Slocum and the Diamond City Affair (9781101612118) by Jake Logan

near the International Line border markers and headed into the mountains. The trail narrowed, and leading the big horse became harder. He halted on a rise that topped the first ridge. Sweat soaked, both horses dripped as they gasped for breath, and Slocum changed his saddle to the stallion. There was dust rising from far out in the valley. No doubt the pursuit. He stepped in the stirrup and the upset stallion whirled around, but Slocum sent him uphill again through the dusty evergreen junipers, leaving his own bay horse behind.
    Slocum had noticed at the stopover that the stud’s hooves looked recently reshod. Good. He set him over the top of a rise and down the far slope, which was steep, but the horse was sure-footed. The trail would lead into the Mule Mountains, and if he was lucky he might shake the pursuit. It was still more than forty twisty miles to Nogales, and the delivery of the stallion was no sure deal. But Slocum intended to beat their pursuit and get him there. All he needed was to remember who O’Riley said was supposed to accept him and the horse. That was the least of his worries.
    The loose gravel slid under the horse’s footing in places on the steep path, but the hard-breathing horse recovered quickly from his once-pampered racetrack life. Slocum reached down and patted him on the neck for his alertness to the changing situation. This big horse would do his part. Slocum needed to reach some flatter ground to let him race. Few horses could gain much time on him there. Still, there was no easy way off these hills and that would be his next mission.
    The heat rose as he and King, as Slocum named him, dropped down in elevation. Slocum had no idea how far back the pursuit was. Both the height of the mountains and the dense junipers behind him made him turn in the saddle to listen closely.
    He knew distance was his best chance. The rough country could thin down the number of the determined who would try to catch him. In ten more miles, only Clanton’s most convinced chasers would be left. If he had time to cover the horse’s hooves and leave only blurred tracks, that could make it harder for them to follow him, short of an Apache’s effort. But he had no time for that, nor the material to do it.
    Some goats grazing on the brush scattered at his approach. Reining in King, he nodded to the woman herding them. “Sorry, but I’m in a hurry.”
    She nodded. “Go with God,” she said in Spanish and waved him on. He left her and hurried the stallion over some smoother place. The canyon narrowed and the road dropped into a dry wash where some seep holes contained pools of water.
    Farther down the canyon, he let the horse drink and used his hand to cup of some of the clear water for himself. Then he remounted and headed downhill on a dim road that let him trot King. He could see the open country ahead where he hoped to find a road to Patagonia. That would be the closest town en route to the border city of Nogales.
    With King short loping through the live oak country, he wondered if Clanton’s men were still coming. A rifle would have been a handy defense weapon. Clanton wouldn’t want anything to happen to the horse, so they’d not dare shoot much at him. Still, they’d be absolutely set on stopping him.
    Was the horse receiver in Nogales named Moulton or Morton? Slocum couldn’t remember, but the man would probably appear when he got there with the stallion. Leaning forward, he urged King to go faster. The skin on Slocum’s back crawled. The thick creosote smell of greasewood was in his nose. Heat waves rose off the desert floor and made his vision of the Huachuca Mountains wavy. He pushed the big horse past the base of them.
    Long after dark he reached Patagonia and stabled King. But before he put him in the stall, he and the swamper washed and rubbed him down with alcohol. Slocum let King only drink sips of water until he felt satisfied the big horse