by Jake Logan
Slocum had finished tending the horses, giving them water from a barrel outside, when he saw riders approaching from the south.
“Keep quiet or I’ll gag you,” he warned.
When the three riders neared, Slocum cut the ropes holding Locke.
“Keep quiet and listen. This time they won’t be lying their asses off.”
Locke glared at him, then peered through a knothole in the barn’s south wall. Slocum watched the riders through a dirty window. His fingers tightened on the butt of his Colt Navy. Taking them would be hard, one against three. He had to time his attack exactly, after the judge heard damning confessions but before they discovered anyone spied on them.
“Don’t let your horse drink too much, Timothy,” Lucas said. “It’ll bloat.”
“We shouldn’t have rode so hard. My guts are all hurtin’.”
“No reason to kill your horse. With what we stole, we can get out of here and go somewhere fancy.”
“I want to go to Frisco,” Timothy said.
“We agreed on Saint Louis.”
“You and Marta agreed on Saint Louis. I heard o’ this saloon in Frisco where they let birds fly all over inside, parrots talkin’ and cussin’ and—”
Lucas swung around, his six-gun flashing from its holster. Slocum slammed the butt of his Colt against the pane and broke it, firing before the first shards fell away. Then all hell broke loose.
Lucas fired constantly, and Timothy grabbed for a shotgun. Slocum kicked hard at the barn wall and fell backward just as a load of buckshot ripped away where he had stood an instant before. A second blast opened the hole even more, giving him a good view of Timothy Deutsch. Slocum fired once, twice, a third time. Each round found the center of the man’s body.
“Slocum, he’s getting away!” Judge Locke pressed his eye to the knothole to get a better view.
Slocum rolled and got to his feet, running hard to the barn door. He spun around and fired at Lucas’s back until the man disappeared. Refusing to stop, Slocum grabbed the shotgun from Timothy Deutsch’s limp hands. To his amazement the man hadn’t died, even with three more pieces of lead in him. Finding the box of shells in the outlaw’s saddlebags, Slocum took out two, broke open the shotgun, loaded, and fired.
The range between him and Lucas was too great for the shot to have any real chance of stopping him. One or two pellets might have ripped by the fleeing man, but if so, they only urged him to greater speed.
Slocum started reloading, then froze when he heard a rifle round snug into its chamber. Judge Locke had taken a rifle from Timothy’s saddle sheath and held it on him.
“He’s getting away,” Slocum said.
“I’ve got you. Drop your piece.”
Slocum had slipped only one cartridge into a chamber. He had to get the cylinder in place, turn, and fire. With a loaded rifle pointed at his back, he had no chance of winning this fight.
“What’s on the pack horse?” he asked.
“Supplies. I don’t know.”
“Look, Judge. I’m not going anywhere.” From the corner of his eye he saw Locke move to the third horse and pull back the canvas protecting the load.
“Son of a bitch. These are gold coins! Bags of them. But Byron said they weren’t going to rob the bank for another day.”
“The train slows down as it goes through Apache Canyon. Smart robbers would jump aboard and rob the train there. Why worry about busting into a bank vault?”
“Why not decoy all the law into laying an ambush at the bank and be safe during the robbery?” the judge said in a choked voice.
“Leastways, your son’s not going to get into a gunfight. The robbery’s already over.”
“You could still be one of the gang.”
“I’d plug Lucas, too. One of them killed Annabelle.”
“Your woman,” Judge Locke said, lowering the rifle.
“One of them,” Slocum said, “who didn’t ride back with these two owlhoots.” He looked southward where Lucas Deutsch had ridden.
The third gang member must have been trailing behind while Lucas and Timothy rode back to the ranch.
“Can you catch him? Lucas Deutsch?”
“If you’re letting me go,” Slocum said.
“I make my share of mistakes. Thinking you were part of the gang is one of them, all because Byron said . . .”
“You stay with him. Don’t know there’s anything you can do for him unless you want to put him out of his misery.” Slocum reloaded as he watched Timothy Deutsch weakly thrashing about in the dirt. He considered putting a bullet in the man’s head, then decided he wanted him to die—after a considerable bit of suffering. Timothy Deutsch might not have shot Annabelle Harris in the back, but he sure as hell had a part in killing Tom Harris.
“I ought to get the gold back to Taos, where it can be put in the bank.”
“You stay put so I know where to find you. Out on the trail, you’re a sitting duck.”
“For once, I’ll take your advice, Slocum. And, Slocum, watch your back out there.”
Slocum laughed ruefully. He had won a small battle convincing Judge Locke of his innocence. Now he had to fight not only Lucas but the real brains of the Deutsch gang.
19
Lucas Deutsch did not try to hide his tracks. He fled from the ranch with one idea only in head: to stay alive. This made Slocum’s job easier since the smallest tricks to hiding the trail would have slowed his pursuit. As it was, Slocum overtook Lucas within an hour.
The outlaw rode east through a canyon that opened onto the Rio Grande. The river here split level terrain rather than slashing through a hard-rock mountain and having an 800-foot gorge around it.
Slocum slowed his Appaloosa, put his hands to his mouth, and yelled, “Give up, Deutsch! Your brother’s dying. You’ll never get away. There’s a posse on your heels.”
He waited to see how the outlaw reacted. Lucas would never give up from a single shouted threat. He had ridden this way for a reason, and Slocum knew it. Lucas wasn’t the brains of the outfit and had to ask what to do next.
The echoes had barely died from Slocum’s order to halt when Lucas veered to the left and went directly for the river. He was on level ground now and able to ride faster. Slocum took his time getting through the canyon and to the banks of the fiercely flowing water. Lucas had reached the far side, telling Slocum this was a suitable ford.
He waited until Lucas vanished before crossing. For all his caution, he still almost died. He thought the robber had been spooked enough to ride hard and not do the sensible thing. Slocum was wrong. Halfway across the river Slocum ducked involuntarily as a bullet sang past his ear. His reaction almost unseated him and sent him floundering down the river.
He had entered the swiftest running part of the river. To go back invited a bullet in his back, but he couldn’t see where Lucas sniped from. Even if he had, struggling to keep his horse moving in the river took all his skill. He had no way to return fire accurately enough to give himself a few minutes more to reach the eastern riverbank.
Another shot and then another. Slocum winced as the second nicked his arm. Then the river washed away blood and hurt. He angled away from a direct route and let his horse rest a mite as the river helped push them along. He quickly found this was a trap but had no way to avoid it. The bottom fell out of the river here, robbing the horse of footing and forcing it to swim. Slocum kicked free and clung to the saddle horn. Inch by inch he saw the distant shore change as he and the Appaloosa were carried farther downstream, trapped in the current’s powerful grip.
The only bright spot came when Lucas no longer wasted ammo trying to kill him. Slocum let himself be battered against the side of his horse until an eddy current pulled them toward shore. Then he pulled himself back into the saddle and got the horse to shallow water along the eastern shoreline.
T
he horse stumbled as it lost footing in the mud, throwing Slocum. He clung to the reins for dear life. He was about done in, but he knew if he lost his horse, he lost his life. The horse dragged him a few feet before stopping. Slocum caught at the horse’s front leg and used this as a crutch to stand. Once he got his feet under him, he grabbed the saddle horn until he regained his strength.
Walking slowly, keeping the horse as protection against new attack, he finally reached a sandy patch and collapsed. If Deutsch had seen how he fought the power of the river and escaped, he would be a goner now. Slocum was too weak even to lift his three-pound six-gun. But Lucas had been too frightened and must have rushed on, thinking his pursuer had died in the river.
Slocum would show him.
He heaved to his feet and walked his horse to a spot where he could study the cottonwoods that Lucas had fired from. To his surprise, Lucas hadn’t ridden away when he had the chance. The outlaw sat with his back against a thick tree trunk. His rifle leaned against a dead limb to one side.
Slocum drew his six-gun, wiped off the mechanism the best he could, then knew he had only one chance at capturing Lucas Deutsch alive. Delivering him to Judge Locke wouldn’t be as satisfying as shooting him outright, but knowing a rope would be tightened around his neck before the gallows trap opened would do.
He emptied the cylinder, dried each bullet, and examined it, then replaced them. The click as the cylinder fell into place and he cocked the pistol brought Lucas to his feet and grabbing for his rifle.
Slocum fired one round that went wide. Lucas snatched up the rifle and fired wildly. Slocum’s second round would have hit right in the bread basket but water had turned the cartridge into a dud. The dull metallic click as it fell emboldened Lucas.
“You were supposed to die in the river, Slocum. What are you? A cat with nine lives?”
“All I need is one to end yours,” Slocum said. The third round fired, forcing Lucas to cover. “You can surrender and stand trial. You might beat the charges.”
“What happened to Timothy?”
“As hard as I’ve tried to kill him, the son of a bitch keeps hanging on. He took four of my bullets and he’s still alive.” Slocum circled to get a better shot at Lucas, but the outlaw had the tree trunks to use as cover. “Might be I just let you go if you tell me who killed Annabelle Harris.”
“Wasn’t me!”
“Then who?”
Lucas laughed hysterically. “I stopped the deputy and told him you’d shot the bitch. But I didn’t do it.”
“Your pa? Did he do it?”
Slocum threw himself flat on his belly as Lucas edged around a cottonwood and got off three quick shots.
“Did your pa shoot her in the back?” Slocum shouted to distract Lucas. He rolled and found cover behind a large log. The entire area was a flood plain but the river was lower this year and hadn’t overflowed its bank, not for several years, from the look of the persistent vegetation. The tree had been felled long enough ago to be dried out.
The huge chunks of wood that flew away as Lucas methodically fired into it told Slocum the log would be his death unless he found more secure shelter from the hail of bullets.
“I’ll shoot your horse, Slocum. Then you’ll be on foot and won’t ever catch me.”
“Kill that horse and I swear I’ll walk barefoot through hell to find and torture you to death. The Apaches taught me a whole lot about what makes a man beg for death and how far to go without giving it to him.”
“You’re lying!”
Lucas stepped from behind the tree and pulled his rifle to his shoulder. He fired at the same instant Slocum did. Both hammers fell on punk rounds. Lucas panicked and tried to lever in a new round instead of ducking for cover.
Slocum’s next bullet caught him in the leg and sent the outlaw tumbling to the ground. Lucas grabbed his thigh and screamed in pain.
Slocum closed the distance between them and fired as Lucas reached for his rifle. The slug whanged off the metal receiver and ruined it for anything more than use as a crutch.
He stood over the outlaw, lining up the sights to make a killing shot.
“No, Slocum, don’t!”
“He’s right, John. You shouldn’t. If you kill Lucas, I’ll be forced to shoot the deputy.”
“It won’t be the first time you’ll have killed someone, will it, Marta?”
She laughed. The sound was musical, mingling with the flow of the river, the buzz of insects in the still flood plain, and her brother’s harsh breathing.
“You are clever, John, but I diverted that cleverness long enough. We made off with a lot of gold from the train robbery. Enough for me to live comfortably for a very long time. The Denver banks and trains simply weren’t profitable enough. Another death or two isn’t going to stop me from spending it.”
“Kill him, sis!”
“Shut up, Lucas. You screwed up everything. Where’s Timothy? And your share of the gold?”
“We went back to the ranch to find Pa. He wasn’t there, but . . .”
“But Slocum was,” she finished for him. “Is Timothy dead?”
“He says not, but he’s such a goddamned liar!”
“Your brother’s alive, but he’s got three more ounces of lead in his gut.”
“And you stashed the gold somewhere?”
“Judge Locke’s got it,” Slocum said. “He’s got the gold and Timothy.”
“How convenient. I had wondered what I might swap the deputy for. Now I know.”
Slocum glanced away from the fallen Lucas Deutsch to where Marta stood a dozen yards away. She had emerged from a thicket, leading a horse with a man draped over the saddle.
“Yes, John, it’s Byron Locke. He is such an impetuous man, and so trusting. He thought he was coming to my aid. But then, so did you.
“First of all, send Lucas over to me. Then we can make a deal that returns Timothy and the rest of the gold so we can get out of your hair.”
“No.”
“Come, come, John. It’s not up to you to dicker. Let Judge Locke decide what to do about his son. Otherwise, you’ll have a federal deputy marshal’s blood on your hands.” Her voice turned cold and convinced him she wasn’t bluffing.
“If I let him go, what’s to keep you from killing me?”
“Now, John, I don’t want to do a thing like that. You and I were so good together. I felt it. I am sure you did, too. At least you didn’t complain either time.”
“Locke won’t turn over Timothy. He likely won’t give up the gold either, even for his son—the son you haven’t killed.”
“Yet, John, the one I haven’t killed yet. The robbery in Denver would have been bloodless if it hadn’t been for that deputy trying to be a hero. I didn’t have any choice but to shoot him down. Just as I’ll do this one if you don’t deal.”
“Timothy isn’t going to make it. He might be dead by now,” Slocum said.
“That’s true, sis. I saw Timothy catch at least two slugs in the gut, real near where the first one went in. The way he complained so much, I don’t think he’s gonna survive the first bullet.”
“You’re probably right, Lucas. I saw the way he acted when we stopped the train. He wasn’t his usual brutish self. Very well, John. I’ll swap the deputy for that sad son of a bitch at the business end of your six-shooter.”
“What about the gold? You split it three ways? Two-thirds of it is in Judge Locke’s care now.”
“I am quite good at poker. You can’t win every pot. I’ll let the law take this one if I can fold my hand and keep what’s left on the table.”
Slocum edged around so he could see Marta but keep his six-gun trained on her brother. She held a sawed-off shotgun to Byron Locke’s head. The slightest twitch would blow the man’s head to bloody mist.
She eyed him with some appreciation.
; “It takes quite a man to bring down the Deutsch gang,” she said. “If, as you say, Timothy is dead, or at least no good to me anymore, that leaves an opening. Ride with us, John. Join us. Join me!”
“Marta, no, you can’t do this,” cried Lucas. “He’s ruined everything for us. He’s—”
“I say who rides with us and who doesn’t. It was only chance that you and Timothy were my brothers and were handy. At first. Now I’m not so sure about you.”
“Marta, stop saying things like that. Me and Timothy have done everything you asked. It made us rich!”
Marta Deutsch moved around the horse where Byron stirred sluggishly as he lay draped over the saddle. Slocum knew there was only one outcome. He lifted his pistol and fired. The first round went off with a satisfying pop! The second was another dud.
The first shot was all that counted. He had caught Locke’s horse in mid-chest and brought it to its knees. Even as the horse struggled, thrashing about, Slocum knocked out the spent and dud rounds in his Colt, reached into his pocket, and took out the pair of bullets Marta had retrieved from the trail leading to the floor of the Rio Grande Gorge. He slipped those in.
Lucas Deutsch bowled him over from behind, knocking him flat as Marta cut loose with the shotgun.
“Dammit, Lucas, you got in the way!”
Slocum lifted his pistol. Two shots. That was all he had. The first one caught the fleeing Lucas high in the back just under his shoulder blade. The outlaw stumbled forward to knock his sister to the ground. Slocum came to his knees and aimed as best he could. He fired again. The second round—his last—caught Lucas in the other shoulder. Marta threw her arms around him and the two sat heavily on the ground, her left arm cradling him and her right struggling to lift the shotgun.
“Don’t,” Slocum said. “I don’t want to shoot but I will!” He cocked the six-shooter, knowing the hammer would fall on an empty chamber.
His bluff worked.