Slocum and the Diamond City Affair (9781101612118) (11 page)

She shooed him in through her back door and, once inside the kitchen, she threw her arms around him and they kissed. “Man oh man, am I ever glad to see you.”

He held her loosely around the waist and rocked her from side to side. She was almost as tall as he was, and it felt good for him to hold her again. Something about this tall woman always found a big place in his heart.

“You look good,” he said.

“This gray hair says I'm not getting any younger.”

“And you have not remarried?”

She frowned. “I was not cut out to share a husband with a sweet young thing he kept in his bed at home while he expected me to make him money.”

“I thought maybe someone saw all the good things in your heart and married you.”

They kissed again. A serious look spread over her handsome tanned face. “Most men around here think with their peckers. More children and more income is what they want. I've heard enough of their preaching: ‘You should be married, Alma, and be busy bringing more children into this world.' That ain't what God sent me here for.”

“Where are your kids?” He looked around the room.

“Gone to Tucson for a church gathering with their father's family. So I'm a free woman. What do you need from—me?”

“Ah, more of this would be nice, but I need to go find some mean men who hurt a young woman.”

She put her cheek on his shoulder. “Shucks, I thought you came to see me.”

“I did, but I also want to locate a man they say has a farm below here—a German, Adolph Bach. He rides for Old Man Clanton.”

“I've heard of him,” she said. “He's a got young Mexican woman there. They say he beats her regular-like. No one likes him.”

“When do you think I could catch him at home?”

She turned up her long hands, calloused from doing a man's work. “I don't know. Are you hungry?”

He shrugged. “Not too hungry—unless you have some peach pie.”

“Now, how did you guess I had some of that?”

“I can smell the evidence on you.”

“What else can you smell?”

“A very fine woman.”

She put a finger by his nose and grinned big. “You remember that. It's very important to me. Pie's coming up.”

He sat at the table, slowly masticating the bites of sweet peach pie. Saliva flooded his mouth and the aroma wafted up his nostrils.
My, what a heavenly place to sit in the cool shade of her kitchen with a breeze coming through the house and eat such heavenly food.

The frosting on the cake was the attentive look on her face while she clearly wondered when he would get through eating and race upstairs to enjoy her willing body. Not a bad way to live, considering he came there to kill a man—who needed it.

She reached over and squeezed his hand. Her blue eyes danced. “You ready?”

“Sure.”

14

The bloody sundown coming in the west window outlined Alma's tall, naked form as she stood in the last light at the foot of the bed. The bloody flare of that light outlined her shapely form as she leaned over to ask Slocum if he wanted some fried ham with mashed potatoes and gravy for supper.

“Fine. Is the sheepherder shower hooked up?” he asked, throwing his legs off the bed.

“Yes. It should be warm enough. With the kids gone, it gets a chance to heat up some. Need soap and a towel?”

“I do.” He stood up and pulled on his pants.

She hugged and kissed him, then put on her housecoat, buttoning it up the front. Seated on the bed, he put on his socks and boots, still thinking about their lovemaking. What a delicious way to spend a few hours. His balls felt completely depleted, but oh, what a great day. A second lovely woman to entertain him.
Whew!
His back nagged at him when he stood up. Better go take a bath while he had the chance.

“Put your pretty horse in the barn too,” she said when he passed her in the kitchen and kissed her on the cheek.

“Thanks. He'll appreciate that.”

“I do too.” She shook her head at him and then blushed.

“Count me in on that as well.”

*   *   *

The windmill out back creaked along on the evening breeze, cranking out water to fill a large holding tank to see to the livestock's needs. During a short recess she took from him that afternoon while he took a nap, Alma had milked the cows and fed her chickens and pigs. Then she'd taken a quick shower and climbed back in bed as if refreshed.

At the shed's porch he undressed and then stepped under the showerhead. The water that came down on his head when he pulled the rope wasn't icy, but it damn sure wasn't warm. Wet, he quickly soaped up, then rinsed away the residue. Drying off, he went back toward the house. King was in a stall crunching on alfalfa hay. It would be hard to leave Alma. It was that way with all the good women he knew in this world.

The next morning when the sun came up he sat on the ridge behind some boulders and turned the field glasses on Bach's jacal.

He'd learned from Alma that Bach was a vicious man and several people had felt the bite of his temper. Bach once used a bullwhip to beat up a man who laid adobe bricks for him because of some cracked bricks that Bach said he had caused. People told Alma that all adobe bricks crack and it was to be expected for some to be lost. The brick man almost lost his eye in that encounter. Few people in the region even wanted to talk about Bach.

At Bach's jacal, a young Mexican woman with a baby in a sling milked three goats on her doorstep. Then she fed some chickens. No sign of a horse in the corral—her man obviously was not there. Slocum slipped back over the ridge, caught his hobbled horse, and took the back way into Alma's place.

She was busy canning when he got back. The kitchen was all steamed up. The new miracle-lidded glass jars were a big benefit for home food preservation. Of course, the church had a canning processing operation, but Alma wanted her own independence from the ward's warehouse, so she did her own.

Slocum offered to help, but she dismissed his offer. “Was he home?”

“No, and no telling when he'll be back either.”

“Go get some sleep upstairs. You left here way too early. I won't forget you.”

He knew she wouldn't. So he kissed her and hiked upstairs. The breeze was coming through the bedroom's open windows, making the windmill outside creak hard. He undressed and fell asleep quickly.

Thunder rolled him off the bed. He laughed once he was standing on the floor getting his bearings. Just a monsoonal shower. He went to the window and bent over to look out the lower opening. Large raindrops were driving in. Putting down the windows to save the room from the water, he heard her coming upstairs.

“Wow, rain in the desert,” she said, sounding excited.

“Things happen.” He hugged her.

“Glad you shut out the rain.” They kissed as more grumbles rolled over the roof. They kept on seeking each other until they spilled onto the bed and shuffled their clothing around to get together.

The rain lasted a long time and so did they, until at last their wild lovemaking was curtained when he came again and they sprawled on the bed, exhausted.

She was on her belly and elbows beside him. “You ever think about holing up somewhere?”

He shook his head and smiled. “It would never work.”

“We could go up in Utah and find an isolated place.”

“Never work. I've got too many enemies. They'd find me.”

“Could we try it sometime?”

He leaned over and kissed her. “I wouldn't put you and your kids through all that hell.”

“Hey, we'd make do.”

“Rain's moved on.”

She made a wry face at him and pushed herself up, and her pear-shaped breasts shook as she moved away, looking weary as she reflected on her situation. Great body and wonderful woman—Slocum would really miss her. Nothing else he could do. No way they could hide out for long from the men who sought him.

That evening he rode down for a quick check of Bach's jacal. When he saw no horse in the corral, he went back to Alma's place through the same back gate. Water seeped in his boot soles as he walked King around the field.
Free irrigation
, he thought, and smiled.

Alma was busy fixing supper when he came into the house after putting his horse in the stall. He kissed her, then put up his hat and gun belt.

“We got over two inches of rain.”

“The river is flooding some,” he said.

“Shame we can't hold that for a dry spell. Our artesian wells won't last forever.”

He knew their irrigation water came from capped deep wells. Some used the water from the San Pedro River for their operations, but it was an undependable source.

Her supper included fried chicken, spinach, fresh green beans, and some homemade sourdough bread and peach pie. She knew how to entice a man to stay. They went to bed early and he got up in the middle of the night to be near Bach's jacal at sunup to check on the man's presence.

He listened to the topknot quail whit-wooing out in the bunch grass and chaparral. A small purple light began to frame the Chiricahuas. Through the glasses he could see the outline of a big horse in the pen. His man was there.

Slocum put the glasses up in his saddlebags and began to work his way around the place, coming up from behind through the mesquite. The milk goats bleated at him. He shooed them away, with his right hand on his pistol grip. Outside the jacal, he squatted beside the ruins of another adobe building to wait for Bach to appear.

Time went by slowly. The sun came up over Slocum's shoulder; it would be in the outlaw's eyes when he came out. Slocum watched him come out the doorway, groping in his pants for his dick—to piss, no doubt.

When Adolph Bach looked up, he started at the sight of Slocum. His hand quit trying to find his pecker and he went for a gun that must have been in his back pocket. When he swung the small handgun around, Slocum shot him in the chest and sent him to his knees. Bach snarled and tried to raise his gun arm. Big mistake—Slocum shot him again in the middle of his chest.

A woman inside began screaming. So did some babies. Slocum holstered the six-gun and turned his back on the death scene. That worthless sumbitch would rape no more innocent women.

He found King, unhobbled him, and mounted up. He was back at Alma's place by midmorning.

She looked up from churning butter when he came inside and took off his hat. She knew by the look on his face what had happened. He saw the question in her eyes and nodded.

“It's done.”

“Good.” She went to turning the crank harder. “I'll be through in a minute or so.”

He sat down on a chair. “There's no rush.”

“When will you have to leave here?”

“In the morning.”

She looked hard at him. “Stay the whole day tomorrow and leave the next morning. Then my kids will be back, and I'll get back on the track I follow every day.”

He couldn't deny her the small request and nodded again. “A deal.”

All smiles, she said, “Wonderful. I want to put this butter in the cooler. I'll meet you upstairs.” She made a face over something. “I need a shower. Then I'll be up there. Nap awhile.”

He laughed, went upstairs, and undressed. Soon he was asleep. He woke easy-like when he felt her strong fingers massaging his sleeping dick. Her breath in his ear and her tongue teasing him caused him to smile. Damn, she was tall with an amazing hard body from all the farmwork she handled. He rolled over against her, and she got up to straddle his flanks and the half-full erection. In a few seconds, she stuck his prick in her vagina and began to ride him with a grin on her face.

He strained hard to push deeper inside her each time, but she was the guide and was enjoying every minute from her efforts. The bed ropes screamed under them, and they were both lost in the wild involvement of their act.

Then she dove onto the bed beside him and he sprung on top of her. First she held her legs straight up in the air, but then she folded them up for him to really get after her ass. His balls were bouncing off her butt as he sought the deepest place in her vagina to let fly his load. With his dick buried in her to the hilt, she cried out in pleasure at his explosion. They lay in a pile and tried to recover their breath and to clear their brains of the fog set off by the climax.

They soon snuggled in each other's arms, kissing and seeking a closeness to seal them into one. Damn, she was a wonderful woman, and that hideout in Utah she'd mentioned might be heaven. But he needed to be honest with himself—they'd find him even up there
.
He better make the best of their reunion during the next twenty-four hours, 'cause he had to leave soon.

Two more men must pay for their savage raping of Nana, and then Slocum could move on.

His shoulders shook from the excitement coursing through him from holding Alma's sensuous, naked body tight against his. He closed his eyes and thanked the powers that be for sharing her with him even for a small space in time.

15

On his trip south below the border, he began to question storekeepers and the like along the way to where this Valdez lived. No one could say if he was at his small farm, but Slocum intended to stop near his place and check it out. No telling if Valdez knew by this time that his associate Adolph Bach was dead. The extra day and night he had spent at Alma's might have let the bastards realize that someone was settling a debt on them for something they'd done.

Two horses were in the corral at Valdez's jacal when Slocum scoped them with the field glasses from a distance. In the last light of sundown, he rode back to a cantina where he was served a hot meal. A short, brassy woman in her thirties with big tits and a large belly brought him his food.

“You want to fuck me?” she asked, standing with her hands on her hips and her feet apart as if she were challenging him.

He looked up at her mildly in the smoky cantina. “No.”

“What's wrong with me for you?” she demanded.

With a shake of his head to dismiss her, he started to pick at his food.

She slapped the table with her palm. “I asked you—”

When she reached for him, he caught her wrist in a vise grip and drew her close to his face. “I want to eat. Now get out of my sight.”

“You gawdamn gringo—” Two of the bartenders came on the run and furiously dragged her away, kicking and screaming. They apologized to him and hauled her into the back room, and soon she was quiet. Slocum wondered what they were doing with her, but in a short while customers began to file into the back room, one at a time. When they came out, they waved for another to go in there while buttoning their pants.

He didn't particularly care what had happened to her, but after he paid for his meal and beers, he passed the open door on his way out and could see that they had gagged her, tied her spread-eagled on top of a bed, and invited everyone to dip his wick in her. Good enough.

Later, alone in the desert, he wrapped himself in a blanket against the night's cold. He wasn't more than an hour away from Valdez's place. He planned to surprise that worthless man in the morning before dawn if he came out of his jacal.

Slocum woke and checked the moon. The time was about two hours until dawn, by his calculations. Under the starlight, he saddled King and rode off in the cool night to find Valdez and settle his business with the outlaw.

He arrived at his destination without incident. Grateful for the moonlight, he hobbled King and made his way through the tall mesquite brush to the back of the place. At last he found a spot where he could view the open doorway.

Squatted down on his heels, he passed the time wondering where he'd find Gorman. Maybe he was in Mexico too. A man with a scar above his right eye should not be hard to find. People wouldn't forget someone like that. Just as the sun was rising, he heard horses coming and dropped farther back to avoid detection, wanting to hear what was going on next.

“Hombre! Valdez, wake up! They shot Bach two nights ago. You may be next. Get out of bed. Bach is dead!”

“Who shot him?”

“A pistolero. This is one tough bastard. Bach's wife said he shot her husband six times when he came out the door—he didn't have a chance. You better get up to the Old Man's, huh?”

“
Madre de Dios
. Do they have the name of his killer?”

“No, she didn't see him. He rode a shod horse, and we could not follow his tracks in the road dust.

“Why did he shoot Bach?”

“Who knows, but it might be for revenge. But you and him—you've done some things together, no?”

“We done many things together. Does this shooter work for Wells Fargo, do you think?”

“I don't know. Maybe they hired him. They're still looking for the buckboard and everything. But all that was burned and buried.”

“You don't ever know nothing about
dees
Well Fargo men. I know several men
dey
kilt.” Valdez coughed. “Angela, pack my things. I must go.”

“I am going to warn Gorman.”

“Good idea.”

Where was Gorman? Slocum wanted that answer, and he figured this was his best chance to find him. Running low, he went for his horse, took off the hobbles, swung into the saddle, and headed out of the brush. He wanted a better look at this man who had come to warn Valdez. His knowledge about the buried robbery deal would thrill the Wells Fargo man to death. Perhaps he could follow the man to Gorman, find that bastard, take care of him, and come back for Valdez. If he could find Gorman, he could maybe wait there for Valdez to join him—surely they'd be together. And he would have more information on the robbery.

He halted his horse on the rise, and with his glasses trained on the road, waited for the man to ride by. He was galloping fast down the road, and the land was wide open—no cover at all for someone trying to stealthily follow a horseman, and no way to track him since he was about to join up with a well-traveled road. But Slocum did get a good look at him: He was medium build, a Mexican with slanted eyes—almost Chinese-looking, probably a half-blood even. Though Slocum could not put a name to him, Wells Fargo would know him. They had a list an arm long of the men who rode for Clanton.

Slocum knew he couldn't successfully follow this man to Gorman. Even as Slocum lowered the glasses, preparing to head back and finish off Valdez, that outlaw himself appeared on the road, galloping hard after his informant. Muttering a curse, Slocum realized he couldn't catch up without foundering his own horse.

With Valdez staying who knows where, he'd be harder to find, but he would be found. He would also now be on Wells Fargo's list of persona non grata as someone who had been in on the buckboard holdup and murders of three of their employees. Good. So they thought it was an express company man who'd killed Bach.

Slocum headed for Tombstone to find the Wells Fargo man. In the Oriental Saloon he located Agent Holt and they went to the back of the room to talk.

“What do you know?” the agent asked, swilling his whiskey around in his glass.

“One of the men who was in on the Nogales buckboard robbery is dead.”

Holt frowned. “Who's that?”

“Adolph Bach. And I found out some of the others who were involved.”

Holt wet his lips. “Who?”

“A three-fingered Mexican named Valdez.”

“I know him. Who else?”

“Carl Gorman, who's got a scar over his right eye. I overheard a Mex in his late twenties talking to Valdez three hours ago about the rig being burned up and buried. Did you find it?”

“We ain't, but now we'll have a better idea of what we're looking for. How did you get in on this?”

“Gorman, Bach, and Valdez viciously raped an innocent girl in the mountains down south. Bach is dead, and I want the other two's hides nailed to the shit house wall for what they did to her.”

Holt raised the glass and toasted him. “So do I, but for other reasons. Three good men murdered. Where do you want the envelope for the money I owe you? This is the first real break I've had. You get one of them alive, please try to get as much as you can out of him before he rides off to hell.”

“Hamby Cox over at the café will hold the money for me. Thanks,” Slocum said.

Holt nodded and they parted.

What the hell. No telling what Holt would pay him. He'd take it and be glad. A small bonus for ridding the earth of more trash. For his part, he wished he'd gotten Valdez earlier in the day, but he'd just have to find him again—and Gorman was also still out there.

At the café, after digging in to a meal consisting of a bowl of stew and sourdough bread, he told Cox about expecting a letter.

The man nodded. “It will be here when you come for it.”

Slocum paid him, tipped his waitress a dime, and headed for Joe Kelly's Livery to get King. Halfway there he stopped and checked the sun time—two or three o'clock. What was his newfound madam doing this time of day? She just might need some company.

A black maid answered the front door, then went upstairs to ask Miss Hunton if she had time to see him. Less than a minute after the maid disappeared, an excited Carla was standing at the top of the stairs. “Get right up here, you big hombre. I thought you'd left the country.”

When he reached the top of the stairs, her arms went around his waist to hug him and she thanked the wide-eyed black girl. They went into Carla's suite and she closed the door. She lifted up on her toes and they kissed and then kissed some more.

“Why, I thought you'd sugar footed away from here. What made you come back? Wait, how long can you be here?”

“A night, if you want me that long.” He wondered what she was going to do.

“Wonderful, take off your clothes behind that screen. I'll have them bring up some hot bathwater and we can have your clothes laundered.”

“I don't—”

Her two fingers cut off his speech. “You are my guest, sir.”

“Yes, ma'am.” Then he took off his gun belt and began to undress with her assistance.

“Your bathwater will be here shortly. Get behind the silk screen. The help doesn't need to see that super cock of yours.”

He furrowed his eyebrows. “Now, how in the hell did you order that? You've been here all the time.”

She herded him behind the screen and, at the knock on the door, loudly said, “Bring the water in, girls.”

Giggling over her secret, she stood on her toes and whispered to him, “I pulled the red velvet cord three times. That means bring me bathwater.”

He caught her under the cheeks of her tight ass and pulled her tight against him. “Sneaky damn trick.”

They both laughed.

“Bring up some rinse water in ten minutes, girls.”

“Yes, ma'am.” And they left the room.

Slocum's bath went smoothly, with Carla brushing his back with a long-handled brush. The help brought two buckets of warm water, and she showed them out after giving them his clothes in a bundle to be washed. Then she strode back, looked down at him, and shook her head in mild disbelief. “How did I get so lucky to have you return?”

“You knew I was looking for those men. One of them has gone on to hell. Another one ran to hide, probably at Clanton's hideout in Mexico, and the third man is missing.”

Standing on a footstool, she rinsed him with the first bucket as he stood at his full height in the tub. He reached down for the other one and then handed the pail to her. After the water was sloshed over him, he held out his hand for the towel. Instead, she moved in to dry him herself.

“So what will you do next?”

“Go into Mexico and look for Gorman. He may be down there.”

“Maybe you should stay here a few days and they will think you are gone.”

“Might work, but they aren't dumb.”

She looked up from where she knelt, drying his lower body, and rose. “I am simply pleased that you returned—to me.”

“Find me some Mexican dress, leather pants, high-top boots, a serape, and a sombrero. I can pay you. I'll buy a Mexican Big Horn saddle and ride down there.”

“Oh,
sí
.”

He gave her a friendly shove. “I can mumble enough Spanish to get by.”

“We won't shave you then.”

“It's your skin.”

She shook her head and dismissed his concern. “I will send Lola out to buy these items. She's the most dependable for this job, and she can measure your clothing with strings.”

“Lots of trouble for you.”

“I will make a pattern from your feet. This may take a day or two to get all of it.” She looked at him for his approval.

“Fine.”

After his feet's pattern was traced on wrapping paper, Carla instructed Lola in what to do. Carla came back to her naked guest, who sat on the bed after she closed the door.

“Well, now I have you trapped in here.” She began unbuttoning her dress before him.

He rose and helped her undress. She soon joined him in his nakedness and they kissed some more. Then they spilled on the bed, in no big hurry to do any more than savor each other. With him on his back and her braced on top of his chest, she asked, “How many of these men are left?”

“Two remain.”

“That should be no problem for you.”

“Put some word out that if either of them show up here in town, people should get word to you.”

“I can do that.” She winked mischievously at him. “Now let's work on ourselves.”

They kissed and fell into a furious lovemaking spree. In a short while he was coupled with her and enjoying the luxury of her body. Out of breath and pounding her hard, he came at last and they dissolved like wilted flowers and napped.

His own clothes were back, placed on the table outside the door to her suite. She recovered them and he dressed. Then she ordered supper for them and some wine.

After a fine meal of prime rib and potatoes, he excused himself, promising to return later.

“Don't knock when you return. Simply come on in,” she said as she rose to kiss him.

It was midweek and Big Nose Kate's was quiet. The bartender told him none of the Cowboys were in town, nor had he seen any of them since Saturday night. Slocum finished his beer and went on.

He knew there was a Mexican bar in town and he went there next. The whore who sat in the chair next to him, showing off her small cleavage, told him that Gorman had not been in Tombstone for several weeks. Although she had no idea where the outlaw was at the moment, her eyes lit up at the sight of a silver dollar and she smiled. “I do know he has been staying at a place south of here, a ranch that his brother owns, and is helping him round up his cattle.”

He put the coin down flat.
“Muchas gracias.”
Then he left her and went next door into a barbershop that was still open. Such places stayed open almost around the clock because so many miners worked such long hours and then drank before they thought about their appearances.