Slocum 246: Slocum and the Cattle King

Chisum reached the construction office before the thunder showers began in earnest. He hitched his horse and hurried inside the office. Lamps were lighted for the storm’s darkness that curtained the land.

“You come by yourself?” Chief Engineer Bill Stanley, a towering man, asked with a frown, looking out the window at the precipitation. “I was expecting Moore and Tweedy to be with you.”

“Apaches? Yesterday, a war party found Tweedy having a picnic up on the Pecos and tortured him to death.”

“Apaches? Why, we have several of them working here on the project. I never heard about no uprising.” Stanley narrowed his gaze and frowned at Chisum.

“Must be renegades. I don’t know. They kidnaped Juanita and God only knows if she’s alive. They stole my entire horse herd.”

“I’m not certain of anything. She left the ranch riding a green horse. You know how strong-willed she is. Anyhow, they managed to—the tracks showed they had taken her.” Chisum shook his head in disbelief. How had it happened? He should never have let her—no, he couldn’t stop her—damn her stubborn disposition. Must be the Chisum in her.

“What are you doing about it?” Stanley asked. “I’ll get some men and we’ll go find her. My God, man.”

“In the mountains. I have some good Apaches work here. They’ll know where to look for her.”

“Get them and let’s talk to them.” Chisum stared out the water-blurred pane splashed by the hard downpour. Rain, damn you, when nothing else goes right. The lamp overhead shook with the thunder’s roll and cast shaky shadows across the room.

“Roberts,” Stanley shouted at the clerk behind the desk. “You go down to the camp and find Johnny Walker and some of those bucks. Tell them it is very important for them come up here at once.”

“Yes, sir,” the man said, putting on a slicker and his small hat. “But what if they won’t come?”

The man rushed out the door under Stanley’s hard gaze. The broad-shouldered engineer turned and frowned at Chisum. “Damn gutless wonders that work for me!”

“Get out some whiskey. I’m cold as hell and damn sure ready for a drink,” Chisum said. He lit the paper and trash in the cast-iron stove with a lucifer. Then he closed the door in anticipation of soon feeling the radiant heat. A tremor of cold made his shoulder shudder.

“What will we do for money with Tweedy dead?” Stanley asked, lowering his voice to a whisper.

“That horny bastard had to have some pussy. He didn’t give a damn about the progress we’ve made.” Chisum shook his head and tried to clear it. “Moore told me that morning that we’d have the money we needed.” He tossed down the contents of the glass Stanley handed him. It slid down his throat, heated his ears, and settled in his empty stomach like fire.

“I don’t know. If that ugly Nelda has her way, we will be shut down. The other day, she got a little tipsy and spilled her guts to me about what she thinks of the operation.”

“No, she doesn’t. Maybe she’s mad about me fixing her husband up with a puta. I don’t know, but it doesn’t look good. Be weeks before they will figure out who will head the bank. And if Nelda has her say—we’re out of business.”

“No, not yet.” Chisum couldn’t stand the idea of closing down and all the costs to start again. He could scrape up enough money to make the operation work for another six weeks maybe. Some of it might even be bluff, but by then maybe—maybe the bank’s new management would realize their precarious position and refinance the operation. It was his only hope. But if he didn’t find Juanita alive, it wouldn’t make any difference. He was through anyway.

The long ride from the ranch had given him plenty of time to consider his loss. She had been the very keystone of his life. For six years, she had been the diamond in the center of the empire he’d built. Not only her sensual body, but her presence, her comfort, things she handled for him—she was the wife he never took, the mistress he never believed he would find in a dozen-plus affairs with women married and not. He had become so dedicated to her, and likewise she to him.

“He’s coming back with some of the Apaches,” Stanley said, bringing Chisum out of his deep thoughts about her.

They came in the office. The rain dripped off unblocked hats. Several wore knee-high boots and breechcloths. To Chisum, they all had the dull dark-eyed look of a wolf caught in a canyon and backed up.

“Mostly Chiricahuas,” the full-faced Apache said. He wore a red kerchief tied around his neck.

“In the mountains.” The Apache Walker turned and spoke softly to the others; they agreed with a nod.

“Let’s get some horses saddled and find her. Mr. Chisum is very concerned about her safety.”

“Wait. Any man rides with us gets a new rifle,” Stanley said, and stepped over to the gun cabinet.

The pleasure filled their dark faces and glinted in their dark eyes. They lined up for the guns. They carefully worked the levers, then began to nod to each other over the fine weapons. Ten rifles were issued, and Stanley began to give them a handful of cartridges apiece. The click of receivers being loaded and the soft talk between the men filled the room.

“I’ll get some food loaded on packhorses for all of us. And some sleeping bags for us.” He turned and looked to Chisum for his approval.

Before Chisum could nod, the lead Apache stopped in the doorway. Lightning outlined his figure. “She may be dead.”

Stanley issued orders to the clerks about the office and sent them scurrying to get packhorses, supplies, and food. Two of the crew foremen came hurrying in, and they also joined the procurement process. Chisum recognized both men. Donovan and Cleary, both burly Irishmen, hard-fisted with sharp voices when it came to heading a crew.

Chisum found himself an empty wheel-back chair to sit in, and let the process take shape. Army or no army, he had the answers he needed. These bucks knew who might have her and where she might be.

The clouds began to break up as his “army” assembled. The noisy sounds of jackasses braying and the confusion of the assembly out front drew him from his chair. Time to go.

Stanley put Donovan in charge of the pack mule train. The red-faced Irishman chose two Apaches to help him do the job. Obviously the Apaches’ new arms were badges of pride for the men. They carried them in one hand and waved them at the gathering of squaws, Mexicans, and white workers that came to see them off.

His cinch tightened, Chisum swung up on the yellow mare. He trusted her. The entourage began to pull out for the brooding hulk of the mountains.

He hoped they weren’t too late. His concerned mind replayed the words of the solemn Walker before he went out the door. Looking over his train, Chisum could see that Apaches considered this a big holiday. Being paid to ride and maybe shoot with new rifles, suited them. This no doubt beat driving a scraper behind a team of ornery mules all day, or hauling rocks and dirt in a wagon from the quarry to the dam site.

Stanley had taken the lead, and Chisum let him. The man had things well in hand. Several Apaches had ridden ahead to scout.

“This man Johnny Walker is a good hand. He leads the workers. Settles lots of disputes among them. I’d call him their chief,” Stanley explained as he rode side by side with Chisum.

They circled the great basin behind the dam in the process of being scoured out by men and machinery. It was slow work, but they were making enough of a showing that Chisum took pride in it. He regretted the loss of the flush water from the rain that went around the structure and on down into the Pecos. Someday they’d capture all of it. He raised his vision to the towering mountains. Oh,Juanita, I’m sorry.

They camped in the live oaks. Past dark, Johnny Walker and two other breechcloth-wearing Indians came in and squatted at the fire to report their findings.

“Some of the raiders are maybe ten miles from here. A boy named Peako bragged to an Apache woman that he fucked this white woman of yours a few days ago.”

“Yes,” Chisum agreed, and settled back on the small folding chair that Stanley had brought along. He could never sleep knowing she might be under the belly of some horny buck up there in the mountains.

Dawn came cold, and the peaks obscured its appearance as the camp filled with braying mules and men running about preparing for the day’s movements. Each Apache, with a rifle in his hand, scurried to get his horse and eat the food being dished out.

Chisum had little stomach for breakfast. He ate some light bread, then saddled his own mare. His entire mind-set lay on the rugged slopes above them.

At last saddled up, they began the tortuous climb up the side of the wall, single file, stubborn mules lashed to get in line. The scouts had gone ahead. Chisum came at the rear. There was nothing he could do anyway until they topped out. Stanley displayed his organizational skills and had things well in hand.

At midmorning they reached a great flat and were following a small stream lined with cottonwoods. Chisum had pushed the mare so he could join Stanley at the head of the line. The engineer called to Donovan to take a rest stop for the mules before the next hard pull, and the two of them rode ahead.

“I see Walker coming with two prisoners.” Stanley pointed at the riders when they came through the juniper and thin pines.

“I don’t see her,” Chisum said, disappointed. He settled in the saddle, his mind set in defeat. He rocked the saddlehorn in his grasp. What would he do next? Had they killed her? Damn savages.

“That is the one called Peako.” Walker pointed to the youth with his arms tied behind his back.

Walker spoke to the youth in Apache. The tone of his voice was demanding. The youth shrugged. Walker rode over, kicked him in the chest, and pushed his horse in close. Staggered by the blow, Peako stepped back and fought for his balance. Then he said something to Walker and held the side of his face up for Walker to see the dark bruise.

Walker turned back in the saddle to translate. “He said a white man with dark hair. A cowboy. He beat up on them with a rifle and then he took her away from them.”

Who could that be? Chisum tried to think of a big man—a cowboy? It didn’t ring a bell. A white man had her. Maybe she was safe? Was the damn red devil lying?

Walker shook his head. Chisum nodded he understood. He reached back, drew the Winchester out from under his stirrup, and levered in a cartridge. Then he booted the yellow mare up to the prisoner, stuck the muzzle in his unmoved face, and pulled the trigger.

He drove his upset mount in closer and gazed down at the dying buck on the ground. “Bet by God you won’t ever fuck my niece or brag on it again.”