Slocum and the Diamond City Affair (9781101612118) (3 page)

“When Rosa gets back we can find us a place down on the river and roll out our bedrolls. I'm going to take a bath.”

O'Riley looked dismayed at him. “Bathe in a small river?”

“It's free and I'll feel better when I get done.”

They went out and sat on a small log bench to wait for Rosa's return. At least O'Riley didn't complain any more that evening. In an hour or so, she returned.

“I talked to a woman,” Rosa said, “who thinks that Ike Clanton or his brother Billy met some man who brought the horses to Benson and he did business here with them. She said it seemed like it was set up in advance—like Ike knew the man would be bringing the horses.”

“After that did she think Ike or one of their gang took those two horses to Mexico?”

“What does that mean?” the sleepy O'Riley asked, pushing his unruly hair back from his face with his palm and sounding half asleep.

“It means some tough gang of border outlaws stole your horses.” Slocum hugged Rosa and kissed her. “You did great, darling.”

“Yeah, yeah,” O'Riley said. “I'm so damn tired I could sleep out in that damn street.”

“Mount up. We're going to find a camp.”

“Hell, I'll fall out of the saddle, I'm so sleepy.”

“Come on,” Slocum insisted, about to lose his temper at the dummy again. They had more problems than being sleepy if Ike Clanton had those horses. The Clantons had a damn fortress across the border where the gang hung out. Slocum had dealt with Ike, and the old man as well, a couple of times before. They weren't ordinary outlaws. They were established ones who used the border, and Old Man Clanton had all the government contracts to sell beef to the army and the Indian reservations—and most of that beef had been stolen in Mexico. The people below the border feared these outlaws as much as the widespread ranchers on the Arizona side did.

Someone had named them the Cowboys—with a capital C. When the Clantons weren't raiding ranches, they were robbing stages. Several of the Clanton gang, the old man included, had death warrants for several thousand dollars on their heads from the banking firms to be paid upon their deaths. They were the certain rulers of the border country.

“Who is Ike Clanton?” O'Riley asked as they approached the swishing sound of the river in the night. The San Pedro was never a big nor a deep river, but it ran good from the big springs upstream. Below Benson, a colony of Mormon settlers had irrigated quite a bit of land around St. David using the river and some artesian wells.

Slocum and his crew found a place to camp along the river, watered the horses and Rosa's burro, and hobbled them. They all had some jerky and feasted on the hard, dry, smoky-tasting meat, then Slocum took Rosa and his bedroll fifty yards upstream. He kicked branches and rocks away from a patch of sandy soil with the sides of his boots, then she unloaded the bedroll and straightened it out.

“I never asked if you were mad that I followed you,” she said, undressing in the starlight.

“Did you think I was mad?”

“I hoped not, but I had fun with you last night and I said to myself, ‘Rosa, he needs you for something.'” Slocum swept her up and closed his mouth over hers. Before his lips met hers, he saw the flicker of mischievous mirth in her dark eyes.

Her hard, small breasts felt good against his bare chest and her mouth opened as she surrendered to him. They were soon on top of the bedroll and his erection was poking her leg as he ran his finger around the rim of her cunt, and she raised her butt for his dick's attention. Her breath started coming in short gasps when he climbed on top of her and his hard-on slipped inside and through her muscled ring. As he began to pound her ass, her contractions added to the pleasure that lay between her silky legs.

Ah, Rosa was exactly what he needed. Exactly—and he was savoring his efforts to extract as much pleasure as he could possibly receive from her. He felt as heady as a soaring eagle as he moved over her, and each pistonlike plunge only renewed his desire for more and more of her body. Her heels beat a tattoo on the backs of his legs as they kept going and going. Then, when those two hot needles shot into the cheek muscles of his ass, he knew he needed to bury his dick in her up to the hilt and he exploded inside her vagina.

She fainted and he rose off her to curl around her from behind, throw his arm over her, and cup her right breast. He quickly fell asleep, and it was morning before the call of nature got him up and he went to the bushes at the edge of the small beach to empty his bladder.

Cool morning air swept his bare skin, and some topknot quail whit-wooed off in the chaparral. The relief of venting himself was a good one, and as he turned back, he heard Rosa rattle a coffeepot. She had started a small fire of dry sticks and squatted naked as Eve in the pink cast of light coming up over the Chiricahuas.

“What will we do today?” she asked.

“Go to Tombstone and see if we can find the racehorses or where Clanton's bunch took them.”

“Will they be there?”

Slocum shook his head. He had no idea. Then he went to fill the coffeepot from the river. When he came back, she scolded him. “I could do that.”

“You better get dressed. Screwball will be awake soon, and I don't want him gazing at your fine backside with hot desire.”

She chuckled and rose to kiss him. Then she swept up her skirt and put it on. Her breasts fluttered when she wiggled into the blouse and concealed them.

“Is that better?”

“No, but better on account of him.” He laughed.

She gave him a small push and chuckled at his words.

Breakfast was coffee and soda crackers. Slocum could tell that O'Riley did not like the menu, but it was all they had. It was still a good ride to Tombstone, but they could eat something more substantial when they got there later on in the day.

At about three in the afternoon they arrived in the sprawling mining camp on the mesa and dismounted at the hitch rail before a hole-in-the-wall café. The man who waited on them was dressed like a miner with hair covering his arms and more trying to crawl out from under his unbuttoned shirt collar. “What can I get you three?”

“What's on the menu?” Slocum asked.

“Thirty cents buys the daily special: beef stew and sourdough biscuits plus coffee. All you can eat.”

The threesome nodded their heads, and the man shouted to someone in back, “Three stew orders,” then went for their coffee.

The food's aroma was compellingly good and the first bite of stew filled Slocum's mouth with saliva. Much better than soda crackers. He finally picked up his coffee cup when he was halfway through the first bowl of stew and savored the brew. Not bad.

This midafternoon, the café had no other customers, and the waiter-owner struck up a conversation. “You all new in Tombstone?”

They allowed as they were.

“Well, we ain't had a knifing, killing, or dog shooting in five days and counting.”

“Sounds peaceful enough.”

“Wait till tonight. You'll think this is the Fourth of July. Well, Marshal White may keep it down, but when these Cowboys, as they call themselves, come to town, all hell will break loose.”

“Thanks for the information,” Slocum said. “We're looking for a couple of stolen horses.”

“That can get you killed too, if the gang's got them.”

O'Riley started to say something and Slocum cut him off. No need to advertise that they were there.

The man lowered his voice. “If I can help, let me know. I hate them bastards. My name's Cox, Hamby Cox.”

Slocum gave him a head toss for him to come closer. “You ain't seen a fancy stud horse and brood mare come though here in the last few days?”

The man shook his head. “But you come back. Next time maybe I can tell you who has them horses. I've got some good contacts.”

With a nod of approval, Slocum said, “We'll make it worth your time.”

O'Riley nodded and looked as serious as he ever had since Slocum had met him back in Diamond City. He also paid for their meals, and they went out, mounted their horses, and rode out of town, heading for a ranch owned by a man Slocum knew.

Jim Davis had a place between Tombstone and Fort Huachuca. When they reached the ranch gate, Slocum dismounted and opened it. He'd called it a Texas gate: juniper sticks and a wire loop on the main post and a pry handle to put it back. Mounted again, he led off, following two wagon tracks through the stirrup-high dry grass.

“What's this friend of yours do?” O'Riley asked, looking over the flat country toward the Huachuca Mountains.

“Runs some cattle. He's a good man.”

They passed a windmill churning up and spilling water out of a rusty pipe into a large homemade rock-and-mortar tank. Some topknot quail scurried across the wagon tracks and went into the bunch of grass on the opposite side of the road.

An adobe jacal sat under a few small cottonwood trees beside some pole corrals. A bowlegged man came out on the palm-frond-shaded porch and rolled himself a quirley. When he lighted it, the wind soon swept away the smoke and he studied them, finally nodding with recognition.

He tipped his well-worn felt hat at Rosa. “By God, where've you been, Slocum?”

“Over in hell checking on my friends. Jim, this is Casey O'Riley and that's Rosa.”

“Well, by God, girl, you're riding with a tough bunch, ain't you?” Davis said to her.

His words brought a small smile to her mouth, and she aimed it at him. “No, they are good hombres, señor.”

“You can call me Jim.”

She agreed and jumped off her burro. “How can I help you, Señor Jim?”

“Come inside my casa,” he said, offering her his arm. “We'll make them hombres some fresh coffee. You two put them ponies in the corral. Where do you hail from, Rosa?”

She laughed at the big flirt. “A small village in Sonora.”

“I've been down there many times. What village?”

“Los Nigra.”

“Why, I've been there too. I bet I knew your momma.” Laughing, the two disappeared inside the jacal.

“Is this a safe place?” O'Riley asked, looking around the greasewood-clad prairie like he might find trouble there.

“Yes, much better than Tombstone. Those Cowboys have ears that are too big. Clanton pays for information about threats to him or his operations.”

O'Riley nodded and began to undo the girth on his saddle. “How will we ever get out of here if we do find my horses?”

“Leave that to me. I worry more about finding them than how to get them out.”

“I ain't bitching. I appreciate all you've done. But if they got such a communication system, how do you think we can rescue them and get away?”

“I promise you. We get them and we'll get away. Once we get them to your buyer, they're his problem.” Slocum lifted his saddle and the wet pads off his bay horse. “We need to buy Rosa a horse. Riding that damn burro would wear out a saint.”

“How much will one cost?”

“Thirty dollars.”

“I can buy it.”

“Take it out of my reward.”

O'Riley laughed, shaking his head in surrender. “You don't have a single doubt in the damn world that we're going to find them.”

“That's right.” Slocum shut the gate on the bay. He never had any doubts until something was over. Nothing took the strength from a person like a defeatist attitude.

“What's next?”

“After dark, I'm returning to Tombstone. I have some friends there who might help us learn more. A drunk Cowboy may talk. Liquor loosens tongues. And they can sure drink when they get cut loose.”

“You need me?”

“Not unless you want to go along.”

O'Riley wearily shook his head. “I'm going to sleep a couple of days.”

“Fine.” Be the best thing he could do. Then Slocum wouldn't need to nursemaid him around.

Rosa came out with two coffee cups, one in each hand. She gave O'Riley one and Slocum the other. “It is hot,” she warned them.

Slocum thanked her, and with his arm over her shoulder, he herded her to the squaw shade behind the jacal.

“Jim is a sweet man,” she said privately to Slocum.

“A good one. I'm going to Tombstone after dark.”

“What should I do for you?” she asked.

“Rest here. I'll be back before dawn unless I get a good lead. I'm going to try to buy you a horse to ride too.”

Her face brightened at his words. “I don't want to be any burden to you.”

With a shake of his head, he dismissed her concern. “You need one to keep up with us. Besides, I need you.”

She blushed. “Good. I am having fun riding with you. Do I need to do more?”

He shook his head. “You're fine.”

“Good. You be careful then.”

“I will.”

He wondered about the night ahead. Could he filter out some leads about where the horses might be? That would be his purpose—and to not expose too much of his hand to the Cowboys while he was at it. Ready to try, he closed his eyes and silently asked the powers that be for help.

3

Tombstone lay swallowed in darkness, save for where light from various establishments flowed out on the boardwalks and into the street. A screaming, wild whore was in some guy's arms and being packed out the swinging doors of Big Nose Kate's Saloon. The whore's stocking-clad legs were thrashing like a paddleboat and she was trying to slug her abductor with her fist.

The customer must have been drunk, because her efforts weren't stopping him. Slocum stepped up behind the man. “Put her down or I'm blowing daylight through you.”

“Huh?” The man dropped the whore and she scrambled like a runaway chicken to get under the batwing doors. When she was safely inside, Slocum heard her say, “That crazy sumbitch was taking me away.”

A man shouted, “He'd gawdamn sure have brought you back.”

Raucous laughter came from the saloon.

“Where the hell's your gun?” the big galoot demanded, weaving on his boot heels on the saloon's porch.

“It's gonna be up your ass if you don't move aside.”

The big man swung at Slocum. He missed and Slocum drove a fist into his gut, doubling him over in agony. Unable to get his breath and bent over, the man oohed and aahed, holding his arms up close to his body. With his boot, Slocum gave him a shove that caused him to sprawl on the boardwalk. Then, disgusted, Slocum went inside the saloon.

“Hey, bitch,” someone shouted at at the whore, pointing to Slocum. “There's the guy that saved your ass.”

She jumped up from some guy's lap. Hands on her hips, she stalked over to Slocum. “Well, what do I owe you for saving my ass, buster?”

“Nothing, darling.” He turned to the bartender and ordered a double.

“Well, that settles that.” She made a big show of going back to her former cohort, and laughter followed her.

“Your name ain't Slocum, is it?” the bartender asked in a low voice.

“Who's asking?”

He made a slight head toss to the right and lowered his voice further. “The guy on the end of the bar. Frank Holt. He's with Wells Fargo.”

Slocum caught the man's eyes and nodded. Then, turning to gaze into the mirror behind the bar, he studied the faces in the smoky haze over his shoulder. None looked familiar. Maybe Holt knew something about the two stolen racehorses.

The barkeep soon brought Slocum a note on a paper napkin
.

MEET YOU OUT FRONT IN A FEW MINUTES. HOLT.

Slocum pocketed the message and then paid the barkeep. He downed the last of the hard whiskey and left the barroom for the night outside. Holt came out and saw him, then turned and went into the alley.

A few minutes later, Slocum joined the shorter man in the alley, where they shook hands and exchanged greetings.

“I'm looking for two horses,” said Slocum. “Thoroughbreds, mare and stud. Ike Clanton picked them up in Benson a couple of days ago. They were stolen in Tucson.”

“I've not heard about them. But if I do, I'll let you know by general delivery.”

“What are you working on now?”

“A robbery, of course. We shipped several thousand dollars to Nogales from the local bank here. There was a driver and two shotgun-armed guards. They and the money have gone up in smoke. They left here at daybreak four days ago and no sign of them or the rig or team has been seen since.”

“Clanton's bunch behind it?”

“I figure so. I get some information from an informant over there from time to time, but nothing has come out from there about this one.”

Slocum nodded. “I hear anything, I'll contact you.”

“I'd appreciate that. How come you're turning down pussy?” Jim chuckled.

“Too much mouth and ass on her for me. She'd probably talk my dick off.”

“You're probably right. Thanks.”

Slocum dropped in on two more of the more prominent saloons, then he rode back to the ranch under the stars. Except for Holt's troubles with the stolen money, he knew little more now than he had to start with.

Back at the ranch, Slocum found Rosa in the bedroll, and when he pulled off his boots and clothes to join her, she woke up.

She propped herself up with her elbows behind her. “You find out anything?” she asked, sounding sleepy.

“No, nothing on the horses, but Clanton's bunch must have robbed a buckboard hauling money to a bank in Nogales four days ago, then hid the rig, guards, and driver. They've just vanished.”

“That's a lot to go up in smoke.” She held up her arms for him to come down on top of her.

When he discovered that she was naked as a jaybird under the covers, he almost laughed. She was ready for his return, sleepy or not. He kissed her and they locked mouths, and it wasn't long before he was stiff enough for her to put him inside of her and squirm around to get comfortable. Oh well, there were lots worse deals than Rosa. And he savored their lovemaking as their pace grew faster and faster with both of them headed for a high peak, finally ending in an explosion inside her tight vagina.

“Oh my,” she said, sounding weary. “That was wonderful.” Then she rolled over and went right back to sleep. Slocum didn't find it that easy getting shut-eye when thoughts kept kicking about in his mind, like where did they'd take O'Riley's horses? And where had the disappeared rig with all that money gone? Wondering about the fate of the driver and guard was something else to make him roll over on his other side and try again to sleep.

At sunup, Rosa and Jim fixed breakfast. The rancher was having lots of fun cooking with her. They were laughing and teasing each other the whole time. But Jim wasn't hard to like. Slocum had known him for several years and considered him one of his best friends.

O'Riley joined them, still half asleep, while they were putting the platters of scrambled eggs, fried bacon, fried German potatoes, and sourdough biscuits with white gravy in a big bowl on the table.

“Is it Christmas?” O'Riley asked, looking it over. They laughed.

Slocum told O'Riley what he'd learned about the horses—nothing—then about the robbery and disappearance of the entire outfit.

“Where in the hell could they hide a stagecoach?” Jim asked as they devoured the breakfast.

“It may have been a buckboard, but that's what Wells Fargo wants to know,” Slocum said.

“What do we do today?” O'Riley asked.

“I want to ride down into Mexico and talk to some people I know there.”

“Can I go?” Rosa asked.

Slocum nodded. She might learn more than he could force out of some of them.

“Take my horse,” O'Riley said to her. “I'm going to sleep. I haven't had enough rest yet.”

With the tin coffee cup in his hands, Slocum considered where they might go first. “You have any opinion on where we should go?” he asked Rosa.

“Los Nigra.”

“I don't recall ever being there.” He shook his head. “Will we need our bedroll?”

“We can take it along. It is a fair distance down there. You have never been there?” She looked a little taken aback when he confirmed that he hadn't. “Then I will show you that place.”

With a swish of her skirt, she went to get their bedroll. Slocum looked to the underside of the wood shakes overhead for help, then smiled and told the other men that they'd be back whenever they could get back there.

Both men laughed.

“Bet he ain't in any hurry to return,” O'Riley said, “not with her along.”

Jim agreed and they all laughed about it again.