Slocum and the Diamond City Affair (9781101612118) (5 page)

“Just so that the Clantons don't know what we're doing.” Slocum listened for his reply.

“Ah,
sí
. This man won't tell them nothing.”

“Good. Here is five dollars in case you need some things.”

He paid the man in silver cartwheels that clunked into his hand. Both of them rose, then shook hands. Two days to wait wasn't long at this point. Those horses might be there and if so, Slocum could have O'Riley on his way to Nogales with them soon. The final page in his diary would be they were delivered. Slocum nodded to Rosa that he was ready to leave and thanked Maria for her help. They left for Jim's place.

They avoided any crossroads, stores, or settlements. Slocum didn't want attention drawn to their passing through. The Clantons paid for any and all information that might be had in regards to them. Not much moved or went by in the border country that they didn't know about.

It was late when they reached the ranch. On the way in, Rosa promised to cook him something, since it had been long hours since they last ate. A sleepy-eyed Jim got up from his bed and asked how things had gone. He also told Rosa there were beans cooked and she could reheat them. In minutes she had the wood cookstove heating and was making tortilla dough.

“I found an Apache to go scout inside the Clanton stronghold and see if the horses are in there. He and another will be here in two days, and O'Riley can tell him how to identify his horses.”

“Sounds like you did some good.” He went by and kissed Rosa on her proffered cheek as she worked on the dough. “You should find yourself a real man,” he said to her.

“I will think about it,” she promised, laughing and shaking her head at his teasing, busy making the food.

Slocum just about fell asleep in the chair at the table. If he'd been by himself, he'd have eaten some jerky and gone on to the bedroll—but he wasn't going to disappoint Rosa since she was making such efforts for him.

Jim talked about the mining business, but he said the main silver and gold was under the mesa that Tombstone sat upon. No one else had made another major strike.

“That's been the thought all the time. Ed Schieffelin had found the main easy one that came to the surface and that was it. Lots of folks had been led to it in the past by hired Mexican guides who, in the end, murdered them and took the high-grade stuff they'd dug up. It had been a good racket until Ed found the site.”

“That's why he called it Tombstone,” Slocum said. “Those soldiers over at Fort Huachuca told him all he'd find out there prospecting would be his own tombstone with all those Apaches running around in that country.”

“Bet a bunch of them enlisted men wished they'd looked some for it. Hell, it wasn't fifteen miles from the fort where he found the vein.” Jim shook his head. “Why, I probably rode past it a dozen times back then when it was just some Mexican's scratchings.”

“No doubt, and Ed also sold out and has the money in his pocket.” Slocum shook his head. He knew the man. Big mining took big bucks, and the treasure vein could have shifted under the earth and they'd never find the rest of the gold and silver.

Rosa handed Slocum some food wrapped in a flour tortilla. Slocum took a bite and smiled. “This is worth missing sleep over.”

Rosa smiled and then yawned big. His words pleased her enough to draw a smile. When they got in the bedroll, they were both so dog tired they passed on any notion of sexual activity and fell asleep when their heads hit the bedding.

His plans now in place, Slocum would have another day or two to wait for the results—but those Apaches would soon know whether or not the Clantons had O'Riley's horses.

5

The next morning, Slocum had to explain his plan to O'Riley, who looked no more rested than he had before Slocum and Rosa went to Los Nigra, despite his long naps in their absence.

O'Riley's bleary eyes appeared glazed over. “So I am to describe the horses to them and they will go look for them. Right?”

“That's the plan. I promised them fifty dollars if they can get them out.”

“Good idea. What if they can't get them out?”

“Then we go to my next plan: We go get them.”

O'Riley's green eyes flew wide open and his jaw sagged. “Is—isn't that dangerous?”

“Hell, ever since we took their tracks it's been dangerous.”

“I guess you're right. I won't deny that I am a coward. If I'd been more of a man, that damn horse trainer would never have dared take my wife.”

Slocum agreed. “That's spilt milk. Think about the future. Getting those horses back. And maybe after that you'll have enough spine to go find her.”

“You make it all sound so damn easy. I don't know.” O'Riley shook his head in disbelief.

“Start thinking like a man. If you really want your wife back, you go up and kick that horse trainer's ass and take her back.”

“We'll see.”

“No, we'll do it.”

“Maybe with you along. Maybe I don't want her back, you ever think about that?”

Slocum shrugged. “We'll see when the time comes.”

O'Riley left him and headed for the house, mumbling to himself.

“What's wrong with him?” Rosa asked, catching up with Slocum and brushing out her hair as she strode beside him.

“Oh, he's not sure he wants his wife back.”

“So?”

“He needs a rod stuck up his ass to straighten his spine is all.”

With her laughter ringing out, she clutched his arm, thoroughly amused. “I think you're serious.”

“I am.” Then they both laughed.

Later, Slocum rode into Tombstone by himself. He wanted all the information he could gather. In the Alhambra Saloon, he spoke with a man he knew from the Denver gold strike, Al Hudson. They took a back table with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. The place was quiet.

“How's Tombstone?” Slocum asked, pouring some liquor in his friend's empty tumbler.

“Oh, like all boom and bust towns. The mines are keeping the whorehouses open.”

“Subsidizing them?”

“Hell, yes. Them madams know how important they are and can get money out of the mines to keep them going and keep prices low enough the miners stay and fuck the whores instead of going home. Those workers make good money, but the mines don't want 'em to get a pocketful and go home. Gamblers are the same: They get money too from the mine owners to skin the working men so they remain broke and have to stay.”

“How much do they get?” Slocum was interested in his theory.

“Madam Lou Ann took her business sheet for last month's take to their accountant and they paid her five hundred dollars to supplement her income. They say Big Nose Kate was paid seven hundred bucks.” Hudson shook his head. “It would be better to have a whorehouse than a small mine, huh?”

“It might be. I've got a tougher job. I'm looking for a racehorse stallion and mare. You heard of any for sale?”

“No, but Ike Clanton said he had a new one that could outrun the damn wind. He was drunk as a hooter and telling anyone who'd listen he owned the fastest horse in the world.”

Slocum scowled at the man's words. “He don't own him, his men stole him. When's he going to race him and where?”

“I think down on the border next Sunday.”

Slocum frowned hard. “Won't bring him over into the Arizona Territory, will he?”

“Hell, no. I hate that big mouth sumbitch. How are you going to get them back?”

“I'm working on it.” Slocum took a sip of his liquor.

“Well, lots of luck. Why don't you shove your six-gun up Ike's ass and blow the top of his head off?”

“Not a bad idea. They ever find the stage the Clantons robbed?”

“It was a buckboard.” Hudson shook his head and moved his glass over for Slocum to refill it. “I bet it's in the Clanton compound.”

Their conversation broken up by his deep cough, Hudson shoved himself up from the table and bent over as the seizure continued. At last he used a handkerchief to clean his mouth and nose. He gasped for air and said, “I been in them damn mines too long.”

Slocum agreed, deciding Hudson had contracted TB. Shame, he liked the guy, but it looked like the disease was fast consuming him. He poured Hudson more whiskey—life on the frontier was tough as nails. One day you were robust, the next dying slowly from a vicious disease that rotted out a man's lungs.

He parted from Hudson and went to the hole-in-the-wall café. Cox, the owner, nodded. “You're still up and taking nourishment.”

Slocum nodded and acknowledged him. When Cox was satisfied they were alone, he took a stool beside Slocum and asked him if he'd heard anything about the horses.

“Still looking.”

“You probably need to talk to a whore that Ike's sweet on.”

“Who's she?”

“This week, he's been—” He lowered his voice. “It's Handy Ranny.”

Strange name even for a whore
. “Where does she work?”

“Got a crib of her own south of that train depot that they're building. Anyone can point it out to you.”

The young woman with straight, light brown hair who worked for Cox delivered Slocum's bowl of stew. He would have guessed she was sleep deprived, but he saw little in her thin form to indicate she was a sex bunny. But no one ever knew about females; some came in plain wrappings, but were wild and sexy in bed.

Cox brought him coffee. Almost protectively, Cox watched the young woman retreat toward the kitchen door before he turned back to talk to Slocum. “You got any other leads on the horses?”

“Not much.” Slocum started on his food with a spoon. Salvia flowed in his mouth at the first taste. “You make good stew.”

“Thanks. Where did the red-haired guy and the cute girl go?”

“They're resting.”

“He have lots of money?”

“Most of his money is in those two horses.”

The man nodded. “So he's broke.”

“That's why we need his horses back.”

“Good luck.”

“No word on that buckboard that disappeared?”

“All's quiet. I guess the Clantons know where they buried it, and the men's bodies too.”

Slocum stopped. “Buried it?”

“Hell, yes. It's the only way it could have disappeared. I bet they hired some Mexicans to bury it all. Them Cowboys are work brittle.”

“That's a new idea.” Slocum nodded and considered his next spoonful of stew, thinking about how he could find out about them.

He went to find Handy Ranny's place. He walked the distance and found her jacal. At the closed door, he rapped on the wooden panel.

“Yeah, who's there?” The raspy female voice sounded drunk.

He heard the door being unbolted and looked in at the pale face of a white woman, maybe in her midtwenties, whose blue eyes looked to be swirling. “Who
dee
hell are you, mister?”

“A friend. Let me in. We need to talk.”

“You got a big dick—” She hung on the side of the half-open door.

He pushed his way inside. She staggered back and at last swept the dull blond unruly mop back from her face. Feet apart, unsteady-like, she put her hands on her hips, and the gown she wore gaped open and exposed her right breast and a large brown nipple. Slocum shut the door, not looking back, and stared hard at this loop-legged woman.

“I charge five dollars.” She tried to straighten up, but soon slumped down her shoulders as if out of the energy to hold her stance. “I'm tired of standing. Let's get in bed.”

She covered her nakedness by jerking the gauzy dress around to cover her exposed tit. “Come on.”

Turning on her bare heels, she headed for a large, tall bed that took up most of the jacal. She stopped and lifted an open wine bottle, then drank from the top. Large bubbles went up inside the bottle. Setting it down, she turned and looked back at him. The back of her hand wiped part of the wine from her mouth. “Get your damn clothes off, you aren't bashful.”

“Maybe I don't want you.”

With her palm on the sheet, she slumped in defeat on the bed and shook her head without looking back at him. “Do I have to beg you?”

He stepped over close and hauled her up in his arms. “I came for information. Does Ike Clanton have a new stallion?”

“Stallion? Ike? No, he's got a small pecker. He ain't no stallion.” She wiggled her hips and then pressed her breasts against him. Her efforts caused the filmy garment to fall off her into a pile at her feet. “Well, here I am.”

“Think hard. Does Ike have a new stallion?”

“Maybe. Get in bed with me now and when you get through with me, I'll tell you all you need to know.” She motioned for him to come on and her voice turned to pleading with him. “I need you now.”

“If you are lying to me I'll cut off all your hair.”

With effort, she crawled on the bed, exposing her bare ass to him, then flopped down in the center. “Is that too much to ask?” she said.

He bolted the door. Then he went over as she drunkenly sang some song about a wild . . . horse. “Oh, wild horse, where are you—”

Raised up on her elbows, she looked lost in her dreams as Slocum began to undress. “I got feelings. I may be a whore, but—I got . . .”

Naked at last, Slocum climbed on the bed and crawled over to her. He parted her legs. She was too drunk to do much else to help. “Get your knees up.”

Numb, she obeyed and he moved through them. His erection entered her and she swooned and hugged him. “Feels gawdamn good. . . .”

He gave her his hardest efforts until she fainted. He knew dealing with a drunk woman was never wonderful, but he finished on her limp form anyway. What had he learned? Nothing. Searching the small jacal, he found some water plus a towel and cleaned up, then dressed. She'd proved to be a waste of his time. The strong winey smell of her body embedded in his nose, he set his hat on his head and adjusted the gun belt on his waist. In disgust, he looked at her naked body sprawled on the sheets—he'd simply leave her for Ike and get out of there. He couldn't squeeze answers out of a woman rough-like without his conscience biting him.

The Apaches were his only lead now. But as superstitious as they were about doing things at night, they still might back out of the deal. Stopping in the street, Slocum looked back at the whore's closed door and shook his head in disgust. What a big waste of his time.

He realized that two men were following him, being obvious by turning away whenever he stopped to check who was behind him, walking up the boardwalk, heading for the Oriental Saloon. He ducked into an alley, his hand resting on his gun butt. By law he was supposed to have already checked that pistol in at the nearest establishment when he entered town. But the opportunity had not availed itself for him to do so. He felt grateful to still be wearing his gun and holster.

Two men raced to the gap opening of the alley. They stopped. “Where in the hell did he go?”

Slocum, pistol in hand, stood between two buildings and could see them clearly. When they'd run by him, he stepped out behind them and ordered them to halt. They wilted in their tracks.

“Who are you?” He checked them from behind for weapons with his left hand. He found none.

“What?”

“Spit out your names and who you work for while I consider how I'm going to kill you two.”

“What do you mean?” the shorter one snarled.

Slocum slammed him on top of the shoulder with his pistol barrel. The man screamed in pain and fell to his knees.

“Now talk.” His patience thin, Slocum was ready to do more damage to them.

“Bob Taylor,” the shorter one said.

“Gunner Blythe.”

“Who do you work for?”

“Old Man Clanton.”

“Why are you following me?” When they didn't answer him, he kicked the one called Blythe in the butt, who went down onto his knees next to Taylor.

“We're just following orders,” Taylor said.

“Tell the old man to mind his own damn business. And I'll put a damn bullet in each of your heads if you trail me again. You savvy me?”

“Yeah.”

“Then get up and run for your horses.” Slocum stepped back, realizing he'd warned the old man and the whole clan that there would be trouble between him and them.

He watched the two run for the far end of the alley. They weren't Clanton's toughest men. But they might ride on too. They'd looked scared enough when Slocum finished with them. Maybe his Apaches would find those horses—if they showed up.

He went back to the ranch and Rosa ran out to greet and hug him.

“How did it go?” She was excited by his return.

“Where do they race horses across the border?”

“Maybe at Engles?”

“Good. You know the way there?”

“Sure. Will his horses be there?” she asked.

“They say Ike is bringing a fast horse. It could be O'Riley's stallion.”

“What horse?” the sleepy-looking O'Riley asked, combing his too-long red hair with his fingers.

“Ike, maybe, racing your stallion over in Sonora on Sunday.”

“Really? What can we do?”

“Probably not much except watch. He'll have plenty of his men there to be certain we can't claim him.”

O'Riley's shoulders slumped. “What good is that?”

Slocum shook his head. “If we can find out where he's at, then we can try to get him back. Right now we don't know jack about the horses' location. The law in Mexico won't help us either. He has them bought off.”