Slocum and the Sawtooth Sirens

by Jake Logan

  “You don’t say,” Rod said.

  “Bledsoe hired him to act like he was just another prospector and keep an eye on you boys. This knife tells me that he was the bastard who cut Jessie Nolan’s throat.”

  “I’ll be damned,” Rod said.

  “Well, he’s plumb gone,” Reed said. “Lit out sometime this mornin’, I reckon.”

  “He’s headed for Sawtooth. In fact, he’s probably already there. With Bledsoe.”

  “He sounds like a dangerous man,” Rod said.

  “He is dangerous,” Slocum said. “Packs twin pistols and is a dead shot.”

  “You know him?” Reed asked.

  “I’ve seen him a time or two. He’s fast on the draw and his two pistols don’t miss. I aim to take him out.”

  “Can you beat him?” Rod asked.

  “We’ll see,” Slocum said.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Slocum saw Madge walking toward them from down the easy slope below where they stood.

  She was wearing riding togs, a plaid skirt, boots, and a dark green blouse. She had a velvet choker around her neck.

  “John,” she said as she came up to them. “I didn’t expect to see you back up here. What’s that in your hand?”

  “This is the knife that killed your pa,” Slocum said. “The man you knew as Ralph Fossey was the culprit.”

  “Ralph? Why, he was just a prospector.”

  “He’s a killer and his name isn’t Ralph Fossey,” Slocum said. “It’s Pat Sumner and he is one of Bledsoe’s hired guns.”

  “No, it can’t be,” she said. “He was such an unassuming man.”

  But she couldn’t take her eyes off the knife. The blood that was her father’s. She cringed at the sight of it, her eyes wide, a look of utter dismay on her face.

  “Believe it,” Rod said. “And he’s gone. Back to Sawtooth, I reckon.”

  “I’d like to . . .” She couldn’t finish her sentence. But she squeezed both hands tight in a choking gesture.

  “He was sent here to spy on everyone,” Slocum said. “And he killed your pa because he brought the rifles in here.”

  “Where did you find that knife?” she asked, a dull tone to her voice.

  Reed told her.

  “He’s flaunting my daddy’s murder,” she said. “I’d like to see him hang. Or I’d like to cut his throat like he did my pa’s.”

  “Calm down, Madge,” Slocum said. “I’ll take care of Sumner. The least I can do.”

  “I know,” she said. “I blamed you for Daddy’s death. I was wrong. I guess I did it just because you were the nearest person. I hate myself for it. It wasn’t your fault.”

  “It wasn’t yours either, Madge,” Slocum said.

  She hung her head.

  “I know,” she said. “But I blame myself in a way.”

  Slocum handed the knife back to Rod and took Madge in his arms. She began to sob, but she clutched at him like a drowning person, small and huddled to him, with her head resting on his chest.

  “There’s no blame to you, Madge,” Slocum said. “Sumner would have killed your pa one way or another. At that time or another. He was paid to kill your pa.”

  “God,” she said. “It’s so unfair.”

  Slocum patted her gently on the back.

  Then he turned to Rod.

  “I’ve got to get back, Rod. Remember to walk your horses into town, use them for protection. Bledsoe still has a lot of men left. I only took care of a few.”

  “Maybe we should just follow you now,” Rod said.

  Slocum shook his head.

  “No. I need time. I’ve got to find Sumner and call him out. Then there’s Bledsoe to take care of if I can get to him.”

  “You can’t do all that by yourself,” Rod said.

  “Maybe not. But I have to try. Sumner is the most dangerous of all of Bledsoe’s hired guns. And I think he stands in the way of my getting to Bledsoe.”

  “It’s a hellish thing you have to do, Slocum.”

  “I’ve been there before,” Slocum said enigmatically.

  “You watch your topknot,” Rod said.

  “Yeah, be damned careful,” Reed added.

  Slocum pulled away from Madge. She stood on tiptoe and planted a quick kiss on his chin.

  “I’ll worry about you,” she said.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, Madge. Now I’m going to get my own horse and head back to Sawtooth.”

  She reached out a hand for him, but he was already stepping one foot into his stirrup.

  He rode to the corral and Ferro whickered at him. A few minutes later, he had the gelding under his own saddle, his rifle in the boot. He gave the other rifle to Reed as he rode past him, Rod, and Madge.

  “Another rifle in case you need it,” Slocum said.

  “Thanks,” Reed said.

  “I’ll take it,” Madge said and held out her hand.

  “She means to do devilment,” Rod said.

  “Your dadgummed right I do,” she said.

  Slocum blew her a kiss and rode off toward the hidden road he had previously taken.

  He spurred Ferro with bare boot heels.

  Time was short and he had much to do.

  There was a killer in Sawtooth he wanted to face down. And if he was lucky, he would take out Bledsoe in the bargain.

  It was a big order, but he was eager to match Sumner shot for shot.

  It took only one gun to kill a man. Two were just one more than necessary.

  He rode over tree shadows that were beginning to get long as the sun headed for the jagged peaks of the Sawtooth Range.

  It felt good to be atop his black horse, Ferro. It felt natural and fine.

  A man couldn’t ask for much more.

  29

  The sun glowed like the coals in a blacksmith’s forge as it hung over the Sawtooth Range, a blazing disk that shed golden light on the valleys and streams below.

  Slocum rode past the hotel, straight to the saloon.

  Alvin Callaway stood outside, leaning against the wall, his rifle propped up right next to him.

  Slocum climbed down from Ferro’s back and wrapped the reins around the hitchrail.

  “Alvin,” Slocum said. “Where’s Tony?”

  Alvin laughed harshly.

  “I watched him ride out of town an hour ago as if his tail was on fire. He wanted no part of you or those miners you said were comin’ back.”

  “So you let him go.”

  “He paid me a hunnert dollars. Hell, I saw no reason to keep him. The saloon is peppered with men who work for Hiram. Alec shut down the stables and he’s in there. The glitter gals are having a field day, and Ronnie’s smiling from ear to ear.”

  “I saw a horse in front of the hotel. Empty rifle scabbard. A steel dust gray with a Denver saddle.”

  “That’s Sumner’s horse,” Alvin said.

  “Then he’s at the hotel right now,” Slocum said.

  “Likely. Up in Hiram’s room. His attorney, Del Wiggins, is inside the saloon getting soused.”

  “So the handwriting’s on the wall,” Slocum said. “How come you didn’t light out with Delfino?”

  Alvin laughed and stood away from the wall.

  “I could have,” he said. “I thought about it. But then, I know when I’ve got a winner on my hands. I like to stick with winners. Tony’s a sad, sad man, scared pissless of you. The men who work for Hiram who are in the saloon now are all getting soused just like Wiggins. They think you’re some kind of shadow man or a ghost with a gun. Word gets around.”

  “Any word about the Chinese?” Slocum asked.

  “Yeah, one of those men inside, I forget who, said they were holed up in their bunkhouse and wouldn’t come out. They just left them there. When nobody could find you an
d they took a look at Tony, they started arguing about whether to stay or light a shuck.”

  “But they’re still here,” Slocum said.

  “Yeah, but they’re watching them batwing doors like they was waitin’ for Death hisself to walk in. They’re as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rockin’ chairs.”

  Slocum laughed.

  “Good. We’ll leave them there. They’ll likely have hangovers to hamper them come morning.”

  “That when the miners will be back?”

  “At first light,” Slocum said. “Maybe a tad sooner.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  “Want to walk with me, Alvin?”

  “Where we goin’?”

  “To the hotel. You might have to shoot one of your friends.”

  Alvin squinched up his face in a sign of disgust.

  “They ain’t friends of mine no more,” he said. “I been doin’ a lot of thinkin’ since Tony lit out of town. I feel sorry for all them miners what got cheated out of their claims by Hiram. He’s one ruthless sonofabitch. All I saw was the pay, not the man. But now I know what a bastard he is. The world will be better off when it’s rid of him.”

  “He won’t be easy. If Sumner is up in the room with him, he’ll have two guns and a stone-hard killer in front of him.”

  “I’ll back your play, Slocum,” Alvin said gravely. “Hell or high water.”

  “There might be some of your former compatriots holed up in the lobby of the hotel,” Slocum said.

  “Well, we’ll soon find out, won’t we? I ain’t no slouch with a six-gun myself. Lord knows I’ve used it for good and bad both.”

  “Keep that thought, Alvin,” Slocum said.

  Alvin picked up his rifle, and the two men walked down the street toward the hotel. The afternoon shadows stretched long between the buildings, and the sun sank even lower above the saw-toothed peaks. The air turned crisp and chill as daylight hovered on the brink of a gray dusk. The town was so quiet it boomed in their ears like a smothered thunder.

  The steel dust gray stood hipshot at the hitchrail, its tail switching back and forth like a shredded fly swatter made of dark felt.

  They stopped in front of the hotel window, in a burly pool of shadow, and peered inside.

  “See anybody you know?” Slocum asked.

  There were two men inside. They sat in separate chairs, the plush kind with the high backs and soft cushions, sturdy arms. One of them chewed tobacco and lifted a spittoon to unleash a gob of juice. The other man was smoking a cigarette and flapping his hand to sweep the smoke away from his face. Neither man looked relaxed.

  “That one with the chaw is Pete Eddings, a Texan who killed a U.S. marshal down in Beaumont. The other man is Hal Coster. Overpowered a jailer in New Mexico and shot his way out. Been on the run ever since.”

  “No rifles in sight,” Slocum said.

  “No, but both are wearin’ six-guns and know how to use ’em.”

  “What about the desk clerk? I don’t see him,” Slocum said.

  “Fetters? He’s harmless as a horny toad. Probably hidin’ out. He knows something’s up or them two waddies wouldn’t be a-settin’ there in the hotel.”

  “Well, let’s mosey in and see what those boys are made of,” Slocum said.

  “You first, Slocum. I’ll back you.”

  The two went inside.

  The men in the chairs stiffened and looked at the man in black. They could not see Alvin, who stood directly behind Slocum.

  “Evening, gents,” Slocum said as he walked to within ten feet of both men.

  “You’re him, ain’t you?” Eddings said.

  Coster stubbed out his cigarette in an ashtray.

  “He don’t seem real, do he?” Coster said. “The man in black.”

  “This is as far as you get, mister,” Eddings said.

  Then Alvin stepped up to stand beside Slocum.

  “Pete,” he said. “Hal.”

  “You throwin’ in with this jaybird, Alvin?” Eddings asked.

  “You better both give a listen to Slocum here. What he says could mean that you keep breathing awhile longer.”

  “Shit on you, Alvin. That bastard don’t mean nothin’ to me.”

  “Me neither,” Coster said. “We got a job to do and we aim to do it.”

  “You can’t see that sun out there, boys,” Slocum said. “But it’s setting, and unless you do what I say, it’ll be your last sunset.”

  “You don’t scare me none,” Eddings said. He sat upright in his chair, his holster riding the side of his leg.

  “Me neither,” Coster said. He, too, sat upright, his gun hand free, his pistol within easy reach.

  “Boys, I’ll give you some free advice,” Alvin said. “Take it or leave it. Slocum’s the man who outdrew Fidel and Carlos at the saloon. He also gunned down Tom Brody, who was pretty fast on the draw himself. He’s offering a chance for both of you to ride out of town scot-free.”

  “Make your play, Slocum,” Eddings barked and his right hand streaked for the butt of his pistol. He half rose out of his chair, his eyes squinted to narrow slits.

  Faster than the eye could follow, Slocum drew his Colt, thumbed back the hammer of the single-action weapon. He leveled the barrel at Eddings, squeezed the trigger. The hammer dropped with a snap of iron. The gun boomed and blasted lead, flame, smoke, and golden sparks from the muzzle.

  Eddings had his pistol nearly out of his holster when the lead slug smacked into his chest, right over his heart. His eyes glazed and his body twitched as the force of the bullet slammed him back down into a sitting position. He slumped over as blood spurted from a hole in his chest and then stopped as his heart ceased to beat.

  “Why, you sonofabitch,” Coster croaked and grabbed for his pistol. His hand just barely touched the grip when he heard a click as Slocum thumbed his hammer back for another shot. Coster’s eyes went wide and he knew he was not going to make it. Saliva sputtered onto his lips when Slocum squeezed the trigger.

  Coster let out a grunt as the bullet from Slocum’s gun parted his flesh in the left side of his chest. Ribs cracked and his lung collapsed in a cloud of blood and fibers. The bullet ripped through his back and blood spurted onto the back of the chair. He gasped for breath. Then blood and froth bubbled from his mouth and covered his lips, oozed down his chin. He thrashed in the chair as oxygen deserted the blood to his brain. His eyes rolled in their sockets, froze in a locked stare at the ceiling. His legs both kicked out as blood spurted from the hole in his chest. A black hole surrounded by torn flesh and threads from his shirt. He evacuated as his sphincter muscle collapsed and the stench filled the lobby.

  Barney Fetters crept to the front desk, hunched over. His face bobbed up behind the counter. The acrid smell of burnt gunpowder wafted to his nostrils, and wisps of smoke floated over the two chairs like streamers of morning fog.

  “Godamighty,” Barney said.

  “If these boys were registered here,” Slocum said, “they just checked out.”

  “D-Don’t shoot me,” Barney pleaded. His hands rose in the air, palms out. They trembled like aspen leaves in a stiff wind.

  “Don’t worry, Barney. You’re not on our list,” Alvin said.

  “Who is on your list, Alvin?” Barney asked.

  “Near every man in town that packs a gun,” Alvin said. “We’re on our way up to see Hiram. You just go back to work or get the hell out of here.”

  “I ain’t stayin’,” Barney said, and he duck-walked back into his office and slammed the door.

  “Take me up to Bledsoe’s room,” Slocum said. He ejected the two spent hulls and slipped in fresh cartridges. He spun the cylinder and locked it in place. Then he eased the hammer back to half cock and holstered his pistol.

  “Follow me,” Alvin said.

  T
hey took the stairs two steps at a time.

  When they reached the second floor, Alvin stopped.

  “Hiram’s room is at the end of the hall. On the left.”

  Slocum drew in a breath.

  “It’s for sure Hiram heard those shots. They really sounded loud down there.”

  Slocum nodded. “Let’s see if he hears me knock on his door,” he said.

  Every fiber in his body was tuned up high. He knew he might come face to face with Sumner. He was ready. Now it was just a matter of wits. Someone had to open that door. He didn’t want to be shot dead though a closed door.

  “We’ll wait a bit,” Slocum said. “Give Bledsoe and Sumner a chance to talk it over. Maybe one of them will come to see what happened downstairs.”

  “Good idea,” Alvin said.

  “Let’s get close to Bledsoe’s room and see if we can hear talk from inside.”

  Slocum led the way. He stopped just short of Bledsoe’s door, the last one on the left. At the end of the hall there was a window leading to a fire escape ladder. The window was closed.

  Alvin put his head close to the door. Both men stayed stock-still and listened.

  They could hear muffled voices inside Bledsoe’s room.

  Slocum could not make out the words.

  Then the talk faded away and there was nothing but silence.

  Still he waited.

  What was Bledsoe thinking at this point? He had heard gunshots from down in the lobby. Maybe he was expecting one of his men to come up, knock on his door, and tell him that Slocum had been killed.

  If so, Slocum thought, he was going to wait a hell of a long time.

  And between Bledsoe and Sumner, who would crack first and satisfy his curiosity?

  It didn’t make any difference. Whichever man opened the door and stepped out was a dead man.

  Slocum drew his pistol. He thumbed the hammer back to full cock, nodded to Alvin.

  Alvin drew his pistol. He squeezed the trigger slightly when he cocked it so that it would not make a loud metallic sound. He nodded to Slocum that he was ready.

  The seconds ticked by.

  Then there was the rattle of the latch from inside the room.

  Slocum raised his pistol hip high.