Slocum and the Widow's Range Wars

by Jake Logan

  “Naw, I’d like to surprise him.”

  “Mum’s me word.” He sealed his mouth with his finger.

  “Thanks.”

  It was midday and everyone, except for a colored girl dressed in a maid’s outfit, was still asleep at the whorehouse. She ushered him inside the dark parlor with the shades drawn.

  “Who you be needing?” she asked politely.

  “Margie.”

  She motioned to him and he followed her up the stairs, which creaked under his boot soles. He’d fall through something yet before he left this place. At the door she tried the knob. It clicked open and she smiled. “She ain’t got’s no one in there or it be locked. You’s can go in and wake her up.”

  He thanked her with a two-bit tip and slipped in to the room. He found Margie lying on her stomach, her honey-brown hair spilled over the pillow. He took a seat in the high-back chair and glanced over at the open trunk. A cartridge belt wrapped around a six-gun in a holster sat atop a blanket in the open chest. He reached over and picked it up. FW was scratched on the butt of the revolver. With quiet stealth, he put it back in place and wondered if it belonged to Frank Waters.

  Why would she have one of his guns?

  He stepped over and shook her shoulder gently, then settled back in the chair. “Where’s Frank?”

  “Huh?” She bolted upright, not caring who saw her bare titties, and blinked at him. “I don’t know who you mean.”

  “Frank Waters,” he said softly, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. From her ashen face, she looked too upset to convince him she wasn’t lying through her teeth.

  “Why, I ain’t seen him in a week.”

  “Think again. You left the Bye Gilly with him night before last, and he ain’t been seen since.”

  “I never—”

  “Where did you plant him and where’s his money?”

  She was shaking her head hard, but she was lying, and he knew that she knew he knew. He reached over and unfurled the gun belt.

  “Frank never would have left this behind.”

  Her face grew paler and she began to tremble, sitting on her heels on the bed as naked as Eve. “I swear—”

  “Don’t bother. Where’s he at?”

  “I don’t know—I swear—”

  “Tell me where he’s at.”

  “Booth’ll kill me.”

  “Booth kill him?”

  Her slow nod was enough.

  “Where’s he buried?”

  “In a wash north of town.”

  “Get your clothes on. You’re taking me there. Why did Booth kill him?”

  “He said Waters had lots of money. He promised to take me out of here when things cooled off.”

  “Where’s Booth now?”

  “I ain’t seen him since then.”

  “Since when?”

  “That night he took Waters out of here.”

  “You figure Booth double-crossed you?”

  “Maybe,” she said with a snarl, busy buttoning up her dress.

  “Let me see. You got Waters drunk, took his gun, and hid it. Then you and Booth took him out the back way to the wash, huh?”

  She gave a wooden nod. “Or Booth said he’d kill me.”

  “Then in the wash, Booth shot him, right?”

  “It didn’t sound that bad at first. I mean, I thought he was only going to rob him.”

  “But when Waters sobered up, he’d know you two robbed him.”

  “Booth said that.” She sat on the bed buttoning up her shoes. “He had to do it or he’d get us.”

  “That the last time you saw Booth?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You beginning to think he ran out on you?”

  “Maybe. He took all the money.”

  “Did he have much?”

  “I think so. The money belt was heavy. He never took it off in bed with me, and about squashed me with it each time. He had it full of gold coins. Never paid me one.”

  So she helped Booth kill Waters and then Booth left her holding the bag. “Come on, I need his body.”

  “What for?”

  “To give him a decent burial.”

  “He don’t deserve it He treated me like I was a bitch dog.”

  “Yeah. Well, he may have deserved it, but that ain’t no reason to murder him for his damn money.”

  She looked at Slocum with a mean eye. “He rubbed my belly clear raw with that canvas money belt to show me who he was.”

  “Killing a man who mistreated you is one thing. But robbing him for his money is a crime even in this hellhole. Move out. I’m buying a shovel at the store to dig him up.”

  “Oh, Jesus, I have to see him again?”

  “I didn’t put him there. Now move.”

  She gave him a disdainful look and mumbled about what Waters did to her.

  He bought a shovel for a dollar, and came out and told her to lead the way. In front of the undertaker’s, he told her to stop and stuck his head inside. “You have a coffin for a large man?”

  The bald man looked up from his work on one. “Who would that be, pray tell, my good man?”

  “Frank Waters.”

  “Aye, and he’d need a big one. You on your way to kill him?”

  “No, he was shot and robbed two days ago. I’m going to exhume his body.”

  “And who would be the party done that?”

  “A man named Booth, and she’s showing me where Waters is at.” He nodded toward Margie, who was standing with her hand on her hip, an impatient look on her face.

  “I be getting the marshal. I’ll be right after you.”

  “Fine,” Slocum said, and indicated Margie should move on.

  “Suppose they’ll hang me?” she asked in a quiet voice as she lifted her skirts to keep up with him.

  “I think they’ll give you a horse and tell you to never show up again.”

  “Why?”

  “You know too much about their sex lives to speak out from the gallows about either the size of their dicks or letting their wives know how they frequented the Moose house.”

  “I do, don’t I?”

  “Exactly.”

  They dropped off the road into the sandy wash. When he saw her fighting to walk in the loose fill, he offered his hand, but she refused. “It ain’t far. Booth just put him at the base and loosened the dirt so it collapsed over him.”

  “I’ve done that before in the case of an emergency.”

  “When he shot him—chills ran through my body. I never killed no one in my life. I’d a liked to killed some. That preacher stole my cherry when I was thirteen. Farris Fenton—I’d a killed him. Frank, he rubbed me raw but I’d a never killed him for that. I’d a killed them Barley brothers that raped me the week after the preacher popped it. I think he—” She stopped and huffed for breath. Then she pointed. “It’s right up there. See the cave-in?”

  He did and went to work. He pitched a few scoops aside and found the man’s boot. Wonder the varmints hadn’t dug him up already. By the time the townfolks arrived, he had him uncovered. Frank Waters had a swarthy complexion with a full beard floured in tan Texas soil. He was a barrel-chested man. In his dirt coating, he only looked half as impressive as he must have alive. The undertaker and two others lowered him in to the coffin.

  “It’s Frank, all right,” the funeral man announced.

  A murmur from the crowd at his words sounded like a groan. Slocum wondered if they’d really miss Waters from what he’d heard and knew about. Still, murder shocked even the residents of the toughest place he knew of this side of hell.

  The man with the marshal star cleared his throat. “How did you know to find him here?”

  “Let’s say a bird told me. We need to talk over there.” Slocum nodded toward the other side of the wash.

  The lawman told the others he’d tell them more later and to go back to their own businesses. Margie flounced down on the ground and hugged her knees. A few of the onlookers got an eyeful before she discovered
they could see her bare butt and dropped her legs down. She wrinkled her nose at them for peeking.

  “What’s she got to do with it?” the lawman asked.

  “Let’s say she had privileged information. I told her she could have a horse and get the hell out of here for helping me find him. You go along with that?”

  “We might not ever have found him. Who—” He lowered his voice. “Did this?”

  “A fella named Booth robbed him and shot him in the back of the head. Two days ago.”

  “What’s your part in it?”

  “Waters’s wife was concerned about him and asked me to check on him when I was here.”

  “I never caught your name.”

  “Tom White.” They shook hands.

  “Max Snyder’s mine. Well, Tom White, I sure thank you. I’ll get a murder warrant out for Booth. No telling where he is at.”

  “No telling. I’ll pay for Waters’s burial. His place is four hard days by wagon from here.”

  “He’s near ripe now.” Then Snyder nodded toward Margie. “Will you get her out of town tonight?”

  “She’ll be gone.”

  “Might send her on the stage.”

  “Either way, I’ll have her gone.”

  Marshal Snyder stalked away to two onlookers down the wash. The three soon went back to the road and disappeared.

  “What now?” Margie asked. Her dress up, knees apart and exposing the black thatch at the base of her wrinkled flat stomach, she idly tossed small stones at the wash.

  “I got you a pardon if you leave town tonight.”

  “Aw, damn, I guess I owe you.” She took his hand and he pulled her to her feet.

  “No, just stay away from the Booths of this world.”

  She laughed aloud. “Who do you think comes and fucks a whore anyway? Ain’t many saints get hard-ons.”

  “That’s your problem.”

  “My problem’s I’m twenty-four. In another few years, a pig ranch will be all there is left for me. Them cute little gals in their teens get the good jobs in them plush parlors. After that, you come work in rat holes like Tascosa. When they’re through with you here, you can go and screw them black buffalo soldiers at the pig ranches. Ain’t much future for me when I leave here, is there?”

  “Beats hanging.”

  She looked around the wash and shook her head. “Just takes longer.”

  “Find you a job cooking for an outfit. They hire women. No telling you might find a real man out there.”

  “Aw, hell, I got the mark like Cain on my forehead.” She paused at the top of the climb to catch her breath. “Once a whore, always one.”

  “You can choose that, not me. I’ll have a horse out back of the Moose at midnight. Take him or leave him.”

  “I better not go back there. There will be too many questions. The livery man will hide me until dark for a big favor.” She wrinkled her nose at the prospect.

  “Good, that’s even better. Take Waters’s saddle horse and rig after dark and get clear of this place. Here’s forty bucks to tide you over.” He handed her the paper money.

  On an impulse, she kissed him and hugged his neck. Her lilac perfume filled his nostrils. “Gawdamn, you’re a helluva nice man and I ain’t ever even turned a trick with you.”

  “Just stay out of sight and get gone.”

  “I will. You ever want a real piece of ass, you look me up. Hear me?”

  He nodded, and went on with the shovel on his shoulder. Where had Booth gone?

  19

  He stopped in the Bye Gilly Saloon, spoke to the bartender, and ordered a double. The man poured it in the glass.

  “Heard yah found Waters dead.”

  “Yeah, a bullet in the brain usually ends in death, especially at close range.”

  “Why was he killed?”

  “Money, Waters must have carried a large sum on him.”

  “Ah, in a waist wallet, huh? I remember some dumb bloke breaking his fist hitting him in the gut during a fight. Said it was like steel.”

  Slocum nodded and tossed down some of the whiskey. He needed to do several things—find Booth first and recover the money for Francie, then hire some cowboys, load a wagon with supplies, and get back to her place. “Any idea where Booth might be?”

  The bartender leaned over and whispered, “See that tall drink of water looking over the card game back there. One Eye is what they call him. He’s a friend of Booth’s.”

  Slocum nodded, downed his whiskey, and thanked him. He set the glass on the bar, walked over to stand near the man, then scratched a match as if to light an imaginary cigar and drew his attention. One Eye glanced over with his good eye, and Slocum nodded toward an empty table.

  A patch covered One Eye’s sunken socket. He dropped in to a chair at the table opposite the chair Slocum chose. In a soft voice, Slocum began. “I need to know where Booth is.”

  “How should I know?” One Eye shrugged his narrow shoulders under the wash-worn collarless shirt.

  “Oh, you know, and I’m willing to pay you forty dollars for that information.” Slocum sat back, tented his fingers, and touched his nose. “That’s two months wages for no work. What’s Booth paying yah?”

  One Eye looked around as if to check if they’d attracted any attention. Then, looking satisfied, he turned back to Slocum. “Let’s see the color of your money.”

  Slocum took out a small roll and peeled off two twenties. As One Eye looked on shocked, Slocum tore the bills in half and tossed two halves on the table. “You get the rest when I get Booth,” Slocum said.

  “I never—”

  “Listen, you’re one eye away from being blind. You cross me and you’ll be feeling your way around in the permanent dark.” Slocum’s eyes narrowed to underscore the threat.

  “All right. All right. He’s got a homesteader outfit about ten miles north of here.”

  From his vest pockets, Slocum drew a stub of a pencil and a small piece of paper. “Make me a map.”

  One Eye shook his head. “I ain’t no artist.”

  “Draw it.”

  “You take the road to Kansas up to Snake Crick. It’ll be dry. You can’t miss it. There’s a broken-down wagon half buried in the sand. Go down that wash for a mile. The cabin is on the right. It ain’t much. Said the settler was killed trying to save a baby that was washed away in a flood.”

  “You’ll get your other half when I get Booth.”

  “What if he kills you?”

  “Then get it from him.” Slocum left the man’s company. On his way out, he slapped a silver dollar on the bar for the barkeep and nodded in approval at him.

  Max Snyder looked up from his paperwork when Slocum walked in to his small office. “You know anything else, White?”

  “Booth’s up on Snake Creek in an abandoned shack.”

  Snyder wiped his mouth with his palm. “Holy crap, you don’t waste any time finding things out, do you?”

  “You want to ride up there with me? I want the money he took for Waters’s widow, Frances.”

  As if he was thinking about it, Snyder nodded his head slowly. “She’s a lucky woman that she’s got you for a friend. The chances of her getting that money back would have been nil if you hadn’t lended a hand in this business.”

  “I just want justice done. Besides, Booth had a good friend of mine gunned down.”

  “I see. Deputy U.S. Marshal Hooker is over at the Moose. He’ll want to go along too.”

  “Get him. Booth ever learns about us finding the Waters body and he’ll run.”

  “He’s damn sure liable to. Meet you at the livery in ten minutes.” Snyder grabbed his hat and rushed out.

  Slocum closed the office door when he left. He bought some jerky for the trip in the mercantile and when he came out of the store, he saw the two lawmen. The big man was putting on his suit coat as he came on the run down the empty street with Snyder.

  Hooker was a rotund man with a white walrus mustache. His blue eyes were cold as ic
e and the mustache hid his mouth except when he spoke. “Snyder says you’ve got this killer spotted.”

  Slocum nodded. “He’s supposed to be in a shack on Snake Creek.”

  “Good, Let’s ride then. How far?”

  “Ten miles or so up on Snake Creek.”

  “You know the place?” Hooker asked Snyder.

  “I’ve been up there. Not this place, but I know where it’s at.”

  “Daylight’s burning,” Hooker said. “We better ride.”

  The three saddled up and rode out down the main street.

  “Where yah headed?” somebody shouted from a store porch at Snyder.

  “To Kansas to find a bootlegger.”

  “Hell, there’s plenty of them around here.” His words drew some laughter and a scowl from the marshal. They pushed on at a trot.

  The sun was setting in a rosy cloud formation when they reached Snake Creek. They’d have an hour of twilight to locate Booth. The three dismounted close by the half-buried wagon box and broken spokes. Looking in different directions, they began to piss. The streams arced out until their bladders were empty.

  “Snyder interrupt anything?” Slocum asked the marshal with a grin. “Getting you out of the Moose?”

  “Naw, I’d had my toss in the hay. They asked me if I knew where what’s-her-name went. I didn’t know shit about her.”

  “Margie?”

  “Yeah.”

  “She’s leaving. I’ve got her stashed till the evening stage comes.” Slocum said to cover her tracks.

  Hooker nodded and they mounted up, following some horseshoe prints in the loose fill that had been washed in during the last flood. The long shadows of twilight had begun to creep in to the dry creek bed. They dismounted, thinking they were close to Booth, and picketed their horses. Hooker took a Winchester out of his scabbard and they set out on foot. Rounding a bend, Slocum smelled a whiff of smoke and stopped them.

  They nodded at each other. They were close. As they edged around the sheer bank, guns in hand, Slocum caught sight of the shack and a light in a small window. They split up, and Snyder went west to the cover of some brush. Hooker went to the side, and Slocum, moving low, approached from the front.

  Gun in his fist, Slocum recalled the sight of Don Jeminez’s stiff body pinned down by the dead mule Tonto on the hillside. Make one mistake, Booth, and you’ll be roasting your nuts in hell. He was fifty feet away from the cabin in the growing darkness. He dropped to one knee, knowing that the others should be in place.