by Jake Logan
Velva laughed. Slocum frowned.
“Well, you’re both wearin’ black,” Donnie said as he scooted out of the cave on his butt. His single-shot rifle was lying next to him. He picked it up.
“That’s not loaded, is it?” Slocum said as Donnie stood up.
“No sir, but I got a bullet in my pocket ready to load’case a bear come up on me.”
“You ride one of the mules, Donnie,” Slocum said. “We’re leavin’ this place.”
“Did you find my elk?”
Slocum stopped dead in his tracks as he walked toward his horse, a Morgan gelding he called Ferro, the Spanish word for iron.
“Your elk?” he said.
“Well, I shot it, didn’t I?”
Donnie wore a look of genuine surprise on his face. Velva looked at him indulgently, as one would perceive an addled child.
“Technically, yes,” Slocum said. “You shot it, but you only wounded it. The elk got away.”
“You ain’t much of a hunter, I’m thinkin’,” Donnie said.
“Leave the panniers here,” Slocum said to him. “You mount up on that jenny and lead the other mule. Velva, you can ride Donnie’s horse.”
The horses were still saddled. Slocum untied the reins from an alder bush and put one foot in the stirrup. He watched as Velva climbed into the saddle of Donnie’s horse. He could see that she was no neophyte. She climbed into the saddle, tucked her skirt under her, and swung a bare left leg over the horn. Slocum couldn’t take his eyes off that bare leg until he felt her gaze on him. He smiled and climbed into the saddle.
“We can talk about those two things later, John, if you like,” she said, a look of abject innocence on her face.
“What two things?” he asked.
“That look on your face and my bare leg,” she said, her voice a soft purr in his ear that was almost like a caress.
“Oh yeah,” he said. “I couldn’t help looking at it.”
His look was now decidedly sheepish.
She reached behind the cantle and untied Donnie’s bedroll. She wrapped the shotgun in the blanket and placed it back where it had been. She tied the thongs that held the bedroll in place.
“You didn’t unload that Greener,” Slocum observed.
“An unloaded gun is as useful as teats on a boar,” she said.
“Let’s hope it doesn’t go off on its own accord,” Slocum said.
“Does your gun go off on its own accord, John?”
He looked directly into her dark brown eyes and saw the mirthful expression on her face. She returned his stare with a bold look of her own. He felt something inside him squirm as if she had impaled a part of him on a metal skewer.
“Almost never,” he said with a wry twist of his lips.
Velva made a small moue with her mouth.
“That’s good to know,” she said.
Slocum let it pass.
“Ready?” he said to her and Donnie.
“Lead the way,” she said.
Slocum looked back and saw that Donnie was mounted on the jenny and had the reins of the jack in his hand. His rifle was laid across his lap, where he held it with his right hand. Slocum slid his rifle into its boot and started down the slope at an angle.
“What happened to my elk?” Donnie asked as they cleared the brush halfway down the slope.
“Who knows?” Slocum said. “It got away. Probably doomed to die a slow death.”
“Darn,” Donnie said, and Slocum vowed to teach him how to curse if they ever hunted together again.
Slocum zigzagged down to the road. Fenster and the two women watched as they crossed the road.
“Didn’t think you was ever comin’ back for us,” Fenster said, clearly annoyed. “We’re starving and thirsty as all getout.”
“We’re all hungry,” Slocum said. He swung out of the saddle and stepped up to his saddlebags. “I’ve got jerky and hardtack in here, and my canteen’s full.” He handed Fenster some dried beef strips wrapped in a towel and unslung his canteen from the saddle horn. He plucked another towel from the saddlebag and handed it to Jasmine. “Hardtack,” he said. “And I do mean hard. Like a rock.”
“I’ m not that hungry,” Jasmine said.
“I am,” Lydia said, and snatched the folded towel from Slocum’s hand.
“Hello, ladies,” Velva said. “I was hoping you were both still alive. Mr. Fenster,” she said with a nod to the little man.
“What about the others?” Jasmine asked.
Velva lowered her head.
“All dead,” Slocum said.
“The two ladies, Mrs. Gilbert and Rosie Coombs?”
“I’m sorry,” Slocum said.
Jasmine shuddered.
“We’re going to ride over to Big Timber,” Slocum said. “I’ll see to it that you three find lodging at the Big Timber Hotel. I’ll see the sheriff, get a wagon, and go with him to clean up the mess.”
“Our guitars are there,” Lydia said as she chewed on a strip of jerky. “Or they were.”
“I think they’re still there.”
“We’ll need those right away,” Jasmine said.
Slocum looked at the two women. He read genuine concern in their faces.
“You going to sing for your supper in Big Timber?” he asked.
“That’s what we do,” Jasmine said, a defensive tone to her voice. “We have an offer to perform at the Big Timber Hotel.”
Slocum looked at Donnie. He shrugged.
“I’ve been at the hotel for the past month and a half. Ray never mentioned it and I never saw anyone perform there.”
“We have a letter,” Lydia said. “An invitation. Don’t we, Leroy?”
Fenster patted his suit coat. “Got it right here. It wasn’t from nobody named Ray, though.”
“Ray Mallory owns the hotel,” Slocum said.
“It ain’t signed by no Ray Mallory neither,” Fenster said, a slight trace of belligerence in his tone.
“Let me see the letter,” Slocum said.
“It ain’t none of your business, Mr. Slocum,” Fenster said. His tone was now decidedly belligerent.
“Oh, Leroy, let him see it,” Jasmine said. She drank from the canteen, sipping from it as if she were testing it for a poisonous taste.
Fenster reached into his inside coat pocket and produced a letter. It was in a plain envelope, which he handed to Slocum. Slocum opened the envelope and withdrew the letter. It was on hotel stationery, all right, the same stationery that was in a drawer in his room at the hotel.
He looked at the signature.
The letter was handwritten in a broad scrawl. The signature was large over a printed name.
“This is signed by someone named Leonard Baskin,” he said. “Donnie, anyone named Baskin at your pa’s hotel??
“Nope,” Donnie said. He slid from the jenny’s back and walked over to Slocum. He looked at the letter.
“Recognize the name or the handwriting, Donnie?” Slocum asked.
“Nope. That’s the stationery we put in the rooms. My pa has his own stationery with his name big on the top. And after his name, it says ‘proprietor.’ That’s on all his stationery. Someone’s pullin’ your leg, lady, you’ll pardon the expression.”
“Why, that’s outrageous,” Jasmine said.
“Someone wanted you to be in Big Timber real bad,” Slocum said. “Because this letter is not genuine.”
Jasmine’s face flushed a pale crimson. She was plainly humiliated. Lydia looked as if someone had delivered a straight punch to her solar plexus. Her complexion turned to paste and she looked sick.
“After Lydia’s father died,” Jasmine said, “I made a big mistake. I married a man who was kind to me. He was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. He wanted to take over my life. He became very brutal, and his demands on me were disgusting and savage. He beat me and he chased after Lydia. I divorced this man and he went into a rage. He said that I would pay for rejecting him.”
“Who is this man?” Sl
ocum asked.
“I hesitate to even speak his name,” she said. Tears welled up in her eyes and she choked back a sob.
“His name is Bruno Valenti,” Lydia said.
Velva gasped when she heard the name. They all looked at her as if they were one person.
“Bruno? Is that your former husband’s given name?” Velva asked.
Jasmine nodded. “He—he lives in Saint Louis. Or did, when I divorced him.”
“Why?” Slocum asked. “Why do you ask? Do you know the man?”
Velva drew herself up to full height. She was a tall woman and towered over Fenster, Lydia, and Jasmine. She looked as regal as any queen, and her dark eyes flashed with streaks of sunlight that looked like lightning bolts.
“That was a name I heard some of the bandits use,” she said. “They yelled out ‘Bruno,’ and Bruno was the man who kept saying, ‘Where is the bitch?’ and ‘The bitch ain’t here.’ Curly black hair, a scarred face, a big barrel of a chest, hairy arms.”
Jasmine broke down. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed into them.
“That’s Bruno,” Lydia said. “I can’t believe it. You described him perfectly. He’s a very vicious man and I thought we were rid of him.”
Velva walked over and put an arm around Jasmine.
“There, there,” she said. “We’ll look after you, Jasmine. Won’t we, John?”
Slocum nodded. His jaw turned to iron as he thought about the savagery of the attack on the coach and wagons, the needless slaughter of innocent people.
He knew, deep down, that they probably had not heard the last of Bruno Valenti. For he was a man bent on revenge. He would surely come after Jasmine and try to kill her. Slocum had met such scoundrels before. They could not stand the thought of a woman they wanted being with another man. If they couldn’t have her, they pledged that no one could have her.
He felt sorry for Jasmine, and for Lydia.
They would bear watching as long as they were in Big Timber, until Bruno Valenti was in jail or dead.
6
Slocum led the party in his charge over the ridge tops in a more or less straight line, avoiding the road. Velva rode double with him. Jasmine and Lydia rode Donnie’s horse, while Donnie rode the jenny, and Fenster rode the bonejarring jack. They descended the last hill down to the Boulder River and crossed just below Spring Creek. The waters were swift but shallow since the river was over its banks with spring runoff.
They entered Big Timber, a small, quiet town bordered on two sides by the Boulder and the Yellowstone Rivers. Slocum pulled in at the Big Timber Hotel on Main Street, a block from the Grant Hotel, which they had passed moments before.
Slocum dismounted and, in gentlemanly fashion, helped Jasmine and Lydia dismount. They tied the horses and mules to the hitchrail.
“I’ll get you settled, then see the sheriff,” Slocum told Jasmine.
“I’ll go with you, John,” Velva said. Slocum was surprised, but did not show his surprise to Velva. He just nodded. He ushered Jasmine, Lydia, and Fenster to the desk. Donnie followed them, scratching at an itch on his butt.
The clerk looked up.
“Oh, hello, Mr. Slocum,” he said. Then he looked at the others. “What do we have here? More guests.”
“Check them in. I’ll talk to Mr. Mallory when I finish with the sheriff.”
“And who will pay the bill?” asked the clerk, whose name was Alfred Duggins.
“Don’t worry it about it, Alfred. These people were attacked by bandits and Crow Indians. I’m taking Sheriff Jenner to see where it happened.”
“I see,” Duggins said.
Velva gave Slocum a look, rolling her eyes at the situation.
He knew what she meant. Clerks and shopkeepers had their own codes, their special set of rules for dealing with the public, and any variation in their mindless routine put them off-balance and led to confusion.
“Just sign the register,” Duggins said. He turned the open ledger around and shoved it forward. “Three rooms?”
“Just two,” Jasmine said. “My daughter and I will share one, and Mr. Fenster will have one to himself.”
“I see,” Duggins said. He was beginning to make sense of the situation. He was now on firmer ground, Slocum surmised, and he shot a look at Velva, who nodded, almost imperceptibly. Donnie stood next to a potted plant and mopped his face with a handkerchief.
“No luggage?” Duggins said. He craned his neck to peer over the counter.
“Alfred,” Slocum said, “they were on the Bozeman stage. It was wrecked and they barely escaped with their lives. We’ll salvage what we can and haul their belongings back here to the hotel.”
“I see,” Duggins said, and Slocum knew he didn’t see a damned thing. No luggage was a sign to Duggins that the guests were without visible means of support and might skip their bill in the dead of night.
He looked up then and acknowledged Velva.
“Oh, hello, Mrs. Granville. So sorry about your loss.”
“I was in that stagecoach, Alfred,” she said. “We’ve all been through a lot. I was returning from my husband’s funeral in Billings when we were attacked.”
“Oh, yes, of course,” Duggins spluttered. “I should have known.”
He looked down at the register as Fenster signed his name, turned it around, and pushed it toward the clerk. Duggins read the names.
“You’re the Lorraines,” he said to Jasmine.
“We are,” Jasmine said.
“Why, I saw you and your daughter perform in San Francisco last year. You were sensational. Such beautiful voices.”
“Why, thank you, Alfred,” Jasmine said. “Maybe you’ll hear us somewhere in Big Timber.”
“Oh, that would be just wonderful. We have a small ballroom here in the hotel, with a little stage and . . . well, that would just be peachy.”
“Will someone show us to our rooms?” Fenster asked. His impatience was evident in the nervous tap of his fingers on the counter.
“I’ll get your keys and show you to your rooms. They’re all on the second floor. Just take those stairs over there.” He pointed to a wide stairway that led up to a balcony. “I’ll be right with you.”
Velva gave Jasmine a hug and then turned to Lydia, but she was already walking toward the stairs with Fenster.
“Let’s go see the sheriff,” Slocum said to Velva.
“Can I go with you?” Donnie said. “Maybe I could help.”
Slocum hesitated, but he saw Velva give her approval with a slight nod of her head.
“Yeah, Donnie, you can go with us. Sheriff might want you to drive back one of the wagons.”
“Thanks, Mr. Slocum. I ain’t got nothin’ to do here in town anyways.”
“No, Donnie,” Velva said, her voice a silky purr, “there’s not much to do in Big Timber.”
The three of them walked the half block to the sheriff’s office. They passed a few people looking into store windows, a pair of women chatting together, and an old man with a cane who was headed toward the corner saloon, The Gray Cat.
“So, you know Dave Jenner?” Velva said.
“I met him when I first came to town,” Slocum said.
“When did you first come to town?”
“About three days ago. I was up in Billings on business and saw a flyer seeking the services of a meat hunter. Donnie’s father.”
“That explains a lot,” Velva said.
“What do you mean?”
“Ray Mallory and my husband got in a big fight a month or so ago. We provided game to Ray and to the Grant Hotel, but Ray thought we charged too much. And my husband refused to take Donnie with us when we went after elk and mule deer.”
Donnie’s eyebrows rose, but he said nothing.
“Maybe I can smooth that over for you, Velva,” Slocum said. “I don’t plan to work for Ray beyond the fall.”
“His hotel is going to need wild game. It’s one of the specialties of Big Timber. We have visitors from all ov
er the world. Many of them expect to eat wild turkey, pheasant, antelope, elk, and deer when they stay in the hotels.”
“Maybe we can join forces while I’m here,” Slocum said.
Velva smiled.
“I’d like that,” she said.
The sheriff’s office was a small log building near the end of Main Street, which was only about five blocks long. A lone horse, a mottled gray, stood hipshot, its reins wrapped around the hitchrail. Its mane and tail were clipped short. The three walked through the leather-hinged door into the sheriff’s office.
Sheriff David Jenner was leaning back in his chair, his long legs stretched out, his booted feet propped up on the desk. He was going through a stack of wanted flyers, a small corncob pipe jutting from one side of his mustache-framed mouth.
“Hello, Dave,” Velva said in that silky smooth voice of hers.
Jenner looked up. His pale blue eyes, eyes that were almost gray, scanned the faces of Slocum, Velva, and Donnie.
“I see you’re back from the funeral in Billings, Velva,” he said, retracting his legs like a crane ready to lift its wings in flight. “Slocum. Thought you and Donnie there were off hunting elk.”
“You don’t miss much, do you, Sheriff?” Slocum said.
“Hell, it’s a small town. Ain’t easy to miss what goes on.”
Jenner stood up.
“What brings you folks to my humble office?” he said.
Slocum told him. Velva filled in the actual details of the ambush, including the names of the people who were killed.
Jenner pursed his lips and let out a low whistle. “Shit fire,” he said. “I’d better haul ass down there and get them folks back here for a decent burial. You say them Injuns and white renegades stole all the horses?”
“That’s right,” Velva said.
“Well, we’re gonna need to take some extra horses to haul them wagons and that stage into town. Damn, you say Will Purdy was kilt? He’s been drivin’ that Billings to Bozeman stage for nigh onto six years, I reckon.”
“There were only four of us who managed to escape,” Velva said. “A mother and her daughter and their manager. They’re staying at the Big Timber.”
“Well, first things first. I’ll talk to them folks later. Meanwhile, I got to get a posse together and some extry horses to take down there where you say all this happened.”