by Jake Logan
“What’s your part in this?” the bandit leader demanded of Slocum when Slocum jerked off his mask.
Slocum paused and looked hard at the outlaw’s face. “Remember that bank robbery in Cottonwood Falls, Kansas?”
“What about it?”
“You shot down a man in the street.”
“Huh?”
“Of course you didn’t give a damn.” Slocum shoved him back around to face the wall. “Arthur Duncan was a good friend of mine. You shot him in the back that day.”
“Oh, heavens,” a red-faced man in a tailored suit said, rushing out of the bank. “You have them—the money—” He frantically looked around.
“It’s all here, Mr. Taylor,” a short bystander said, and began to collect the bags in his arms.
“Who did this? Caught these men?” The man in the fine suit looked all around for an answer.
“His name’s Slocum.” Arms folded over her chest, Rory stood in the street a few feet from the hitch rail and shook her head. “I reckon you’re really glad to see him.” Then she laughed, and so did the crowd.
“Oh, oh, Mr. Slocum. How can I repay you?”
Slocum shook his head and looked around. “Is there any law here?”
“Who are they?” someone in the crowd asked, indicating the robbers.
“Hell, you’ve done single-handed got the Charlie Yoakem gang. That thar is Charlie and the dead one’s his brother Earl,” another onlooker pointed out to Slocum.
Another pointed at the third one that had come out. “He’s Wiley Brant. That kid that was holding the horses is Runt Marley, and this guy with the sore head is Sherman Davis. I seen all of them on wanted posters.”
“What’s going on?” the deputy demanded, coming through the mob, out of breath.
“The next sheriff of Keith County who single-handed captured the whole Yoakem gang robbing the bank,” someone said.
“Looks to me like you’re sucking hind tit, Wakely,” Rory said, and they all laughed.
“Mr. Taylor,” the deputy said, ignoring her. “Did they hurt anyone in the bank?”
His arms loaded with the bags of loot, the well-dressed man stood in the bank’s doorway and shook his head. “No, but thank heavens for Mr. Slocum here. His actions saved us. I’ll put this up and then I’ll buy everyone a drink across the street. And Mr. Slocum, I need to talk to you about that reward you have coming.”
“I’ll be around,” Slocum said, and turned to the deputy. “You got a strong jail?”
“They’re building us a new one. I got sort of a jail. Why?”
“You might stop and put them in chains at the blacksmith, so they’re still here for their trial,” Slocum said.
“Hmm, no better than that jail—I’ll do that. George, you and Hiram gather their guns and horses. You bank robbers get to hiking and if you try anything, figure you’ll be dead.” He used his drawn six-gun for a pointer.
“You need any of us to help you?” Rory asked.
“No, I can handle them. But—thanks anyway.”
“Good, I’ll be getting one of Taylor’s free drinks.” She looked around to be sure the banker wasn’t there. “He ain’t never bought me nothing in my life, and I’d sure hate to miss this one.”
Everyone laughed.
Slocum watched the lawman march his prisoners up the street. He doubted they’d even be in custody when the trial was set to begin. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d shucked a matchbox jail.
Rory grabbed Slocum’s left arm. “How do you like being a hero?”
“Just doing my civic duty.”
“Aw, hell, yah done more’n that. Why can’t a man just say by Gawd I did it and I’m proud?”
“Cause it sounds boastful as all get-out.”
She let go and gave him a small shove. “I can see you ain’t going to enjoy all this publicity.”
“Naw, I’d like it all to fade away.”
“Taylor’s reward, too?” She frowned at him when they reached the saloon porch.
“I told you I had work.”
“You’re a different kind of a dude.” She shook her head and stiff-armed the batwing doors.
Out of habit, he looked around to check things, then hurried in since she was holding the batwings back for him.
“Better get a speech ready, they’ll expect one,” she said, leading him through the crowd to the bar.
2
An hour later, Slocum slouched in the captain’s chair with its polished arms in John Taylor’s office. The long cigar he smoked from Taylor’s copper-lined humidor tasted mild and sweet. He considered the full-faced banker behind the fancy desk. Silk ascot, tailored suit, head balding in the front, brown eyes that took in a lot, and a large mouth that opened wide when he spoke. It wasn’t only the reward Taylor wanted to talk about—he wanted something else. Slocum could read it in the man’s mannerisms and look.
“What kind of work do you do?” Taylor asked.
“Right now, I’m working for some Texas stockmen who want to know what to drive up here. Steers, cows, or horses.”
“They’d all work. There’s a sea of grass out there. The buffalo and the Sioux are gone. You strike me as a persuasive sort of man, Slocum.”
“I’m not sure what that means.”
“For you to take on five bank robbers in broad daylight was amazing. I am impressed.” The chair springs creaked when Taylor leaned back with his fingers tented together over his vest. “You are a man of many talents, no doubt.”
“What are you getting at?”
“There is a need for someone smart like you and tough enough to convince many of these squatters they don’t belong in certain places in this country and to move on.”
“You need an enforcer. They’re a dime a dozen.” He shook his head. “Ain’t my style.”
“How much are those Texans paying you?” Taylor tapped his fingers on his chin.
“Seventy-five a month and expenses.”
“What if my man would double that?”
Slocum shook his head. “Lots of folks get hurt in those deals. Not my way, but thanks.”
Taylor looked ready to up the ante, but instead quit. “My insurance company will pay you two hundred dollars for stopping the robbery.” He opened the drawer beside him. “That’s in gold. Be all right?”
“Fine.”
Taylor stacked ten twenty-dollar gold pieces on his desk and shoved them across the polished desktop. “There’s lots more.”
Slocum looked up from stacking them in his left hand. “I’ll pass.”
“Why do I wonder if you are undercover law like a Pinkerton man or a deputy U.S. marshal?”
Slocum chuckled and shook his head. “I damn sure ain’t either of those. I’m an agent of some Texas ranchers looking for a market.”
“That Kansas statute banning any movement across their state makes it tougher getting them up here these days.”
Slocum put the coins in a vest pocket with a nod of thanks. “Coming up the Texas Trail inside of Colorado is riskier, but if there’s a profit in it, men will do it.”
“Ah, yes, a profit.” Taylor nodded in agreement. “Well, what else can I do for you today?”
“The folks I work for want to establish some banking connections up here to transfer any monies back to Texas.”
“We can handle that. Who should I contact in Texas?”
“Sam Oliver. Here’s his card.” Slocum fished it out of another vest pocket.
Taylor read it. “Ah, Mr. Oliver lives in Kerrville. I’ll post him a letter today and mention your bravery.”
“Bravery isn’t important. But the contact is.”
“Consider it handled. Can I interest you in investing that reward money?”
Slocum shook his head. “I move around a lot.”
“Very well. You might reconsider my generous offer of a job.” Taylor waited for his reply.
“Thanks,” Slocum said, and reached over to shake his hand. “I’ll be here for a fe
w days.”
“Good, maybe we can have a meal together.”
“I’m staying at the Palace Hotel.”
“Fine, I’ll get in touch with you. If there is anything I can do for you or your employer, let me know.”
Slocum thanked him and left. He went from the bank to the livery to see about renting a horse. Oliver wanted him to check out a place or two that might be for sale. Oliver had corresponded with a man named Jim Lane, and he wanted Slocum to drop in on Lane and then report what he saw.
The hostler that Slocum found in the livery yard was bent over coughing. After spitting and hacking, he stood up with watery eyes. He held up his dirty palm. “I’ll have Nebraska choked out in a minute.”
“No problem. I need a saddle horse for a few days.”
The man smiled and wiped his face on the sleeve of his shirt. “Hell, who don’t in this country? They’re a rare commodity around here these days.”
Slocum decided the man didn’t understand his request. “I don’t need to buy one, just rent one.”
“Mister, I could rent fifty horses today. I don’t have any.”
Slocum thanked him, and had started to leave when he came face-to-face with Rory coming up the barn’s aisle.
“Well, guess you heard about the reward money by now,” she said.
“Taylor paid me what his insurance company pays.”
“No, I mean for the Yoakem gang’s capture. Why, it sounds like it’ll be over seven hundred dollars.”
“Lots of money, but I need a horse.”
“Need a horse, huh? Well, there ain’t none.”
“He just told me that.” Slocum looked past her at the street traffic. “Do you have one I can rent?”
She shook her head and then grinned. “But I’d loan yah one.”
“Good, where is it?”
“Right back here,” she said, indicating the rear of the livery. Then she slid the ring on the hat string up tight under her chin. “Where yah headed?”
“A guy named Jim Lane’s place. You know it?”
“Up on Long Crick. Yeah, I know the place.”
“He want to sell it?”
“Lord, ain’t no telling about him.”
Slocum frowned at her. “He hard to deal with?”
“You’ll see when you meet him.”
“Then I can borrow a horse from you?”
“Sure. Mind if I ride along? You being new and all up here. Might save you some time.”
“I can’t pay you much—”
Looking offended, she frowned at him. “Hell, did I ask fur any money?”
“How about in the morning we ride up there? How far is it?”
“Oh, forty miles.”
“That’ll take two days.”
“Anyhow,” she said, and jammed her hands flat down in her pockets. “Better bring your bedroll and we can throw them and some supplies on a packhorse.”
“I wouldn’t want to smudge your reputation any.”
She snickered. “You ain’t got much to smudge. But I’ll worry about that. Meet’cha at Sonny’s Café up the street before sunup for breakfast. You can have Turk to ride. He’s a big stout bay horse.”
“Guess I’ll be in your debt for all this.”
She nodded sharply. “I’d like that. Yes, sirree, I’d like that fine.”
“In the morning. Thanks.” He tipped his hat. No telling what the tall gal had on her mind, but he could use a guide.
He spent the evening playing two-bit poker, and several times raked in enough money to go ahead. But time and luck turned against him, and he figured he was down ten dollars when he folded and excused himself. Dawn would be early.
Outside on the saloon porch in the night, he covered a yawn with his fist and let his eyes adjust to the darkness before he walked the block to the Palace and his room. The sun had been down an hour, and the temperature had begun to drop. Nothing looked suspicious to him as he strode the hollow-sounding boardwalk, dodging weaving drunks.
In thirty minutes, he was fast asleep in his bed. The wake-up knock on his door rolled him out in the dark room, and he lit a lamp. Washing his face at the bowl and pitcher, he regretted not shaving the day before. Then he dressed. He put his canvas duster in his war bag and carried it with his bedroll and saddle downstairs. Piling them on the polished floor beside the double doors, he told the sleepy clerk to watch them and hurried off to Sonny’s.
She was sitting at a table in the center of the room, and raised a cup of coffee to get his attention at his entry.
“Sleep well?” she asked.
“Not bad.” The waiter came and stood, waiting for him to order.
“Coffee black. You order yet?” Slocum asked her.
“No. I was waiting for you.”
“What do you recommend?”
“Oh, biscuits, gravy, fried taters, eggs, and ham.”
“Sounds fine,” he said to the waiter, who nodded and then asked for her order.
“The same thing.”
When the youth left them, Slocum nodded. “What about your freight business? You going to lose any business doing this?”
“Naw, Whitey and the boys are hauling supplies up to the agency on the White River. I have more orders than I can ever deliver, so it’ll be nice to get away from the office for a few days.”
“My saddle’s at the hotel.” He blew on his steaming coffee.
“No problem. We need to get the supplies I ordered at the mercantile.”
“How much do I owe for them?”
“I’m going to pay for them, too.”
“Oh, I just feel like I’m an imposition on you.”
She looked ready to smile, and highlights danced in her brown eyes. “Slocum, trust me, I’ll complain if you get that way.”
“No husband?”
“I been married before. What about you?”
“No, never. What happened to him?”
“Got his fool neck broke.”
“Sorry.” He sipped the hot coffee.
“Don’t lose any sleep over it. I told him that ole bronc would roll him up in a ball. He did and that broke his neck.”
“Long ago?”
“Lands, yes,” she said. “Ten years ago. I was still a dumb kid. Married him and thought that was the greatest thing ever happened to me. Boy, did I have lots to learn.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t had another.”
“Could have. But they were all culls. You know, the kind that some other woman discarded. The rest didn’t want a tomboy.”
Slocum nodded and leaned back as the waiter delivered two heaping dishes of food. His plate alone would feed an army. She grinned like she’d fooled him.
“Better eat up,” she said. “Food quality goes down after this meal.”
“I can imagine. Pass the salt.”
She didn’t release the shaker at once and met his gaze. “The reason I’m going along is I want to see if you’re real.”
“Real—I’m real all right.”
She picked up her fork. “I want to know how real.”
3
Turk was a stout grain-fed gelding. Slocum took Turk from the hitch rail after breakfast and led it up the block to the hotel to saddle. As he drew up the front girth, Slocum wondered if the horse was part of her test. The big bay might be a handful, but that could be her fun for the day, seeing Slocum getting piled in the street in the red rays of dawn.
Rory rode up on a stout roan, leading the packhorse, a dusty-colored sorrel with long legs, feathered fetlocks, and a roached mane. “You about ready?”
“Let me load my bedroll and war bag on him and I’ll be fine.”
“Need any help?”
He shook his head and swung the bedroll and bag off the hotel porch. When they were loaded on top of the panniers with hers, he tied them down.
“Didn’t figure we’d need a tarp on it today, and you had to load your stuff, so I didn’t throw a hitch over it,” she said.
“We bett
er. I hate to pick up scattered stuff.”
“Fine. I just thought it would save time.”
In five minutes, the tarp was in place and the diamond hitch was holding it and all their gear on the packhorse. Slocum held the headstall close to his leg when he mounted the circling Turk. With both boots in the stirrups, he turned Turk loose and checked him with the bit. When Slocum gave the gelding some rein, Turk stepped out slowly, testing the water and walking on eggs.
Slocum nodded to her that he was ready to go—all tensed in the saddle for his ride. Turk went about a block dancing sideways up the shadowy street. Slocum wasn’t certain where the squealing forty-pound shoat with two snarling dogs on his butt came from. But the pig’s attempt to run under Turk was foiled. The bay horse bogged his head between his knees and went skyward on springs of tempered steel.
With a seat in the clouds, Slocum threw his free arm back for balance when Turk sprang again. Then, hitting on all fours, the horse made some hard-breaking bucks accented by kicking its heels over its rump each time. Slocum decided that as long as Turk bucked straight, he could recover enough control the moment the horse hit the ground to make another jump. At last, he used the reins to cross-whip him. Then, his spurs sent the big bay into a hard run to escape, and it quit bucking. Finally, Slocum hauled him in and Rory came on in a hard trot.
Her eyes narrowed and she nodded. “Nice damn ride.” Then she laughed aloud. “Boy, that’s the worst I believe he’s ever bucked.”
“He’s a great horse.” Slocum patted him on the neck. “Where did he come from?”
“Some guy passing through. Said he wanted to sell him and get a train ticket. He had a good enough bill of sale so I bought him. Cost me fifty bucks.”
“You ever want your money back, let me know.”
“I about sold him twice, but he bucked them guys off so they didn’t take him. Just city slickers. They couldn’t have rode a broomstick.”
They took a break at midday, and Rory served cold biscuits and sausage patties washed down with springwater. They sat on the ground and watched the passing clouds.
“How much land does Taylor own?” Slocum asked, thinking about his meeting with the man the day before.