by Jake Logan
He sat facing the door and the front window. But he could also see the bar and the others in the room.
“Sandwiches, ten cents,” Deke said to Alvin and Slocum. “Fresh made.”
“Hungry, Slocum?” Alvin asked.
Slocum pulled a dollar bill from his pocket, slid it across the table to Alvin.
“I’ll take two of those sandwiches, Alvin. Buy as many as you want for yourself.”
Alvin picked up the bill.
“Thanks. I’ll get us those sandwiches,” Alvin said. He got up and walked over to the sandwich table. He gave Deke the bill.
“How many?” Deke asked.
“Four.”
“Tell him to keep the change,” Slocum called over to Alvin.
Deke nodded as Alvin picked up four sandwiches. He pocketed the dollar bill.
Jake carried the drinks over to Slocum’s table and set them down. “On the house,” he said.
Alvin brushed against Jake as he came back with the sandwiches.
“Thank Joe for us,” he said to Jake.
“And would you bring up some water to wash this grub down?” Slocum asked.
“Sure thing,” Jake said, and walked away to the bar. He returned in a few minutes with two glasses of water.
As Alvin and Slocum ate and drank, they both watched the front window. They saw men walk by in twos, all in a hurry.
“Know them, Alvin?” Slocum asked.
“Gunfighters. They’re in a big rush.”
“Hunting me, most likely,” Slocum said.
“Likely,” Alvin said as he munched on his sandwich.
They both stopped eating for a few seconds when a lone man appeared in front of the saloon window. The man paused, walked up to the window, shaded his eyes, and peered inside.
Slocum held his breath.
“Know him?” he said under his breath to Alvin.
“Sure do,” Alvin said in a low voice. “That’s Tony Delfino, and it looks like he’s comin’ in here.”
“I hope so,” Slocum said.
“You going to shoot him?”
“No,” Slocum said. “Take him prisoner.”
“He’s a handful, Slocum.”
“I’ve got a big hand.”
Tony left the window and walked away. Toward the batwing doors. They did not swing in for a few moments, but Slocum saw his boots and pant legs. The man stood there for a few seconds.
Then the batwing doors swung open and Tony Delfino stepped quickly into the saloon. He stepped to one side and squinted his eyes to adjust to the change in light.
One hand was on the butt of his pistol.
Slocum slipped his pistol from its holster. He brought it up slow to level the barrel at Tony. Tony looked across to the sandwich table, then swung his head to regard Slocum and Alvin.
That’s when Slocum thumbed back the hammer on his Colt .45.
Tony froze when he heard the hammer click back to full cock. His hand closed and his fingers wrapped around the butt of his pistol.
Slocum stood up so that he was in plain sight, his pistol in full view of Tony Delfino.
A hush fell over the patrons and workers inside the saloon.
A deadly hush.
Slocum broke the silence.
“Draw that pistol and you’re a dead man,” Slocum said.
Tony froze, the knuckles on his hand turning bone white. But he did not draw his pistol.
The silence rose in the room like an invisible cloud. Time seemed to stop. The threat of death was almost palpable. All there could feel it, could sense it, and dreaded it.
Death seemed a tick away on a clock.
27
But there was no clock in the saloon. And time froze for those few seconds while Tony hesitated, his arm stiff as a board.
“Take your hand off the pistol and walk toward me,” Slocum said, his voice slow and even.
Tony’s fingers relaxed and loosened their hold on the grip of his pistol. His hand slowly rose away from his gun. He walked toward the tall man with the cocked gun.
Alvin arose from his chair and walked behind Tony. He reached for Tony’s pistol and pulled it from its holster.
“You’re the one, ain’t you?” Tony said.
“Sit down,” Slocum said as Alvin slid Tony’s pistol into a niche between his belt and shirt.
Tony sat down.
“What do you mean, ‘I’m the one,’ Tony?” Slocum asked.
“Hiram’s got every manjack in town huntin’ for you,” Tony said.
“Were you hunting for me?”
Tony hesitated. He looked into Slocum’s green eyes, then turned away.
“No, I wasn’t huntin’ you. I come here for a different reason.”
“What reason?” Slocum asked.
“There’s a man I got to see. One of our bunch who ain’t here at the moment.”
“What man is that, Tony?”
Slocum touched the rifle in front of him on the table. He rubbed the stock as if to show Tony he meant to get a straight answer.
“Ralph Fossey,” Tony said.
Slocum and Alvin exchanged looks.
“Is Fossey the man who’s spying on the miners?” Slocum asked, even though he knew the answer.
“He’s been up there with ’em, yes.”
“When do you expect him, Tony?” Slocum spoke in a gentle tone that invited his prisoner’s confidence.
“Sometime today or tonight, I reckon.”
“And what are you supposed to say to Fossey if he comes in here?” Slocum asked.
“I—I, well, ah, Hiram wants him to come up to his room at the hotel.”
“Why?” Slocum asked.
“Look, mister, I know you got me, but you don’t know that man I work for. Hiram—he—he’s nuts, thinks everybody’s out to get him. I think he wants Fossey there to protect him.”
“That sounds right,” Alvin said. “Sometimes Hiram suspects all of us of plotting against him. He goes through strange spells.”
“Spells?” Slocum said.
“Like, he thinks there’s somebody out to kill him. He sees gunmen in every shadow.” While Alvin talked, Tony nodded in assent.
“He sounds like someone with a trace of a conscience,” Slocum said. “Maybe he’s thinking about what a bastard he is and wonders when the ax will fall. Right on his fat neck.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Alvin said.
Slocum took in a deep breath.
“Tony, I should tie you up. You’re going to stay here. And if you stay here until Fossey shows up, you can saddle your horse and ride out of town. That’s the same offer I’m giving to all of you who hired your guns out to Bledsoe. Fair enough?”
“Fossey might kill the both of us, Slocum,” Tony said.
“He might. Your choice. You don’t try and run now, and you live a little longer. You make a run for it, and I shoot you down. Live or die. Your choice.”
“I—I don’t want to die,” Tony said. “I only work for Hiram because the pay is good and I was tired of runnin’ from town posses.”
“Good enough reason,” Slocum said with a wry smile playing on his lips.
They all heard Ronnie walk into the room from the back.
“Joe, what’s going on here?” she said.
Slocum looked at her. She had not seen him yet, but was looking at Deke and Mac. She was speaking to Joe and Jake.
“Business is real slow, Veronica,” Joe said wryly.
Slocum stood up.
Ronnie saw him and her demeanor changed. She set a bank sack on the counter and walked over to where Slocum and Alvin were sitting.
She glanced at Tony.
“Is Tony joining your hunt, John?” she asked from a few feet away.
“Not
exactly,” Slocum said. “He dropped in and now he’s my prisoner.”
“You’re lucky, Tony,” she said.
“Lucky?” Tony said to her as she came up to Slocum and squeezed his hand.
“Lucky he didn’t shoot you,” she said.
“I know,” Tony said.
“We’re waiting for a man named Fossey,” Slocum told her. “Eating sandwiches and unparching our dry throat.”
Ronnie laughed as she looked down at the table.
“Glad you told me. I thought maybe you were dining on rifles.”
Slocum laughed and sat down.
There was a noise from the balcony as a door opened.
“I guess we won’t do any business today. I dropped off money for the cash register, but I didn’t know you were turning my saloon into a fort.”
A girl stuck her head out of the door.
Ronnie looked up at her.
“Just stay in your room, Celeste. I’ll be up in a minute to talk to you and the other girls.”
Celeste’s head disappeared as the door closed.
“How long will you be here, John?” Ronnie asked.
“Long as it takes. Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. This town’s dead as the proverbial doornail. You’ve got Hiram’s men prowling around all over. Everything’s closed. I’m going to tell the girls to lay low until all this is over. If it’s ever over.”
“Oh, it’ll be over. Give me a day or two,” Slocum said.
She put a hand on Slocum’s neck in a gesture of affection.
“Just don’t turn my saloon into a shooting gallery,” she said. “If you can avoid it, that is.”
Slocum smiled up at her.
“I’ll try,” he said. “Tomorrow will be the big day in town.”
“Oh?” she said.
“My secret, Ronnie. The enemy has big ears.”
“I know what you mean. Maybe I’ll have a drink with you later. If I won’t be in the line of fire.”
She and Slocum both laughed, but they knew the underlying seriousness of the situation.
Ronnie walked away and crossed the floor. Then she climbed the stairs, a step at a time.
“So now we wait,” Alvin said.
Tony looked sick, as if someone had punched him in the gut.
“Now we wait,” Slocum said. He gave a stern look at Tony. “We all wait.”
Tony squirmed in his seat.
“Want a sandwich, Tony?” Slocum asked. “I’m buying. It might be a long time until supper.”
Tony looked over at the sandwich table, then bowed his head.
“No, I couldn’t eat nothin’,” he muttered.
Slocum picked up his sandwich and took a bite. Alvin did the same.
Tony sat there, his eyes brimming with tears.
And there was no clock in the saloon to mark the time.
The waiting time.
28
Some of the shopkeepers began to come to the Sawtooth Saloon. They wanted to know why the café was closed and if there was something wrong in town. Joe saw that they bought sandwiches from Mac and Deke, who served them various drinks.
Slocum and Alvin finished eating while Tony fidgeted and sat there until they all went out back to pee.
Ronnie met with her girls and told them to stay inside the saloon. She joined Slocum shortly after the noon hour.
Slocum was uneasy. The town was too quiet. He knew men were hunting him, yet none had passed by for hours. Where were they? And where was Fossey?
“Tell me about this Ralph Fossey, Tony,” Slocum said as he drummed a tattoo on the table with his fingers. “What do you know about him? What does he look like?”
“Way I heard it was Hiram sneaked him into town to act like just another prospector and to spy on the real ones. Tom said he was really a gunfighter from Dodge City, but to keep that to ourselves. Fossey ain’t his real name. He come in wearin’ two pistols and Jerry showed me a dodger with his picture on it. He’s got a price on his head. Killed a bunch of men and a sheriff.”
“What was the name on the dodger?” Slocum asked.
“I saw the dodger, too, up in Hiram’s room one day,” Alvin said. “When he caught me lookin’ at it, he whisked it away right quick.”
“What was the name on the dodger, Alvin? Do you remember?”
“Sure do. It was Pat Sumner, and Tony’s right, he’s wanted for a passel of crimes.”
“That’s the name, I remember,” Tony said.
Slocum stopped his drumming on the table. His eyes narrowed as he remembered, too.
“This is a hell of a note,” he said. “I’ve crossed Sumner’s path a time or two. Saw him backshoot a storekeeper in Abilene and drop two men at a saloon in Salinas.”
Slocum stood up as Ronnie walked away to herd her girls to a table. They were all descending the stairs, dressed for work in their skimpy glittery clothing.
“Alvin,” Slocum said, “I can’t wait here for Sumner, or Fossey. I’ve got to go up where those miners are and take him down.”
“Want us to stay here?”
“Yeah. Tony, you stay put. If Sumner shows up while I’m gone, don’t say anything to him. Just play dumb.”
“You got it, Slocum,” Alvin said. “Tony and I will be right here when you get back.”
Slocum got up and left the table. He carried a rifle with him as he walked over to say good-bye to Ronnie.
“I’ll be back before nightfall, Ronnie,” he said.
“Where are you going?”
“Up to the miners’ camp.”
“Why?”
“There’s something I have to do.”
The three girls looked at Slocum and batted their eyes. Ronnie gave them a disapproving look.
Then he was gone, disappearing through the batwings and out onto the street.
He walked quickly to the stables and saddled his borrowed horse while Alec, the liveryman, looked on. He was full of questions.
“You look different,” Alec told Slocum, “and I think some of the boys are lookin’ for you.”
“What makes you think that, Alec?”
“’Cause Jerry Bassett told me. He was here most all mornin’ and just left a while ago. Pete Eddings come in, all in a huff, and said he needed him at the Chinese bunkhouse. Jerry told me to keep an eye out for you. A man wearin’ black clothes. That’s you, I reckon.”
“What were you supposed to do, Alec, shoot me?”
“No sir, I was just supposed to run and get Jerry and bring him back here.”
“Well, don’t tell him I was here. I’ll be back and take care of Jerry Bassett and whoever else is hunting me.”
“I knowed something was up. It’s just too damned quiet and nobody’s come and saddled up, ’cept you.”
“I’ll be at the saloon by nightfall if anybody asks,” Slocum said. He borrowed a rifle scabbard from Alec, who got it for him out of the tack room. When he was saddled up, he rode out of the livery stable and charged up the street at a gallop.
In a little less than two hours, he rode into the miners’ camp.
Rod saw him and walked over as Slocum swung out of the saddle.
“Slocum,” he said. “Somethin’ wrong? A hitch in your plans?”
“I don’t know,” Slocum said.
He looked around. Men were talking in small groups, using their rifles like canes, the butts flat on the ground, the muzzles leaning against hands.
“Didn’t expect you up here,” Rod said. “We’re all set. I planned to go into town real early in the morning. Just before sunup. That still all right with you?”
“Tomorrow will be fine.”
Slocum looked at all the men in view. He didn’t find the face he wanted to see.
“Where’s Ralph Fo
ssey?” Slocum asked.
“Ralph? I haven’t seen him since a little after Reed gave me your message and I had a meeting with all the men.”
“Was Ralph at the meeting?”
Rod pushed his hat back and scratched his head in thought.
“Why, I can’t recall. Maybe. Hell, the men were all in a bunch. But I’m pretty sure everybody was there. They’re all keen on gettin’ back to Sawtooth and gettin’ their claims back.”
Just then, Reed Perkins came running up to them from a clump of pines and spruce trees some distance away.
He held a bloody knife in one hand and a rifle in the other.
“Rod, look what I found,” Reed said, panting for breath. He held the knife up. The blade was smeared with dry blood.
“Where’d you get that?” Rod asked.
Reed bent over, gulping in draughts of air. He held out the knife and Rod took it from him.
“I noticed Ralph wasn’t here, so I went over to where he pitched his tent. This was after I noticed his horse was gone from the corral.”
Rod handed the knife to Slocum, who looked at it closely. He turned it over in his hands and examined the handle. The knife was Mexican made, with a brass eagle’s head atop inlays of elk antlers framed by a silvery metal. It was very distinctive and he knew he had seen that blade before.
“Ralph’s tent was still up, but it was empty, his duds gone, canteen, everything except that there knife. It was stickin’ straight up in the ground right in front of his little tent. Like he meant for us to see it.”
“What do you make of it, Slocum?” Rod asked.
“He’s bragging. Rubbing your nose in it, Rod.”
“Huh?”
“The man you call Fossey was a spy for Hiram Bledsoe,” Slocum said.
“Ralph? Naw.”
Reed didn’t say anything. He breathed hard and now stood upright, a puzzled look on his face.
“The man’s real name is Pat Sumner.”
“Pat Sumner?” Rod asked. He scratched his head again. “I heard that name somewhere. A long time ago.”
“He’s wanted for murder, robbery, and there’s a price on his head.”