Slocum and the Apache Border Incident by Jake Logan

Author:Jake Logan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group

11

The day’s hot, dusty journey turned up no sign of Franco’s scouts. Franco was not pleased they’d disobeyed his orders and had gone ahead without him. That evening, they stayed with a goatherder and his wife. She butchered two goats and barbecued them for two dollars. The sullen soldiers sat around in the firelight and ate cabrito off the bone, tossing the leftover pieces to the waiting dogs.

One of the older ones, Corporal Morales, laughed quietly and elbowed Slocum. “See our sergeant is going to screw her, too.”

“I would have seconds in her,” a young private said, under his breath, taking more meat on the bone out of the kettle.

“When the sergeant finishes, you can have her,” Morales said to him. Slocum laughed with them in private, then took his bedroll and went from the firelight to sleep. No doubt, Franco was fawning over the woman. She was pot-bellied, a very Indian-looking teenager, and Slocum had no desire for her first or second.

In the morning, they would be in the Madres foothills and he planned to escape from them up there. Their guard was getting lower and lower concerning him. He soon was asleep.

Predawn, a boot awakened him. The woman scrambled to feed them beans and coffee. Franco no longer kept her company; Slocum decided he’d taken his fill of her.

Slocum sat on the ground eating his beans and the young private of the night before sat nearby. “How much did she charge you?”

“My last ten centavos.”

“Was she worth it?”

The boy looked at him rather whimsically. “She wasn’t half bad.”

The pot-bellied woman, with her small children hugging her skirts, waved good-bye to them when they rode out and smiled with her broken mouth, at least two dollars and ten cents richer.

Already hot and the sun wasn’t even up. This would be their worst day on the trail. The mens’ tempers were short; two soldiers had already fought over the loading of a cranky mule.

“You’ve been seeing their tracks,” Franco said, riding up close to Slocum.

“Seen lots of tracks the past few days.”

“No, you know I mean my scouts’ tracks.” He booted his horse to keep him trotting beside the roan.

“What about them?”

“Are we closer to catching them?”

“Some. Why?”

“How far ahead are they?”

“Maybe half a day. I can’t be sure.”

“I want to catch them by dark.”

“You’ll do our horses in.” Slocum scowled at the man’s order.

“I don’t care. I need to catch them.”

He set the roan into a lope. They’d all be ready to collapse if and when they did find them. Hot wind like a breath off a fire crossed his face. He wanted to close his eyes and be up there in the higher elevation. He needed a fairy godmother to take him instead of the tiring roan between his knees.

Late afternoon, they were off their mounts and leading them up the steep grade. The sunset flooded the western sky in coppery red as they fought to find the strength to stagger on. Franco shouted at his men and the animals to get moving when they had little desire to do more than stumble along.

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