Slocum and the border wa.., p.15
Slocum and the Border War,
p.15
“Slocum?”
“Yeah?”
“Again, I am sorry about your horse.”
23
The next morning, after one of Maria’s trademark breakfasts, and after checking over at the hotel, Slocum set out for the MacCorkendale place.
Helga came to the door and ushered him upstairs. MacCorkendale was doing some better, although he still wasn’t out of the woods, not by a long shot.
“Juan died sometime during the night,” Slocum said after he sat down.
“Died?! I didn’t even know he was sickly!” MacCorkendale said. His voice was hoarse with pain and pain-killers.
Slocum explained the events that had transpired since he’d left the ranch last night, and MacCorkendale was visibly moved by it.
“So I came to see how you were and to borrow a horse,” Slocum finished up.
“Why borrow a—” MacCorkendale began, and then said, “Oh, yeah.”
“I rode Cordura’s horse out this far. Gonna pack his body on it and haul it back to Valdez, but I need somethin’ to ride myself. And not no stable horse. Don’t suppose you got a good-broke Appy on the place?”
MacCorkendale half smiled. “Sorry, my friend. Got a nice chestnut gelding out in the barn, though. Will he do for a while?”
“Yeah.” Slocum stood up. “I’m pleased to find you doin’ so well, Ralph.”
“Same to you, Slocum. Seems to me this job turned out to be more than I thought it was going to. You, too, I’ll bet.”
“Yeah,” said Slocum, opening the door. He let himself out into the hall and turned back to tip his hat. “Be seein’ you, Ralph.”
He hoped that last part was the truest sentence he’d ever spoken.
He went out to the barn, and Bill directed him to the chestnut, one of three stabled there. The red gelding’s name was Scoot, and he had three white socks, with a snip and a star on his handsome face. The only thing that would have made him nicer was a snowflake blanket, Slocum thought as he saddled him up.
He had purposely veered wide of the place where he’d killed Cordura the night before. It didn’t have anything to do with Cordura himself, but with the horse he lay alongside.
And now, as he approached the scene, he felt fresh anger welling in his veins. He wasn’t any too gentle as he heaved Cordura’s stiff and smelling body over his horse’s saddle, and none to careful with the tie-down ropes, either. Cordura didn’t deserve any respect, alive or dead.
Once he had the body tied down to his satisfaction, he headed south, toward Mexico.
After he dealt with Valdez, he’d go back and cover Concho’s corpse with plenty of brush, then set it aflame. It was the best end for a good horse. A good bit more honorable than being coyote food, anyhow.
He followed the path he had taken before, and this time there were no snipers in the canyon. It took him about three hours to reach the Valdez rancho.
He paused outside the big arch that announced Rancho Valdez, the letters ornate and burnt into the wood. He scanned the hacienda, so much grander than anything Ralph MacCorkendale ever dreamt of having, looked out over the close-in fields and corrals, the outbuildings.
Everything looked quiet.
He hoped it would stay that way.
He gave the chestnut a little nudge and passed under the arch at a jog, leading Cordura’s bay along beside him. No one bothered him or even noticed that he was there.
He rode straight up to the big house, tied the horses to the porch rail, and walked up to the front door. He realized he hadn’t been completely unnoticed when he lifted his knuckles to rap at the door, and a women opened it before he had a chance.
“May I help you?” she asked. She was a world-class beauty, too fair to be Mexican, and her accent was odd, part Spanish in places, part French. Was this Valdez’s wife? If so, he had wed far above his station.
“My name’s Slocum, ma’am,” he began, sweeping his hat off. “And I work for—”
“Señor MacCorkendale, yes, I know,” she said, and stepped aside, opening the door wider. “Come in, come in, please. I have heard all about your fence.”
She didn’t seem too pissed off about it, he thought, so he stepped inside. She led him to a room, a grand parlor of sorts, and rang a little bell that summoned a servant.
“Would you care for wine, Señor Slocum? Port, perhaps? And a cigar?”
Surprised by her hospitality, he managed to say, “A cigar’d be right welcome, ma’am, and just a glass of water, if you don’t mind.”
She sent the servant away and turned to him again, smiling.
“How’s . . . how’s Senñor Valdez doin’?” he asked. He figured that anything he said would get him into real trouble, so he asked about her husband first.
But she continued to smile. “His wound has slowed him somewhat. If you ask me, he deserved an artificial brake of some sort.”
Puzzled, Slocum said, “What? I mean, beg pardon, ma’am?”
“Señor Slocum, I know all about your proposed fence, and I think it is a good idea. My husband, however, can be very . . . stubborn.”
Well, that was a nice way to put it, Slocum thought.
“Señora Valdez,” he said slowly, “I didn’t come alone.”
She cocked her head.
“Outside, tied to the rail, I brought back one of your hands. He’s dead. Señora Valdez sent him to kill me and my friends. One’s dead already, and two aren’t lookin’ very good. In fact, Ralph MacCorkendale is just holdin’ on by the skin of his teeth.”
Salma Valdez covered her mouth in shock. “I had no idea,” she finally said, albeit in a whisper. “How could he have done this? How could he even have thought of it? I am so very sorry, Señor Slocum. I apologize for him. I am ashamed.”
Slocum hesitated, then said, “Well, I sure thank you, ma’am. But I think I really need to speak with your husband.”
“Of course, you do,” she said, rising, and motioned him down when he started to stand as well.
The servant reappeared with a tall glass of water with a lemon wedge floating in it, and a good cigar. He placed both on the table beside Slocum.
“Stay here and enjoy your cigar, Señor Slocum, while I see if my husband is up to seeing visitors. If you please?” she added with a small curtsy, and left the room.
Classy lady, thought Slocum as he picked up the cigar. Nothing but solid class.
“And he has brought back the body of your man, Cordura,” she said.
Valdez was so angry that it felt as if his insides were on fire. But before he could unclench his teeth to say a word, Salma added, “Pablo, if you do not see the sense in this thing, if you do not agree to do what Señor Slocum wishes, if you do not forever abide by this agreement, then I—and your unborn child—will be leaving. I still have cousins in France. They would be most pleased to take me in.”
Suddenly, Valdez couldn’t think of a complete sentence. He could only look at her and stutter, “Ch-child?” His dream of so many years, was it coming to pass after all? He could not believe his luck, this blessing!
And there Salma stood before him, her arms crossed resolutely over her chest and her toe tapping, angry with him when she should have been rejoicing with him, threatening him with stealing away his child when she should have been laughing and smiling and planning their new life as a family.
“Yes, Pablo, a child. Although it comes at a time when I begin to believe I do not know the man I married. Slocum says poor Juan is dead, and Señor MacCorkendale is holding on by only a thread. Shame on you! Shame!”
She looked furious, more angry than he’d ever seen her. But still, the only thing that escaped his lips was, “A child?”
She stared at him, her lips pursed.
“Yes, my dearest, my darling. Anything you say. I am most sorry. We will have the fence, I promise. We will live in peace with our good neighbors. When does it come, our joyous bundle?”
Finally, she smiled at him. It was like a sudden shower when one has been in the desert for far too long. She said, “In the fall, Pablo. In October.”
“You’re gonna what?” Slocum asked. He feared his mouth was gaping and touched his chin to make sure.
Pablo Valdez, his beautiful wife at his elbow, sat up against a sea of pillows, and said, “You heard me, Slocum. I will send my own men to help with the fencing. My beautiful Salma,” he said, taking her hand, “has made me see the error of my ways. I am heartily sorry for any pain I have caused.”
Slocum didn’t quite know what to say. Here, he’d been expecting to have a gun shoved in his face, and now this instead? He figured that maybe he ought to deal with the wives first, more often.
But he said, “Thank you, Señor Valdez. I’ll pass on your good wishes. And I’m pretty sure MacCorkendale will send some of his men to help with the fence, too.”
“Muchas gracias, Señor Slocum,” said Salma Valdez. “Merci beaucoup.”
“No, thank you to you,” he replied with a nod of his head. “And you, Señor Valdez.”
Valdez said, “My Salma tells me you ride a chestnut today. What has happened to your Appaloosa?”
The words cut through Slocum like a knife, but he managed to say, fairly calmly, “Your man killed him last night.”
“Lo siento mucho,” Valdez said, and actually appeared to be sorry. “It is hard to lose a good mount. I have an Appaloosa, down in the corral, just come in from Mexico City, so I do not know too much about him. He is a buckskin leopard, about four years old, though. It would please me greatly if you would take him, with my compliments.”
Slocum nodded his head. “As you wish, Señor Valdez.”
Ten minutes later found Slocum tacking up Valdez’s buckskin leopard. He’d gone over the horse and found him sound and well made, suitable to his needs. When he asked one of the men what the horse’s name was, the hand has said, “He does not have one. Just ‘horse’ I suppose.”
“Well, that ain’t much,” Slocum mumbled to the horse. “I’ll think you up one.” He gave the cinch a final snug. “Don’t count on nothin’ too soon, though.”
He left leading a horse again, but this time it was the chestnut he’d borrowed from Ralph, and there was no body tied across its back. Thank God. It might easily have been his.
In fact, he didn’t rest easy until he’d crossed the border and ridden clear into the MacCorkendale spread. There, he conveyed the outcome of his talk with Valdez, and MacCorkendale agreed to send out three men to work on the fence the next morning. So far, so good.
MacCorkendale also paid him his fee. Five hundred dollars.
Sticking the bills in his pocket, Slocum said, “I’m gonna stick around town a couple more days, though, just in case. But I think your troubles are over.”
“They are,” MacCorkendale said and motioned him closer. “Don’t tell Helga I told you, but I’m gonna be a daddy!”
“Well, congratulations, Ralph! That’s great news.” Indeed, MacCorkendale looked like he was about to bust his buttons. Slocum was genuinely happy for him. And Helga, too.
He left the ranch and slowly approached the place where Concho lay waiting. He dismounted about twenty feet out and slowly walked toward the horse, gathering dry brush and scrub as he went. He made quite a few trips out, gathering more brush, before he pulled the saddle clear. There was enough to make quite a blaze, which was what he needed.
He pulled out his sulphur tips and stood silently over the horse for a moment before he said, “Thanks, Concho. You were a good one.”
And then he lit a match and set the funeral pyre blazing.
It was dark by the time he reached Jaguar Hole. After stabling his new mount, he went up to the hotel to report to Jorgé.
“You are fooling me, Slocum!” he practically shouted. “He said he was sorry? He said he would send help?”
Slocum nodded. “Gave me a new Appy, too.”
One-armed, Jorgé flung his hand skyward. “He has lost his mind! Or gained it. What do you suppose brought this on?”
“Don’t know. But I got a feeling that Mrs. Valdez had somethin’ to do with it.”
“Ah, Señora Valdez . . . Muy bonita. No?”
Slocum grinned. “Very pretty, yes. Right nice, too.”
“Yes, she is quite the lady.” At Jorgé’s side, Samantha frowned, and he quickly said, “As are you, my dove, as are you.”
She smiled again and touched his brow fondly.
Slocum took that as a cue for him to leave. Maria was waiting, anyway. “I’ll come see you tomorrow, Jorgé. Gonna hang around town for a bit. Might take a ride out to the fence tomorrow, too, just to see how the boys are gettin’ on.”
Jorgé nodded. “A wise idea. I wish I could go with you.”
“Wish you could, too.” Slocum stood up and headed toward the door.
“Thank you, Slocum,” said Samantha softly, and he turned toward her. She looked as if she really meant it, and not just for stopping the border war. She clung to Jorgé like a tick to a hound.
He tipped his hat. “You’re welcome, Miss Samantha. See you tomorrow, Jorgé.”
As he crossed the street, thinking about a dozen things at once, he came up with a name for the horse. One that would always remind him where he’d come from and what Slocum had gone through to get him.
Valdez.
He walked through the doors of the cantina filled with a sense of irony and how strange the world could be, and Maria jumped into his arms and kissed him soundly.
“You are alive, my darling,” she cried happily and kissed him again.
He grinned. “Usually am, honey!”
Samantha watched out the window as Slocum crossed to the cantina. Yes, he was still handsome, yes, he still had those wide shoulders and those narrow hips, and yes, he still had that melting baritone voice.
But she had realized that the love of her life lay on the bed, beckoning to her. What good was it to be in love with a man who did not return the favor?
And Jorgé did. He had asked her to marry him that very afternoon and had shaken his head at her little silver ring. In fact, he had sent her out with fifty whole dollars to buy a gold one!
She loved Jorgé.
She would be with him forever.
Smiling, she turned away from the window and went to his side.
“Everything, it will be all right now?” Maria asked as she casually slung a long, cinnamon leg over Slocum’s hip. It was late, and they had just finished making love. For the first time, anyway.
“Yes, Maria, I told you it will. ’Cept I’m worried about your sister.”
“I am as well. She is taking Juan’s death very hard.”
Slocum nodded. “She should. Juan was a good man. He deserves to have somebody mourn him.” He cupped her breast in his hand and kissed it, then looked up into her eyes. “When’s the funeral?”
“Tomorrow, at two. Padre Francesco, he could not come today.”
Slocum nodded. “Good. I’ll be there. I’ll pay for it, too, Maria. I promised to pay for his wedding. Seems the least I can do now . . .”
She smiled softly. He was quite a man, her Slocum. She said, “You are good.”
He said, “And so are you, honey.” Grinning, he pushed her onto her back.
“So soon?”
“Yeah, little darlin’, so soon.”
He entered her.
Watch for
SLOCUM AND THE LOST COMMAND
331st novel in the exciting SLOCUM series
from Jove
Coming in September!
Jake Logan, Slocum and the Border War
