Slocum 421 by Jake Logan Page A

sorry.”
    â€œNo need to be. I have not cried a tear. He chose a horse that morning I told him was too tough for him, but he rode off on him anyway. I tried to save him from dying. He never listened. What more could I have done?”
    â€œI guess he made his own decision.” Her stew was delicious.
    â€œHe did that.” Sounding as if she was through talking about her late husband, she said, “I have a sheepherder shower. If there is not a posse right on your trail, I’ll give you a towel and soap. But I will not tell you that the water is hot.”
    â€œI would be grateful.”
    â€œAnd I am going to get you some clothes that may fit you so I can wash those you have lived in so long.” She shook her head as if she couldn’t believe his situation.
    â€œThere are not any bath houses on the back roads between here and Fort Hayes.”
    â€œWell, you’ve found one today. You want more stew?”
    â€œI’d take some more of your great sourdough bread, butter, and that chokecherry jam.”
    â€œOh, bragging will get you more.” She jumped up to fill his order.
    After he ate three more slices, she pointed out the way and he trekked off for the shower. The water in the barrel overhead was certainly not warm, but he felt good shedding the dirt and stink associated with his long mule ride to here. His plans included buying a horse to ride when he could find one.
    Dry and dressed in borrowed clothing, he put his gun belt on again and then headed for the cabin. Nice place for a ranch, nestled under the hill; a small, clear creek ran by it, no doubt spring-fed, and surrounding it were big cottonwoods that soon would leaf out and a large garden spot in the alluvial riverbed. The place was well fenced to keep out vermin and plowed ready to plant potatoes and greens. It all looked serene—pens, haystacks, mowing equipment, and two teams of big draft horses in the corral. Her husband had left her with a nice place.
    â€œLooks like Jon’s clothes fit you all right. Him and Carter will be back here in an hour or so. We have some trouble with a pushy guy named Horace Garvin. Moved in here because they ran him out of Texas some folks say. He gets awful pushy, thinks he owns the entire range. He’s run off some homesteaders over on the river. So we go with two men whenever we leave the ranch. Carter is a good old man. He’s tough, and Jon can and will stand up for himself, but they’ve got some hard-core sumbitches over at the Two G Bar. His foreman, Buck Sears, is some tough outlaw, seems to me.”
    â€œHas this Garvin threatened folks you know about?”
    â€œYeah, he had one woman in tears. Her husband was gone when they came by telling her to leave. They ain’t left, but they’re real concerned. Another woman shot at them with a shotgun. Two of them got bucked off their horses when the pellets hit their horses’ butts.”
    â€œSounds like they need a few more lessons.”
    â€œWould you be able to do something? I know you’ve been around, and I wondered what you could try on them.” She folded her arms over her chest, busy overseeing the cooking on the range. “Sit down at the table. We don’t have lots of furniture.”
    â€œNo problem. I’d hang a dummy on the ranch crossbar and pin a sign on him: GO HOME OR DIE .”
    She began laughing. “How hard is that?”
    â€œSome old clothes stuffed with hay, a pillowcase with a mouth and eyes painted on it, and a rope knotted and all around his neck.”
    â€œBy damn that might shake them some.”
    â€œIt won’t run off the real tough guys, but it will thin out the dumb ones.”
    â€œIs that posse real close to your tail?”
    â€œI hope they’re looking for me in Colorado.”
    â€œWe could pay you to stay a few days and get that going.” She’d come to sit across from him at the table.
    â€œJust sell me a