by Jake Logan
“She’s dead, Pa. Lacey’s dead.” She sobbed and bowed her head.
“Oh no,” Clemson cried.
Slocum jabbed the barrel of his pistol hard into Clemson’s back.
“You’re going to be my messenger, Clemson,” Slocum said. He put a hand on the distraught man and spun him around to face him.
“Huh? What?” Faron stammered.
“I’m going to let you live. But only long enough to deliver a message to Wolf. Then if I ever see you again, I’ll kill you on sight. Got that?”
“Y-Yes. What—what message?”
“You tell Wolf that I’m coming for him and whichever men he has left. Tell him I’m coming to kill him as soon as I get dressed. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Mr. Slocum. I—I’ll tell him. He—he won’t like it none.”
“How many men does he have left, do you know?”
“Well, there’s Hobart and Loomis. Loomis is crippled up where you shot him in the leg.”
“Is that all, then? One able-bodied man and the one with the jake leg?”
“Yes.”
“And while you’re at it, you’d better tell Clara and her boss that they’re on my list, too.”
“Your list?”
“My list of messes to clean up. You’re all crooked as snakes and I’ve got blood in my eye. Now get the hell out and start delivering those messages while you’re still able to draw a breath.”
“I’m gone,” Clemson said.
“And don’t pick up anything on your way out,” Slocum called after him as Clemson raced across the room.
When he was gone, Slocum turned to Stacey.
She was bereft with grief. Her eyes were rimmed in red from weeping. She held Lacey in her lap. Lacey was not breathing.
“Stacey,” Slocum said, “I’m real sorry.”
“Oh you, you are what got my sister killed.”
“Blame me all you want, but I didn’t shoot her, nor did I want her dead.”
“No, but—”
“Just answer one question I have, Stacey, while I get dressed.”
“What question?”
“Which one of you pushed the handle of that plunger down at that mine?”
“Who do you think it was?” Stacey said, surprised by his question.
“I think it was Lacey. She was a lot bolder than you. Is that who blasted the dynamite?”
“Oh, what difference does it make now? Yes, Lacey pushed the plunger. I was holding the horses so we could get away afterwards.”
“Then there is some sort of justice afoot here, isn’t there?”
“You bastard. I hope I never see you again. You killed my sister, sure as if you had pulled the trigger.”
Slocum put down his pistol at the end of the bed and began to dress. Stacey glared at him the whole time.
“I’ll see that someone comes here and tends to your sister, Stacey,” Slocum said as he put on his hat. “You might want to put your clothes back on before the undertaker gets here.”
“Go to hell, Slocum,” she spat.
Slocum walked to the bureau and picked up the bottle of Old Mill. He walked across the hall and let himself into his room. He locked the door behind him.
He poured himself a drink after he lit one of the lamps.
He waited for the knock that he knew was to come.
He was sorry that Lacey had been killed. He felt sorry for Stacey. But the real culprits were their parents, Clemson and Clara.
And besides those two, there was Wolf and his cronies.
He hoped like hell they would get the message.
If not, he’d have to face them in a death match with high stakes.
Winner take all.
16
Wolf Steiner paced the floor in his dimly lit cabin’s front room. Clara sat there on the divan with Abel Fogarty, who was as nervous as a cat in a room full of marbles and rocking chairs. He had his briefcase next to him and a lap full of legal papers that he shuffled through, comparing signatures.
Clara Morgan sat stiff as a board, watching Wolf’s angry stride up and down the room. She listened intently to every word, but her mind was back at the hotel. She had deserted her post as soon as Clem and the other two men had entered the lobby.
“Where in hell are those knuckleheads?” Wolf roared. “They’ve had plenty of time to take care of Slocum.”
“I don’t know,” Clara said.
“Wolf, this signature doesn’t quite match Jasper Nichols’s. You’ll have to do it again or these papers won’t go through.”
Wolf stopped pacing and wheeled to face Fogarty.
“Damn it. I practiced that signature a dozen times or more.”
“Well, it’s too far off the mark,” Fogarty said.
“Then let Clara do it.”
“There’s a difference in a woman’s signature and a man’s,” Fogarty said.
Wolf walked over to the two of them. But his eyes were fixed on Abel’s like twin jets of burning oil.
“Clara’s more of a man than you are, Abel. Let her try it. Nichols’s signature is too scrawly for me to imitate.”
“That’s true,” Fogarty said. “It is a difficult signature to imitate.”
He turned to Clara.
“Want to try it?” he asked.
Clara snatched one of the documents from Abel’s lap and studied the bogus signature. “It’s not very flowery, but it does go all over the place. I can try, I guess.”
“Do it,” Wolf commanded. “Shit.”
Clara glared up at him. “Calm down, Wolf, you’re going to blow out a blood vessel in your brain.”
“Damn those men. Damn Clemson. They should be back by now. I want to know that Slocum’s out of the way.”
Loomis sat in the chair by the window, where Hobart had been for most of the day. Hobart was back in the kitchen, frying strips of beef in an ocean of melted lard sputtering in a fry pan. He seemed impervious to the squabbles of those in the front room.
“Somebody’s comin’,” Loomis said. “Just a shadder so far, but he’s in one hell of a hurry.”
Loomis drew his pistol and held his thumb on the hammer.
“Who in hell is it?” roared Wolf.
“I think it’s Clem.” He paused for a moment. “Yep, it’s Clemson all right.”
“Where are the two men I sent with him?” Wolf asked.
“Don’t see ’em,” Loomis said. “Just Clem, like his pants was on fire.”
“Well, let the bastard in,” Wolf said.
Loomis limped to the door and lifted the latch. He opened the door as a breathless Clemson jogged up to it.
“Where are the other boys?” Wolf demanded.
He leaned over and gripped both knees with his hands. He panted for breath.
“Dead, Wolf. Slocum shot ’em both,” Clemson panted.
“You dumb bastard. Well, get in here and tell me all about it.” Wolf glared at Clemson, who staggered over toward the couch. His face was livid, his features drawn.
“Well, spit it out, Clem,” Wolf ordered.
“We didn’t have no chance, Wolf. Slocum, he was waitin’ for us. Buck naked, he was, and he popped off his pistol the minute we come into his room. Rafe, he got off a shot, but he kilt Lacey. Then, Slocum shot him. Jake, he got it, too, and dropped like a stone.”
“What about you? How come Slocum didn’t shoot you?”
“Hell, he had me cold, Wolf. Stacey was screamin’ her head off and Lacey was bleedin’ to death. I dropped my gun and put my hands up.”
“You lily-livered swine,” Wolf growled. “You got the balls of a pissant.”
“Shit, he had me cold, I tell you, Wolf.”
“So then what?” Wolf asked.
“He gave me a message to give to you,
then chased me out of the room.”
“What’s the message?”
“Slocum said he was comin’ after you and he was goin’ to kill you.”
Wolf snorted.
Fogarty’s face blanched as blood fled from his capillaries. He gasped as he choked on sucked-in air.
“He didn’t foller you, did he?” Wolf asked. He looked over at Loomis, who had closed the door and was sitting down again. But he wasn’t looking out the window. He looked at Wolf and Clemson, wide-eyed as a startled raccoon.
“I reckon not. He was buck naked, I told you. I lit a shuck and didn’t look back. But he sure didn’t foller me.”
Hobart walked into the front room, chewing on the last of his sandwich.
Clara began to sob.
Wolf looked at her with a flash of contempt in his eyes.
“Is—is Lacey dead?” she asked Clemson.
He nodded.
Clara broke down, then buried her face in her hands and wept copious tears. Fogarty patted her on the back with gentleness.
Wolf turned away from Clemson. He shot a look at Hobart, who stood there gape-mouthed, swallowing the last chunk of meat in his mouth.
“What are you goin’ to do, boss?” Hobart asked.
“I’m going to kill that bastard. None of you seems able to plug the sonofabitch and put his lamp out.”
“How? Where?” Hobart asked.
“Wherever I see him. He comes here, he’s a dead man. Right now, I’m thinkin’ of goin’ to the saloon and havin’ a drink. Sooner or later, he’ll walk in. You game?”
Hobart nodded. Slowly. Without enthusiasm.
Wolf turned to Fogarty.
“You get them papers signed right, Abel, and put ’em through. Clara, stop your damned cryin’ and get to copyin’ that signature.”
Clara straightened up and wiped the tears from her face with trembling fingers.
“Clem,” Wolf said, “you’re comin’ with us. Where’s your gun?”
“It—it’s back in that room. Slocum wouldn’t let me take it.”
“You dumb sonofabitch. Well, I got another in that case yonder. Pick one out that matches your cartridges.”
“Do I have to go with you, Wolf?” Clemson asked.
“You damned sure do. If Slocum walks in, you point him out to me.”
“Hell, you can’t miss him, Wolf,” Clemson said. “He’s real tall, wears a black hat, black shirt, black trousers, and black boots. He’s real noticeable, I swear.”
“You’re comin’, so shut your trap and get yourself a pistol out of that cabinet yonder.”
“What about me?” Loomis asked.
“You stay here, just in case, Bert. You see Slocum, you shoot him.”
Loomis nodded. He looked sad.
Clara stood up. She looked at Wolf.
“I’ve seen Slocum,” she said. “If I were you, Wolf, I’d saddle up my horse and ride as far away as I could.”
“Well, you ain’t me, Clara.”
“He’s already killed off most of your men. What do you want? A big poster with a warning written on it in red blood?”
“I ain’t tuckin’ tail and runnin’ from some no-good drifter with an itchy trigger finger.”
“Might be wise to lie low for a while,” Fogarty ventured. “I don’t feel real safe myself.”
Wolf turned to face Abel.
“You run out on me, Fogarty, and I’ll track you down myself. Hear?”
Fogarty nodded. “I hear you, Wolf. But I’m not real comfortable with this whole situation.”
“Just do your job, Abel. Slocum won’t dog us no more once I get him in my sights.”
Clemson swallowed hard as he walked to the gun cabinet. He opened the doors and picked out a converted Remington .44 such as he had left in the hotel. He opened the gate and spun the cylinder. It was loaded with six cartridges. He slid the gun into his holster and closed the cabinet doors.
Hobart brushed bread crumbs from his shirt and trousers.
“All right,” Wolf said. “Let’s hit the saloon. I’m buyin’.”
He looked at Hobart and Clemson. Neither were men he would pick to back him up in a gunfight, but he had no choice. Loomis was crippled and these were the only two men who might be able to make sure Slocum went down when the shooting started.
He looked at Clara.
“I’m real sorry about Lacey,” he said. “She was a good kid.”
“Thank you, Wolf.”
“I’m sorry, too, Clara,” Clemson said. “I’ll make it up to you.”
“How?” she asked. “You can’t bring her back from the dead, Clem.”
Clemson hung his head in shame.
“Let’s go,” Wolf said and started for the door.
He was building a picture of Slocum in his mind. Tall, dressed in black, and a dead shot. Well, he had come across such men before. They were dangerous, but they didn’t have eyes in the backs of their heads. They could be shot in the back as easily as a man could shoot a stray dog.
And he had done both.
17
Less than a half hour after Slocum sat down in Room 6, there was a loud, insistent knock on his door.
A sardonic smile flickered on his lips as he rose to open his door.
“Constable Hellinger,” he said as the door widened.
Hellinger’s hand was raised to knock again. Beside him stood another man, rotund, with a cherubic face and a rosy-tipped nose, who sported a tin badge on his vest and baggy sharkskin trousers.
Behind them, across the hall, men were removing the bodies. They grumbled and grunted as they laid out canvas stretchers and hefted the bodies onto them.
And Stacey stood beside the constable, tangled auburn hair, lipstick all but worn off, and swollen red-rimmed eyes. Her blouse was askew and her skirt slightly wrinkled. She smiled wanly at Slocum, but he could see that her heart wasn’t in it.
Slocum stepped to one side and the trio swept past him. Hellinger was all eyes as he glanced around the room.
“This is my deputy, Elmer Craig,” Hellinger said, “and you already know the young lady.”
“Have a chair, Constable, Elmer. Stacey, maybe you want to lie down.”
“Yes, thank you,” she said, a sobbing catch in her voice.
“So far she’s cleared you, Slocum. I’m taking her to my office to write out and sign a statement of the events here.”
Stacey lay facedown on Slocum’s bed, burying her head in the pillow.
“There were three of them. Wolf Steiner’s men. I let one go. The father of the two women.”
“You know, Slocum, you’re filling up the undertaker’s shop all by yourself. You’re a one-man army.”
Slocum shrugged.
Elmer Craig stood by and kept gazing over at the bed, like a watchdog.
“How many more are you going to provide for the funeral parlor?”
“Wolf Steiner is jumping claims all over the place,” Slocum said. “He’s killed at least two miners that I know of. And he’s in cahoots with Abel Fogarty and his secretary, Clara, who’s the mother of those twin gals.”
“I know, I know. But the law requires proof. And I haven’t had the chance to check Fogarty’s files to see if he’s dirty.”
“Oh, he’s dirty all right.”
“But you ain’t the law.” Hellinger threw up his hands in exasperation. One of his hands struck the brim of his hat and tilted it off center. He didn’t bother to straighten it.
“Justice runs slow sometimes,” Slocum said.
“Looks to me like you’re takin’ some of the law into your own hands.”
“Just defending myself.”
“Not at Lou Darvin’s you weren’t,” Hellinger snapped.
“One of them cold-cocked Lou and the
others shot young Jasper. I call it Citizen Justice. Kind of like a citizen’s arrest.”
“We got law here,” Abner argued. “And I’m it.”
“You’ve got civilization here, Constable. And with civilization, you get both law and lawlessness. When the law’s not handy, a man has to become the law.”
“That’s what you think, Slocum?” Abner was on the border of belligerence.
“That’s what I know, Mr. Hellinger. There was no law at Lou’s. There was no law across the hall when those men busted in with guns cocked and ready to shoot me.”
“That’s so, maybe. But Durango’s a town, or almost a town, and they hired me to keep the peace and defend its laws.”
“If you want to take credit, go ahead,” Slocum said. “If you want me to stop defending myself, I won’t.”
“I don’t want you takin’ the law into your own hands,” Abner said.
“Then you either deputize me, or speed up your investigation of Steiner and Fogarty.”
“I got me one deputy, Craig here, and maybe one more I can count on in a pinch, so I go with what I got.”
“And you don’t need another deputy,” Slocum said.
Abner squared his hat and glared at Slocum.
“I don’t want a gunslinger wearin’ a badge in Durango,” he said. “And that’s what you are, Slocum, a damned gunslinger, plain as day.”
“I’m a horse trader, Constable. But I know right from wrong.”
“I ain’t goin’ to argue with you no more,” Abner said. “Next time you’re by my office, step in and give me a written account about killin’ those men at Lou’s and the ones across the hall. Seems to me you knew they were comin’ after you, and you just ambushed them before they ambushed you.”
Hellinger stood up.
“That the way it looks?” Slocum asked.
“Yep. That’s the way it looks at this point. You rented a room across from the one you had and you waited for them men to come after you.”
“I knew they were coming for me. I just didn’t want a mess in my room.”
“Haw,” Abner snorted as he got up from his chair. “In the eyes of the law, that’s entrapment, Slocum.”
“In my eyes, it was a little old ace in the hole, Constable.”