Slocum 374

Now that he was finally sitting in his own saddle and riding away from Mojacca, Slocum was somewhat content. The only thing to keep him from fully savoring the moment was that his saddle was strapped around the same horse he’d had before. It was a tired old mare that fussed whenever she had to walk in a straight line for more than twenty paces. The real trick was to strike a balance between not going so slow that she’d complain and not going so fast that he pushed her past her limit.

The first day’s ride was slow and easy. Slocum ended it by camping along a shallow creek and hunting a few jackrabbits for supper. He saved a bit of meat for breakfast and struck out early the next morning. Having had the previous day to warm up her muscles, the mare wasn’t as tired as she’d been before. That may have allowed her to gallop a bit faster, but it didn’t make her any easier to handle. Slocum still had to fight her most of the day to keep from stopping at every patch of long grass in sight.

“If you’re gonna be that way, then the hell with you,” Slocum warned. After that, he tapped his heels against the mare’s sides and got her moving faster than she’d been willing to go the entire day. Strangely enough, the horse actually struggled less after Slocum laid down the law.

He could have pushed on a bit farther, but stopped at a calm little watering hole not too far across the Texas border. The mare drank her fill and waited patiently for Slocum to fill his canteen. From then on, the two of them got along just fine.

According to what Marissa had told him upon handing over his gear, the spread he was headed to, the Double Y Ranch, was situated on a stretch of dried-up land, so it wouldn’t be lost among a bunch of neighbors. When he arrived at the fence surrounding the property line, Slocum thought the ranch was just as deserted as the land surrounding it. He followed the fence for a bit until he came to a spot where a small sign was nailed to a post. There were no words on the square piece of wood, but there was a brand scorched into it. The two symbols could have been the letter Y, but the upper section was set just a bit lower so the vertical line poked its head up within the crook. They looked like bird tracks to Slocum, but he guessed he had the right place.

When he heard the gunshots, however, he forgot about the sign, the fence, and all the scraggly land around it. A few seconds later, he caught sight of a wagon within the property line, being pulled by a single horse that was doing its best to get the hell away from the ranch. Slocum squinted and shaded his eyes, which allowed him to make out the shapes of two figures driving the wagon. One had a rifle and was shooting behind him and the other was furiously snapping the reins to get the horse to run faster. When he saw the long hair and skirts flapping around the driver, Slocum cursed under his breath and snapped his reins.

As his horse built up a head of steam, Slocum watched the wagon. It was still a ways from the fence, but the men chasing it didn’t look like they would give it a chance to escape. For that matter, they didn’t look like they were trying to simply chase the wagon away either. They were sending a hailstorm of lead toward it and drawing closer with every second.

Slocum might have gotten a few shots off from a greater distance with his rifle, but he still wasn’t certain about who he should shoot. Going with his instincts, he rode toward the wagon. When the driver saw him, she screamed and pulled her reins to go around him.

Fighting back the instinct to draw his pistol, Slocum steered sharply around so he could come up along the wagon on the driver’s side. Once he got close enough to be heard, Slocum shouted, “Hold your fire!”

Now that he was closer, Slocum could clearly read the terror in the driver’s eyes. “What’s going on here?” Slocum asked. “Who’s shooting at you?”

The man still had his rifle pointed at Slocum, but he didn’t pull his trigger. When he saw Slocum steer away and ride in the other direction, he shifted his aim back to the horsemen thundering to catch up to the clattering wagon.

Rather than put himself directly in the horsemen’s line of fire, Slocum skirted around them to approach from another angle. Most of the shots were still finding their mark in the back of the wagon, but a few of them hissed toward Slocum. That was more than enough to make their intentions clear.

Slocum kept his head down and tapped his heels against his horse’s sides. The old mare huffed in protest, but the gunfire put plenty of wind into her sails. Before Slocum could come up with a way to get some of the men to follow him, two of the three split from the group to come after him.

Since only the one man was still chasing the wagon, Slocum complied with the order. When one of the horsemen rode around to get behind him, Slocum placed his hand over his holstered Colt and said, “That’s close enough. What’s your business here?”

The horseman doing the talking had the build of a man who spent more time in his saddle than out of it. He gripped his reins in one hand, a pistol in the other, and shifted his weight to accommodate every movement his horse made. That horse was a sleek animal that was barely even panting after the hard run it had just been put through. “We were just about to ask you the same thing. Do you work this spread?”

Now Slocum knew the horsemen didn’t work at the ranch. He nervously glanced toward the wagon and was just in time to see the last horseman chip away at the side of the thick, square-shaped cart. The old man was holding him back with rifle fire, but it wouldn’t be long before the wagon was overtaken.

“You ain’t one of Owen’s men, so the best thing for you to do is shut your mouth and forget about that wagon,” the first horseman said. “It’s too late for you to do anything but get shot, anyway.”

“If you don’t think I can take care of you two and get back to that wagon, then you’re mistaken,” Slocum warned. “Either call your partner off or give me a real good reason why I shouldn’t put all three of you down.”

Once again, the horseman’s loose lips had answered another question before Slocum had to ask it. If the three horsemen didn’t work at the ranch and weren’t the law, they could have only had a few reasons for shooting at a wagon being driven by a woman and defended by one tired rifleman. Most of those reasons weren’t very good.

Slocum pulled back on his reins to move away. The moment he started riding toward the wagon instead of away from it, one of the two horsemen made his move. A shot cracked through the air and hissed past Slocum’s head. He answered it by twisting around in his saddle to lay down some fire of his own. He spent his rounds in a quick flurry, which did about as much damage as the ones that had been fired at him. Slocum’s aim was just good enough to separate the two horsemen from each other as they tried to follow him. He may have even hit one of them, because he’d distinctly heard one of the men let out a surprised yelp.

Since he didn’t have the time to reload, Slocum holstered his empty Colt and reached for the rifle hanging in the boot of his saddle. He’d already loaded and prepared the rifle earlier, so he didn’t need to pause before raising it and firing a shot that got close enough to the third horseman to draw that one’s attention.

After only two shots, Slocum knew he was dealing with an experienced rider. The man chasing the wagon fired in a wide pattern that didn’t even attempt to knock Slocum from his saddle. Instead, the incoming bullets were meant to force Slocum away and they were doing a fairly good job in that task. After emptying the cylinder of his pistol, the rider gripped his reins in his teeth so he could holster it and draw another. Without much of a break in his firing, he continued giving Slocum hell. Unfortunately for him, the rider forgot about the man he’d been shooting at before.

The rifleman next to the wagon’s driver took advantage of the momentary lull by aiming carefully and squeezing his trigger. His rifle sent a single round through the horseman’s shoulder and out the other side. Blood sprayed into the air behind him and the horseman buckled.

Slocum snapped his reins against his horse’s side and closed the gap that much quicker. With the other two horsemen still behind him, he knew he didn’t have much time before he was in the middle of a proper cross fire.

By now, the wagon had made it to the fence line and was about to roll through a small gate. Slocum somehow managed to convince his horse to catch up and even overtake the man who’d been hit in the shoulder. He drew up close to the wounded rider and demanded, “Let the wagon go.”

The horseman’s response was short and sweet. “Up yer ass!” he snarled as he tossed the gun from his wounded arm into his other hand. Before he completed the switch, the man was forced to eat the barrel of Slocum’s rifle as it was swung around and bashed against his mouth. The horseman reeled backward, let go of his gun, and toppled over the other side of his horse. His feet snagged within the stirrups, which prevented him from falling to the ground straightaway. After knocking against the side of his horse for a while, he pulled his foot from his boot and hit the ground on his shoulders. The horse stumbled sideways when its rider thumped against its ribs, peeled off with one of the rider’s boots still wedged in the stirrup, and headed in another direction entirely.

If the other two horsemen wanted to ride straight toward the wagon, they would have been forced to either trample one of their own men or steer around and hope they cleared the right patch of grass. They split in opposite directions to give the spot where the other man had fallen a wide berth and continued after the wagon.

By now, Slocum had brought his mare to a stop and turned her completely around to face the other two. Given the chance to steady his aim, he sighted along the top of his rifle and fired a shot that clipped the younger of the other two horsemen. The man didn’t fall from his saddle, but he dropped his gun while flailing to hang on to his reins.

Slocum levered in a fresh round, took aim, and fired at the first horseman. That one knew better than to ride straight toward Slocum and had already veered off. Knowing the first shot had missed, Slocum aimed again and fired. His gut told him that he’d been close to drawing blood with that one, and his target responded by hunkering down low over his horse’s neck.

The wagon was making good on its escape. Slocum could tell that much by the fading sound of its wheels. Its single horse wasn’t enough to get it out of the woods yet.

Now that all three riders had been temporarily diverted, Slocum dropped his rifle into his saddle’s boot and drew his Colt. He reloaded the pistol in a series of motions that he could have done just as well in his sleep. The spent bullet casings were discarded and replaced with fresh rounds from his gun belt. Snapping the cylinder shut, he brought his arm in close and held it at the ready.

It took a little while for the younger horseman to get situated again, so Slocum watched the others. The first man started chasing the wagon, but stopped to check on his partners as well. The third man was struggling to his feet, cradling an arm against his chest and swearing loudly. It looked as if he might have busted that arm, which meant he’d survived the landing remarkably well.

Once again holstering the Colt Navy, Slocum replaced it with his rifle. “You can collect your men,” he shouted over the dwindling sound of the wagon’s wheels. “But after that, you go back to wherever you came from.”

In the distance, another set of hooves beat against the ground. These came from further within the fence line and announced the arrival of what looked to be around half a dozen men. All three of the robbers glanced nervously toward the approaching riders and then back to Slocum.

“You heard what I said,” Slocum announced. “Collect your men and leave. If you go anywhere near that wagon, I’ll just come after you. Something tells me I’ll have some help this time around.”

That was all the three horsemen needed to hear. The first one met the second at the spot where the third had fallen from his saddle. Rather than try to chase down the horse that had run away, the third man was helped up behind the second and they bolted.

Slocum allowed the horsemen to scurry off. They were following orders and steering clear of the wagon, but he wasn’t about to let it drop there. Ignoring the approaching riders, he raced down the path that led through the fence and kept on going until he closed in on the wagon. The single horse pulling it was doing a hell of a job, but couldn’t possibly keep it up for much longer. Slowing down to match the wagon’s pace, Slocum showed his empty hands to the driver and rifleman.

Rather than take a look, the woman turned toward the man beside her. The rifleman kept his weapon aimed at Slocum as he stood up and studied the surrounding area. “There they go, all right,” he said. “Ease back on those reins.” When the woman didn’t carry out the request right away, the rifleman sat back down and placed a hand upon her shoulder. “I said ease back, Val.”

The woman was still skittish, but she pulled back on her reins. The horse in front of the wagon was already tuckered out and had begun slowing down of its own accord. Now that it felt the tug of reins, it was more than happy to take a few more plodding steps and come to a halt.

“I carry a little bit of everything back there,” the old man said as he hooked his thumb toward the wagon behind him. “There’s also some cargo bound for the Bird Track Ranch. More than likely, they were after that.”

Before Slocum could say another word, the riders that had come from within the property rushed past the fence to surround him and the wagon. “He one of yours, William?” the lead rider asked.

Every one of the six riders had his weapon drawn. Although Slocum figured he had a better than average chance of getting away from there if he so desired, he went along with the request. After all, he hadn’t come all that way just to gun down an entire welcoming party.