Slocum and the Long Ride by Jake Logan

together.”
    â€œThings happen. If I am ever near your schoolhouse, can I come by?”
    She nodded. “Yes—do. I must go now. Be very careful.”
    â€œI will.”
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    After she left, he rose, then unhitched and mounted Pancho. He rode out of the jam-packed town still full of folks waiting for word they could go safely home. It was straining the town’s facilities. But Slocum knew there was no immediate answer to the problems of overcrowding.
    He rode across the border to a small village, looking for information about Gomez. In a cantina he lounged with his chair to the wall, and a skinny
puta
came by and tried to coax him into paying her for her ass.
    â€œI am young and I can entertain you in bed,
mi amigo
.”
    â€œOh, I don’t think so.”
    â€œNo, no. I can make you a grand stallion or you don’t have to pay me.”
    â€œWhat is your name?” His attention was hard on two men who had just come into the cantina. They looked like banditos, or at least they swaggered into the place like bullies who owned it.
    The bartender greeted them, and it was obvious he did not know them. They told him they were new in the village and asked if he had any pretty
putas
. He said there were some in there.
    The biggest man rested his elbows on the bar and gazed around the room like he was surveying the crowd of mostly peons in white clothing, heads down, not wanting any wrath from this man.
    â€œWho made this beer?” the second man asked, spitting out a mouthful on the dirt floor. “This is too bad to serve to the public.” He was a bulldog, shorter than his compadre. “What do you say, Ringo? Should we shoot this
bastardo
for serving us horse piss?”
    â€œThat is the only beer I can buy, señor.”
    Slocum was still thinking on him calling his partner Ringo. There was a Johnny-come-lately at Tombstone went by that name, but he was a Texas cowboy who was handy with a gun. He was a gringo. This man must have taken his name to impress crowds like this one. What was the bulldog’s name?
    â€œ
Cristo
, I don’t know what to do. Kill him for keeping such ugly
putas
in here or poisoning you.”
    He grabbed a seated peon by a fistful of his shirt. Then he raised him up and asked him in his face, “How do you vote,
mi amigo
?”
    â€œI no vote, señor.”
    The big man threw him down on the floor and kicked him in the ass, “Get the hell out of here then. You worthless piece of shit.” The young man, hardly more than a boy, rushed out the swinging doors and was gone.
    â€œI should have shot him in the ass, huh?”
    Ringo approached another table, right next to the last one. When he moved to the next one, those at the first table got up and ran out the door. His haughty laughter rang out. “They have no dicks. No stallion in them. You have a big dick?”
    The pale-faced man he had asked shook his head. “No, señor.”
    â€œWhat are you, a pussy?”
    The man shook his head.
    â€œI think it is time for you two to leave.” Slocum’s voice was low but audible.
    He quietly told the girl to get aside. Then he rose slow-like and hitched his gun belt in place. “You don’t want that old man, you want me.”
    â€œHuh? What did you say?” The
pistolero
blinked in disbelief at him.
    â€œHe said he wanted you, Ringo,” Bulldog said with an evil grin.
    â€œWhat’s your name?” Ringo gave him a head toss.
    â€œMy name is not important. You, sir, are a bully. I think you should get on your horse and ride away from this village. These people are gentle people. They have no weapons, how can they fight you? They can’t, and you punish men who are gentle men. Load your asses up and go. Otherwise this cannot end peacefully, like things here do every day when folks like you aren’t here harassing people.”
    â€œYou must be