work.”

“You have no one to help you here?”

She squinted her eyes, looking away, and shook her head. “He promised to be back before I go into labor.”

“Is there no one close by to help you?”

She wrinkled her nose. “I will be fine. I guess I am—how do you say?—lonely.”

“It gets where it's good to talk to someone after a while, doesn't it?” He nodded, emphasizing his words. Company was a rewarding thing after being alone for an extended while.

“I figured you'd know what bothers me the most.”

“Not having someone to hold you?” he asked.

“Ah,
sí
.” She scooted a little closer to him on the blanket.

“I am looking for a man called Valdez who rides in this country.”

“I don't know him. Is he a good man?”

“No.”

“Why do you want him then?”

“He raped a young woman in the mountains. He's a cruel man.”

She put both her hands on his shoulder and pushed down some on him. “Am I too ugly to—”

“To make love to? No.”

“Good, then I will undress for you, if you will not make fun of me.”

“I would never do that to you.” He twisted to watch her stand up and untie the strings on her skirt waist. She shed the bottom of her clothing and exposed light brown legs and her small butt. Then she shed the blouse over her head. Her small, full breasts were capped by brown nipples and appeared to be full of milk for the little one asleep in the crib.

Finished with undressing, she pulled on his arm to get him to get up and go with her. He followed her to where she must have slept on a pallet. With trembling hands, she tried to undo his gun belt. He moved to assist her when the heavy holster was at last in her hands.

They both stopped when they heard the sounds: Horses were coming. She swept up her clothing and hastily began to dress. “Who is it?”

His gun belt around his waist again, he shook his head, adjusting it. “I'll go see.”

He rushed out and saw three riders coming through the desert brush. He holstered his Colt, jerked the rifle out of its scabbard, and headed for some higher ground. He ran straight through some low cactus pads, the plants penetrating his right foot through his boots, but he saw the puffs of the men's pistol shots. Valdez must have found him, intent on revenge for the shootings last night. He shouldered the rifle, took aim, and shot the rider on the right off his horse. He smoothly reloaded the rifle with the lever action and swung the sight to the left. Then, with deliberate aim, he slammed a bullet in the second rider's horse in the center, and the horse went down, its rider tumbling out of the saddle. The target proved hard to catch, which was why he chose the animal. The rider disappeared into a dry wash and out of sight.

No telling how badly the one thrown off the horse was hurt, but he'd scrambled after his buddy into the wash. The cactus spines in Slocum's right boot hurt as he headed back to his horse for more bullets. The limp slowed him down.

“Who is it?” Lucia asked, huddling with the baby in her arms.

“I think it is Valdez. I got one of them.” He put the pistol bullets from his saddlebags in his pants pockets, reloaded the rifle, and looked around for any sight of them. “You need to get behind a wall.”

“There are some old ruins over there.” She pointed to them.

“Go to them. Take some water and something to shade you and the baby.”

She nodded and went back under the palm roof. He considered using the horse to go find them, but decided against it—he couldn't afford for them to shoot his horse out from under him as he'd done to one of them. With the foot hurting him more, he hobbled to the west of the squaw shade to try to find the location of the two outlaws still alive.

Two shots came at him from the chaparral. He saw the puffs of gun smoke, but he never saw the shooters, and the gray clouds soon drifted from the source on the hot wind. They were too far away for pistols to be effective. Then he saw them riding double, trying to get away. There was only time for one shot; aiming his rifle, he took the horse out. The bay went down, spilling both riders, but Slocum knew they were too far away for him to catch. They could reach cover before he could close in on them.

The pain in his foot forced him to turn back. The woman and baby needed to be guarded. He limped back to the squaw shade and she waved for him to join her in the ruins.

“You get them?” she asked when he got to her.

“Not all of them, just one. Two more got away.”

“Too hot down there.” She handed him a goatskin water bag.

He nodded to her in gratitude. He removed the cork and took a drink. It was wet; that was the best he could say about the contents. Nothing to cool his mouth, but simply wet it.

“They still out there?” she asked.

“Yes. I shot their horses.”

“Then they will come when it is dark to try to get yours.”

“If they're still alive.”

“Don't you feel that cactus in your boot?” She frowned at him over her discovery.

“It hurts, but I haven't had any time to deal with it.”

“I will need to find some sticks to get it off. You sit down.”

“Yes, ma'am.” He dropped his butt to the blanket rug, set the rifle down beside him, and waited for her to select some sticks from her cooking fuel and return.

On her knees before him, she used the sticks to squeeze the ball of needles and ripped the thing away. He flinched at the pain, but she ignored him and took the ball to her ashes to burn it. Then she hurried back and carefully pulled his boot off. That hurt too.

She began to pull the obvious spines out of the leather. Each one had a tiny barb on the end, so they didn't come out easily. After that she felt inside and removed some more sticking in the sole.

“Take off your sock,” she said, looking at him in concern, and waited for him to ease away the sticker-filled stocking. When it was off, she worked on getting the spines out of his sore foot. He winced every time she removed one, and also as she tried to clean the sock of them. There must be a million in the sock, he decided. She was working on the others in his tender bare foot. Sweat ran out from under his hatband, and he wiped it off on his sleeve.

“This is damn tough work,” he mumbled.

With a toss of her hair, she shook her head. “They can poison you. I am getting all of them that I can. Some we will break off, and when they fester, we can use a needle on them.”

“Oh, good,” he said, imagining that. More sharp pain. “I need to look around. Those men may be sneaking up on us.” She agreed. He picked up his rifle and went to the edge of the ruins on one bare foot.

He had to get down on his knees to see out around the edge, and he looked all around, watching for any sign—nothing. His bare foot felt numb. Getting up and down and going over the rough ground was a pain-filled torture.

She guided him back, then made him lie down. “When will they try for us?”

“Sundown, and they'll come from the west.”

“Why from the west?”

“So the sun will be in our eyes.”

“Sí.”
She made a concerned face at him, then the baby cried and she scrambled to go see about him.

He worked on his foot some more. The spines scratched his fingertips as he tried to pull them out. For the rest, he'd have to wait until they festered like she said. His boot without the sock might be better, since the material of the sock was embedded with them. He used his hand to search inside the boot. He found more spines, and with her small fingers, she extracted them.

She fed him some beans and the baby some mashed ones. The boot back on his foot felt funny without a sock, but he gritted his teeth against the pain of what felt like a thousand
spines still in his skin down there. He scouted around, watered his horse, unsaddled him, and put him in a corral. There was the bait—the good horse.

With no idea how hurt those two were from getting unseated from their horses, he knew good and well they weren't going to leave on foot when he had a horse. He felt they were watching him from some secure place. Good. He'd meet them head-on.

The day took forever to fall off somewhere into the distant Gulf of California. Watching the bleeding western sky, he lay on his belly with his rifle in his hand. The squaw shade was on a high point, and anyone approaching it had no cover for three hundred feet. That made it more defensible.

Lucia came over and lay down beside him on her side. The baby was asleep. “Any sign of them?”

He shook his head.

She fingered something like a small leather string and did not look at him. “I know you have been busy with those two bastards. You have not forgotten about me?”

“No, but we better hold off on that until I settle with them.”

“Oh, I understand. I didn't want you to leave until—well, you know.”

“You have been lonely, haven't you?”

Tears ran down her face in the last of twilight. “You don't know how good it felt to have someone to talk to.”