Slocum and the Long Ride by Jake Logan

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    â€œI was upset when you left, but I understood you needed to be alone to do that job. Our trip over here was so nail-biting scary, and I am certain down there was no better, but there was some kind of challenge in me that I wished I’d gone along.”
    â€œI may have to return down there. But they won’t leave the ranch unattended with all those war parties around. So we may have some time together if you can spare it.”
    â€œSpare it? I’d love to have some more time in your company.”
    â€œI would too.” He winked at her. “The like might ruin your reputation.”
    She looked down, putting the cloth napkin in her lap. “I could do a lot of that too.”
    They both laughed softly. A tinge of blush in her cheeks, and she shook her head to dismiss her remark. What a lovely lady. Considering Slocum’s own wild past with shady ladies, she was such an outstanding individual to have in his life, living in the protective custody of this village before she returned to her rural schoolhouse to teach young people how to read, write, and become grown-ups in a bloody world. Many of them had learned about this deadly knife’s edge of frontier at their own homes in these raids.
    â€œDid you settle anything down there?”
    â€œGomez is a powerful force. But like these Apaches, he is controllable.”
    She nodded. They ordered their meal and talked about her meeting some people and how her parents in Kansas were well and they had gotten her letter saying that she’d arrived.
    â€œThe mail does continue to come through,” she said.
    â€œYes. But I am surprised there aren’t more troops down here to protect the country.”
    â€œHow will they get here?” she asked. “There is no train coming through on unseen tracks.”
    He agreed. The lady understood many deeply thought things about the world they lived in. What a delightful companion he had to share a meal with, besides her beauty that turned men’s heads. And she was his to savor. My, how this event beat spying on old outlaws below the border.
    â€œAfter lunch, if I have to bathe in the creek, I am getting a bath.” He shook his head over his soggy condition.
    â€œIt has stopped raining.”
    â€œGood.”
    â€œWhat are your plans?”
    Under his breath he said, “Get a bath and entertain you in your room tonight.”
    â€œOh,” she said softly. “That would be wonderful.”
    He reached over and squeezed her hand. “It will be.”
    The meal arrived, and they ate the hot food and washed it down with strong coffee. Then he walked her back to the hotel and left to find a bath.
    There was no bathhouse open in town. The Chinaman who had run one had left for parts unknown. Slocum took a towel from the hotel, and on the way bought a new shirt and pants that he found in a mercantile store. He went to the creek and located an isolated spot to wade in and wash his body and hair. Dressed under the cottonwoods, he slung his gun belt over his shoulder and headed back to find a barber. There was one waiting for him in his chair when he walked up the busy street and found him.
    â€œNice day,” the man said, swinging a sheet over Slocum.
    He soon had his haircut and his face closely shaved, while hearing all the gossip about the military’s action or lack of it. And the story about the woman who ran off on her husband with another man, leaving him five children to raise by himself. And how she should have been driven back to her duty with a buggy whip popping her on the ass the whole trip back.
    Slocum paid the barber, still amused at his solution to the desertion case. It was suppertime and he went to take Sandy out to eat. The streets were full of children playing and shouting. Wagons loaded with household goods parked all over town waiting to return to their places. The facilities of the town were badly stressed.
    Diseases would soon fester