Slocum and the Ghost of Adam Weyland

by Jake Logan

  14

  As it turned out, missing the breakfast served in that tent was more of a punishment than Slocum had anticipated. He woke up to the smell of frying bacon, griddle cakes, and something that sent a ripple through his body that was close to the ones Mia had given him the night before.

  “Is that coffee?” Slocum asked. “Real coffee?”

  Mia stood at the other side of the room, easing into her dress. Even though she kept her back to him out of what seemed to be some bit of modesty, the sight of her rounded backside wriggling into her clothes was still a good one. “Yes,” she said. “You think we could talk the clerk into letting us have some?”

  “If it’s the same lazy hag that sold us this room, I doubt it.” Slocum swung his legs over the side of the cot, realizing only after his feet touched the ground that he was in a different spot than where he’d fallen asleep. “How’d I wind up here?”

  “I was collecting our things and needed to pack up the bedroll. You were so tired, you didn’t even open your eyes when I dragged you off of it.”

  “Damn,” Slocum said while rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t remember any of that.”

  “You were sleeping hard. And snoring.”

  “Then I suppose I’d better make it up to you.” He stood up, gathered up the clothes that had been piled next to the cot, and put them on. Pulling on his boots before buttoning his shirt, he opened the door and stepped through. A strong wind caused the tent’s frame to creak and the walls to flap. The first thing he saw when trudging toward the front of the tent was the room directly next to his. In it, a balding man with a round belly stood with a shaving mirror in one hand and a razor in the other. He chuckled when he saw Slocum walk by and asked, “Have a good evenin’?”

  “Hope we didn’t make too much noise.”

  The man chuckled even harder and continued shaving.

  Nobody was at the front of the tent, but the scent of breakfast was much stronger. Slocum walked outside through a door that was held open by a pail filled with rocks and found a trio of long tables set up next to the tent. One of the tables carried stacks of plates, piles of cutlery, and pots of coffee. A man sat behind it, wearing a dirty apron and a smile that came from the profit turned by all the customers sitting at the other two tables. Behind him, a woman stood at the opening of a smaller tent, which was filled with smoke coming from an old stove.

  “Good mornin’ to you!” the happy man said. “What can I get ya?”

  “Some of that coffee would do nicely,” Slocum said. Hooking a thumb toward the larger tent, he added, “And breakfast. I rented a room for the night if that matters.”

  “It sure does! Let me just double-check with my better half.” He picked up a coffee cup on his way to meet with the woman at the stove. When Slocum got a look at her face as she turned around, he knew he was in trouble.

  “Oh, no!” the woman said, glaring at him as if she could still feel the pains in her knees from being forced to get up from her rocker the night before. “That’s the one I was telling you about. The one who made me drag that cot all the way in from the shed just so he could turn my place into a cathouse.”

  “I’m sure it wasn’t that bad,” the man in the apron said. “The least we could do is serve him breakfast. He is a paying guest, right?”

  “Right and he paid for the extra cot instead of breakfast.”

  When the man looked back at him, Slocum put on the most innocent expression he could muster. It didn’t do a lick of good to help his cause.

  Shrugging, the man walked back to his table and filled a cup with coffee. “Apologies, mister. Help yourself to some coffee, though.”

  “Can I have another cup?” Slocum asked.

  “One for him and one for the whore,” the cranky old hag said from her stove.

  “That’s enough with that kind of talk, Stephie! She could be his wife, for Christ’s sake!”

  “He wasn’t wearing no ring!”

  Rather than argue the matter any further, the man shrugged and whispered, “Pay for one and I’ll feed you both.”

  Slocum tipped his hat to him and hurried to bring Mia out before the man in the apron was forced to rescind his offer. They’d barely dug into their food before Adam staggered over to buy a plate for himself. By that time, most of the camp had gathered for breakfast. Perhaps that was why Adam didn’t take notice of Slocum and Mia, but it seemed just as likely that he was ignoring them outright. Knowing he would get his fill of dealing with temperamental company throughout the rest of the day, Slocum let the matter pass so he could enjoy his meal.

  As more and more of the folks at the other tables finished up and walked away, the woman who’d cooked the food started gathering up their dirty plates. When she made it to Slocum and Mia, she stopped just short of pulling the fork directly out of Slocum’s hand.

  “You finished?” she asked.

  “Just a moment,” Slocum said. He ate the eggs that had been on his fork, set it down, and handed the plate to her with a smile.

  Although the woman wasn’t about to grin back at him, she took the plate in the most cordial way possible. After collecting Mia’s things, she stormed a few steps away and then stopped. Glancing at them over her shoulder, she said, “Someone was looking for you.”

  “Looking for me?” Slocum asked.

  “Yes, you. Some man came around last night asking about three men traveling with a woman. I sent him on his way because there wasn’t no rooms left to rent, but the description he gave matched you well enough, miss. And one of the men he described must have been you.”

  “Me?” Slocum asked, mostly because he didn’t like having a conversation with someone’s back.

  “Yes,” she snapped while turning around and sending one of the forks on top of her stack of plates to the ground. It landed at Slocum’s feet and he picked it up before she got the chance to stoop for it. Taking it from his hand as if she thought he might bite her, the woman added, “It was you and her he described. I know because I know it was three men and a woman that rode into town and argued outside my place. I don’t know who the man was that came around for you, but he wanted to find you real bad.”

  Slocum stood up and looked around. Although he couldn’t see the entire camp, the only people he spotted were those that were wandering away with full bellies. Of course, he knew well enough that there wasn’t any way for him to peer into every possible hiding spot with one glance. “The man who came asking about us, did he have long black hair and a droopy mustache?”

  The woman was nodding before he even finished his question. “And when he scratched under his hat, it looked like there was a gash along his scalp.”

  The only way for Slocum to get a clearer picture of Cale would be if someone actually drew one for him. “What did you say to them when they came looking for us?”

  “It was right after I came back from lugging that extra cot all the way to your room. A second cot which, I might add, it sounded like you didn’t even need.”

  “Be fair, now,” Slocum said good-naturedly. “You don’t know how many cots we used or didn’t use.”

  She scowled at him, which wasn’t anything new. Something that was there now that hadn’t been there before was a slight hint of friendliness as she said, “From what I heard last night coming from your room, it sounded like you only needed one cot.”

  Unable to dispute that, Slocum let it drop.

  “At any rate,” she continued, “those men came along when I was cross and didn’t want to do you any favors, so I told them to keep moving.”

  “There was more than one?” Mia asked.

  “I suppose there was. Just the fellow with the long whiskers came in, but now that I think about it, there was another one or two waiting for him outside. I was mighty tired after . . . well . . . you know.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Slocum said. He reached into his pocket for some of the money he’d won at the card table in Darnell and handed it to her. “This is for the inconveni
ence of dragging that cot all the way to our room, as well as the outstanding breakfast this morning. It may be a little late, but I appreciate you letting us know about the men who came looking for us.”

  She took the money and showed him a smile made up of a crooked, incomplete set of yellowed teeth. “You’re welcome, mister. Even if we start off on the wrong foot, I like to treat my guests like they was my own kin. Were those fellas friends of yours?”

  “Do you happen to know where they went?”

  “They didn’t tell me, but I did hear them talking.”

  Slocum raised his eyebrows as if he was anxiously awaiting that bit of information. The truth of the matter was that he would have been more surprised if she hadn’t listened in on the conversation between Cale and his men.

  “They said they’d try the Watering Hole,” she told him while nodding to the second largest tent in the camp.

  That was the place that Triedle had gone in search of his card game. Until that moment, Slocum had assumed the gambler was either still in his game or slumped in a chair with half a bottle of whiskey in his hand. “Have you seen any of those men since?”

  “No, but I could look for them.”

  “That’s all right,” Slocum replied. “I’m sure we’ll cross paths again. In fact, if they do come by your place for any reason, could you keep to your story about not knowing who we are or where we’d gone?”

  “Oh, it’s all right,” she said quickly. “If I see them, I’ll point them in the right direction. It’s the least I can do after how rude I was.”

  “No, we’ll catch up to them on our own,” Slocum insisted. “And we’d like it to be a surprise.” He took another few dollars from his pocket and handed them to her. “Know what I mean?”

  The woman filled the blank spots in Slocum’s explanation on her own. Whatever she didn’t come up with, the money she’d been given made it easy enough to overlook. “Yes,” she said with a wink. “I most certainly do know what you mean.”

  When she walked away, Slocum went over to the table where Adam was sitting. “Have you seen Ed?”

  “And a very good morning to you, too,” Adam grunted.

  “No time for this. Have you seen him or not?”

  “Nope.”

  “Did anyone come looking for you last night?”

  “Nope.”

  Mia walked up to her brother and tugged at his collar to straighten it. “Where did you sleep last night?”

  “No time for this either,” Slocum said. “I need to find Ed before someone else does.”

  “Why don’t I stay here with Adam?” she offered. “He can finish his breakfast and then we’ll get the horses ready.”

  “All right, but don’t dawdle.”

  “Yes, sir,” Adam snapped. He didn’t need to see any disapproving looks before he rubbed his forehead and said, “We can get everything ready just as soon as I finish eating. I’ll be quick about it.”

  Slocum recognized the expression on Adam’s face as the pained wince that marked the morning after a night of drinking. Since he already had a nursemaid to look after him, Slocum left the two siblings at the table and hurried across camp.

  The Watering Hole was another tent built upon a wooden frame as opposed to the ones that had been strung up between two posts amid the leaning shacks and covered wagons that comprised the thrown-together settlement. Inside, the place looked more like something that had been set up for a church social than a saloon. The tent frame was sparse and supported by a few posts throughout its only room. A long table was situated in the back corner where drinks were served from pitchers and a crate of bottles. Round tables were scattered here and there, hosting quiet card games and a few people eating plates of beans and biscuits that looked like they’d been picked up off a desert floor. Apparently, they were the folks that couldn’t afford to pay for a breakfast at the hotel.

  Since Triedle wasn’t to be found, Slocum walked to what he assumed was the bar and asked, “Is this the only saloon in town?”

  The man behind the table wore a starched white shirt with sleeves that were neatly rolled up to his elbows. He had a kind face that shifted to an expression of surprise when he looked around and asked, “What more could you want in a saloon?”

  “I’m not looking for a drink. I’m looking for a gambler named Ed Triedle. Is he here or not?”

  “Sure, he’s here.”

  “Where?”

  “Right over there,” the bartender said while pointing to one of the tables closest to the bar. Slocum had seen it when he’d first come in, but assumed the men sitting there quietly playing dominoes were old-timers who either lived in camp or were too put off by the noise outside to bother with a larger crowd. Something else that had made Slocum look past the table without much notice was the fact that there was no money in a pot at its center.

  No matter how unlikely it seemed that he would find Triedle in such a tranquil game, Slocum approached the table. There were four men seated there, two of which were covered in silver hair or whiskers, one was bald, and the other sat peacefully with his back to the door. Slocum stepped up behind the fourth man and waited to see a reaction from any of the others. Since all he got were a few uninterested glances, he stepped to the side and looked down at the fourth man’s face.

  “Ed?”

  Reflexively guarding his dominoes, Triedle shifted just long enough to get a look at him. “Oh, hello, John.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Playing dominoes. Haven’t you ever seen this game? It’s really quite enjoyable.”

  It seemed the sociable surroundings had rubbed off on the gambler because Slocum barely recognized him. In fact, even after taking a closer look, he had to wonder if he’d stumbled across someone with an uncanny resemblance to the man he knew. The bruises on his face from the previous day’s scuffle told him that this was indeed the Ed Triedle he’d been looking for.

  “Since when do you play dominoes?” Slocum asked.

  One of the old-timers with the silver hair rapped his knuckles against the table and said, “If you want to flap yer gums, do it outside. I’m tryin’ to think.”

  The old man had to be at least fifty pounds lighter than Slocum, was way past his prime, and unarmed. Since he was looming over the table and everyone at it with his Colt Navy in full view, Slocum couldn’t help but admire the crotchety old bastard. “We’re leaving,” he said to Triedle. “Now.”

  “The hell you are!” the old-timer said. “We got . . .” He stopped to lean over so he could see past Triedle to the table where the bartender stood arranging cookies on a large platter. When he continued talking, it was in a rasping whisper. “We got good money riding on this game.”

  Before Slocum could say anything to that, Triedle explained, “The padre who owns this place doesn’t approve of wagering.”

  “He’ll sell liquor and allow whores in here, but doesn’t want anyone to place a bet?”

  “Whores?” asked the bald man. “Where?”

  Triedle didn’t even have to look to know what Slocum was referring to. “That woman over there isn’t a whore. It’s the padre’s wife.”

  Slocum took another look at the table where two women sat eating their dry biscuits. One was a young girl in her late teens wearing a checked dress and the other was about ten years older and cinched into a dress that pushed up her breasts and put them on display within a frame of lace. “That one with the dress that don’t leave much to the imagination?”

  “Yep,” the gambler replied. “I checked.”

  “Well, come on anyway. It’s time to go.”

  The old man knocked the table once more. “Mind yer own affairs, mister. I won’t tell you again.”

  “Keep talking, old man,” Slocum snapped. “I’m not above ending the conversation in a way you won’t like so much.”

  “Honestly, John,” Triedle said. “We should respect our elders.”

  The old man nodded once and threw out his play. The bald man made hi
s and Triedle was quick to lay his down to win the game.

  “Son of a bitch!” the old man grunted.

  Almost immediately, the bartender shouted, “Gentlemen, please! You know the rules.”

  “That’s right,” Triedle said in a soft, mocking tone. “No cursing.”

  Grudgingly, the other men at the table reached out to shake his hand. Each one of them slipped Triedle some money and sat back down to grumble quietly to themselves. “Now,” the gambler said as he stood up and placed his hat upon his head, “you must excuse me.”

  “You ain’t goin’ nowhere,” the old man said.

  “You heard my friend. We have matters to tend to, but I assure you I’ll be back for a rematch later. Keep my seat open.”

  “You can count on that.”

  On their way out of the saloon, Triedle nudged Slocum and said, “Didn’t I tell you we make a great pair? You didn’t even need any prompting and you got ol’ Jeremiah riled up enough to make that boneheaded play.”

  “Wasn’t on purpose.”

  “That’s what makes it so brilliant! Nobody sees it coming. Not even you. Do you know how much I won in that game?”

  “You mean that game run in a preacher’s establishment?” Slocum asked. “A preacher that seemed like a nice enough fellow who asks that nobody gamble in his place, probably just to keep it respectable?”

  “Right.”

  Slocum sighed, knowing he wasn’t about to make a dent by trying to appeal to Triedle’s sense of ethics. “How much?”

  “Fifty dollars,” he declared while holding the money that he’d palmed before leaving the place.

  “And you say I helped distract that old-timer when he was in the middle of pondering his next move?”

  “Yep. We played that whole game with me leading him to that point, and when it finally came time for him to scratch his chin and think about how to get out of the bind he was in, you came storming in there like hell in a wheelbarrow!”

  “Is that a good thing?” Slocum asked.

  Holding out the money one more time, Triedle replied, “I’d say so!”

  “Then give me my share.”

  “What?”

  “You just said I was a big help when you needed it. You called us a hell of a team. Isn’t that the whole reason you want to come to New Orleans with me?”