Slocum and the Trick Shot Artist

by Jake Logan

  “Jesus!” Slocum grunted as he threw himself back and away from the window.

  The gun barked once, blasting a chunk from the sill and drilling a hole into the ceiling.

  “Are you shooting up there?” the woman asked from downstairs.

  Slocum wasn’t about to waste his breath answering her question. He aimed his Colt from the hip, squeezed its trigger, and made a hole of his own. The pistol’s round drilled through the wall directly beneath the sill, sending a plume of dust into the air inside and out.

  Since the first set of fingers was no longer wrapped around the sill, Slocum moved forward to get a look outside. Every instinct he possessed screamed for him to steer clear of that window. The moment he tried to look through it, a series of gunshots were fired up at him from ground level.

  Slocum charged through the room while replacing spent cartridges from his pistol with fresh ones from his gun belt. He kicked open the door and took a few steps, only to be blocked by a very large, very angry, woman.

  “What is the meaning of this?” the house’s owner asked. Seemingly unmoved by the gunfire, she had her hands placed on her hips and a stern expression on her face.

  “Step aside, ma’am.”

  “I’ve dealt with all sorts of men and I refuse to be—”

  She may have been a big woman, but she wasn’t too big for Slocum to physically move aside so he could get by. She sputtered and protested, but in the end, she was shouting her protests to Slocum’s back. As long as she didn’t try to follow him, he was inclined to leave her be.

  Slocum raced outside. Before he could get around to get to the side of the house where the broken window could be found, he heard the crackle of more gunshots erupting in the distance. All he could see was the flash of sparks erupting from gun barrels about a hundred yards away.

  He took a direct path toward the fight. In a matter of seconds the gunshots dwindled away, leaving only the shouts of people who’d found themselves too close to the commotion. Slocum could see one figure standing tall with a gun in his hand. Recognizing that figure as Haresh, he approached and announced his presence so as not to surprise the big man.

  “Don’t shoot,” Slocum said. “It’s me.”

  “That man is a snake,” Haresh growled. “He slithered past me and all the men I had looking out for him.”

  “How many men are we talking about?”

  Haresh remained focused on the street in front of him. Although there was plenty of movement to be found, all of it came from locals who rushed about like bits of dirt that had been kicked up to swirl in a bucket of water. “Just some customers who don’t mind alerting me when they see someone walking down a particular alley. I asked some of them to shout or fire a shot in the air if they saw anyone approaching that house. Stupid,” he sighed. “That snake got past me, so it’s no surprise he got past a bunch of drunks who were probably distracted by a card game or lack of sleep.”

  “Well, he got past me, too. Twice. Son of a bitch. I don’t think it was Abernathy, though. That was no old man climbing up the side of that building. Maybe calling him a spider is more fitting than a snake.”

  Haresh turned an angry face toward Slocum. “You are in high spirits after losing that man.”

  “Nothing to be done about it now,” Slocum said with a shrug. “We’ve already tried chasing one of them through this town without any luck. And that was the older one, mind you. They’ve got this place scouted out pretty well, and wherever those men are right now, it’s safe to say they’re dug in worse than a tick.”

  “So you want to give up?”

  “Not hardly. I’m just saying we’d be wasting our time running around this town like a couple of idiots. Last time, one of them laid a trap. I was fortunate enough to get out of it alive, but I ain’t about to push my luck by floundering around a second time.”

  “Then we go back to the boardinghouse,” Haresh said.

  Slocum watched the bigger man carefully as he asked, “And why would you do that?”

  “Because whatever’s there was important enough for one of them to sneak back and get it.”

  Nodding sagely, Slocum slapped Haresh on the back. “I might make something of a tracker out of you yet.”

  • • •

  When Slocum returned to the boardinghouse, he truly was in fairly high spirits. Haresh had been thinking along the same lines as he had, which meant working with him might actually be a boon instead of a chore. Not only that, but Haresh stepped right up to the woman who owned the boardinghouse like a man placing himself between his friend and the business end of a cannon. She exploded as soon as they walked through the door, but Slocum was able to sneak upstairs while Haresh continued to apologize and accept the brunt of her complaints.

  Upstairs, there wasn’t much to see. The room was just as it had been when Slocum had broken in just a little while ago. Since he could hear the woman downstairs was still busy putting Haresh through the wringer, he took some time to look under the bed, behind the dresser, and in every corner before sifting through the contents of the carpetbag.

  Even when Haresh’s voice became the predominant one in the conversation and the woman’s heavy steps pounded up the stairs, Slocum continued to look for something worthy of all the effort that had been expended that night.

  She stomped down the hall and pushed open the door as Slocum was running his hands along the bottom of the carpetbag. “This whole thing is highly . . . wait a second,” she gasped. “What happened to my door?”

  Slocum looked up to see the house’s owner leaning forward to examine the part of the frame that had been splintered and broken when he’d pushed through to gain entrance to the room. Haresh appeared behind her in the hall and sputtered, “Whatever it is, I’m sure we can—”

  “The man who started all the shooting did it,” Slocum said.

  The woman rubbed the broken doorframe as if it were a baby with a busted arm. “What?”

  “The one who came in here,” Slocum explained. “I thought I heard something strange, so I stepped out of my room. Then this young fella smashed the door open so I chased him out. He jumped through the window and got away.”

  It was a flimsy story to say the least, but Slocum stood behind it as if it were gospel. “Why would anyone do such a thing?” she asked.

  Slocum placed his hands on his hips and sighed. “That’s what I was in here trying to figure out, ma’am. All I can tell you for certain is that the man who rented this room from you wasn’t what he appeared to be. That is, of course, going under the assumption that you don’t cater to gunmen or thieves.”

  “I don’t know what anyone does in their own time, but I assure you I am a proper Christian woman!”

  “That’s what I figured. And since I’m partially responsible for this mess,” Slocum continued, “it’s only proper if I help pay for the damages.” He dug into his pocket and produced a few silver dollars. “Will this suffice?”

  She approached him and touched the coins tentatively. “Actually, I know some people around town that would help me fix this up.”

  Slocum turned her hand palm-up and placed the coins there. “Then use this for supplies or just as a way for us to say thank you for putting up with all the noise.”

  “Well . . . that’s right kind of you.” She stuck the coins into a pocket sewn into her skirts and smiled graciously. “I suppose since you were under my care, I should be partially responsible for what happened here.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, ma’am.”

  “If there’s anything I can do to help . . .”

  “What will you be doing with this man’s things?” Haresh asked while sweeping out one arm to encompass the carpetbag and most of the rest of the room.

  “I’ll be holding on to them until the proper owner returns, I guess,” she replied.
<
br />   “Will you allow us to take them to him?”

  “You’d do that?”

  Slocum flashed the deputy badge he’d been given as if it granted him the rights and privileges of the president himself. “We’ll be looking for him in connection to what happened here, so it’s my duty to return these items as well. No need for a fine, upstanding citizen like yourself to be troubled any further.”

  Responding more to the smooth tone in Slocum’s voice instead of the words themselves, the woman flushed slightly in the cheeks and smiled sheepishly. “I’m not one to stand in the way of a lawman. Especially one as fine . . . I mean . . . respectable as yourself.”

  Slocum gave her a prize-winning smile and tipped his hat. “Much appreciated, ma’am.”

  Haresh remained silent until the woman walked past him and went back downstairs. Finally, he stepped farther into the room to help Slocum gather up Abernathy’s belongings. “That was quite a show,” he muttered.

  “I thought so.”

  “Why lie to her? If you were going to pay her for the damages, you could have just told her what happened.”

  “I doubt she’d be so friendly if she knew I busted her door before knowing there was anything at all going on in here. Besides, I know you might come back to this town and deal with these folks. I thought it would serve you better if you remained on good terms with people like her instead of becoming known for associating with people like me.”

  “People like you, eh? I’m starting to get a much better idea of what that means.”

  The two of them cleaned out the room without wasting a second. They may have been on good terms with the owner, but they both knew better than to expect that to last forever. In fact, Slocum even went back into the room he’d been allowed to use and made sure everything was good and tidy. On their way out, they said respectful farewells to the woman and slipped out through the front door.

  Their horses were tied out front and Slocum climbed into his saddle as soon as he’d freed the reins.

  “What are you doing?” Haresh asked.

  “Leaving. Aren’t you coming with me?”

  “Yes, but it won’t be long before it’s too dark to ride.”

  “I’ve gotten a look at the trails leading away from here,” Slocum said. “They’re not bad. Besides, this isn’t the first time I’ve been through this territory.”

  “What about Abernathy?”

  “I think I know where he’s headed.”

  Haresh reached up to grab the horn of Slocum’s saddle, effectively stopping the horse in its tracks. “We don’t even know if he’s in town, camping somewhere, or if he intends to leave.”

  “We’re not doing a damn bit of good trying to catch him and his men here. Each time one of them slips away from us, they’ll only be more slippery the next time around. Besides, if they meant to clean out that room, odds are they wanted to pull up stakes and get out of town.”

  “Are you certain of that?”

  “No,” Slocum said. “It’s a hunch. A damn powerful one. And like I already said, I think I know where they’re headed.”

  “How do you know this?”

  Slocum pulled on his reins, causing the stallion to turn away from Haresh. Although the big man could have put up more of a struggle, he allowed the horn to slip from his grasp. “Abernathy is working with that man who tried to get into his room. It’s just too big of a coincidence to think he was some random thief climbing up there and shooting at me when he was spotted. One of their men was already killed in this town, and they’ll know better than to take another run at reclaiming whatever the hell they were after tonight. Figuring they’ll stay here after all of that is figuring Abernathy and this other fellow are idiots.”

  “They may be snakes,” Haresh said, “but they are not fools.”

  “Exactly. While I don’t know exactly what’s running through their heads, I know it’s high time for them to cut and run. Since I have an idea of where they’re going, I’m setting out now. Whether I make it a few miles or halfway tonight, it’s a hell of a lot better than sitting here and kicking my feet up while Abernathy gets even more of a jump on us.”

  11

  As Haresh had predicted, they didn’t make it very far that night before needing to find a spot to camp. They may have made it a bit farther if they hadn’t stopped to load up on supplies, but they wouldn’t have had much of a camp without them. Even considering the short detour, they managed to put a few miles between them and Spencer Flats before choosing to call it quits for the night.

  Slocum built a fire that was just large enough to provide a touch of warmth while keeping some animals away, and Haresh opened a can of beans for each of them. “So,” the big man said while scooping some of the mushy beans into his mouth, “what are your aces?”

  “What?”

  “Before, you mentioned having some aces up your sleeve. What are they?”

  “One of them was the conversation I had with that man I found after Jocelyn’s place was shot up.”

  “You mean the man you killed?”

  “That’s right,” Slocum replied. “It took some convincing, but I got him to talk. One of the things he told me was that he was supposed to meet Abernathy in Hollister.”

  Haresh squinted at the fire. “I think I’ve heard of that place.”

  “Yeah? Well, I’d hope so, considering you work in a saloon. I’ve even heard of it. Hollister made a name for itself in the last year or two as being a stop on the gamblers’ circuit. It was a little mining camp before then, and after the card players set their sights on the place, the town went through something of a boom.”

  “Card players can make a town grow?”

  Slocum dug into his beans with a dented old spoon. “I don’t mean to say the town became some huge success on account of poker, but it went from a camp to . . . well . . . a bigger camp because of all the folks that took notice of the place. I’m sure there’s other factors at play, but it’s growing slowly and surely. It’s also a place where outlaws can hang their hats with relative comfort. Vigilantes aren’t welcome there and neither is the law.”

  “Sounds savage,” Haresh said with distaste showing plainly upon his face.

  “Folks look out for themselves around here. They like it that way and it works out pretty well for them. As for being savage, I’d say you’ve got just as much chance getting shot or robbed in Hollister as you would in places like New York City or Tombstone.”

  Haresh’s eyes widened, and a very rare smile made an appearance on his dark, weathered face. “You have been to New York City?”

  “I have. The difference between there and Hollister is that men who step out of line in Hollister know they’ll have to answer to someone for it. It may appear savage on the surface, but there’s a certain elegance that comes along with such a simple system working so perfectly.”

  “Nature has a system like that as well. Kill or be killed. That does not make it civilized.”

  “See, there’s your mistake,” Slocum pointed out. “I never said any of these towns were civilized.”

  “So Abernathy is going to Hollister. That is the only ace you had up your sleeve?”

  “Nope. That dying gunman also named another one of Abernathy’s accomplices. Justin.”

  “Justin? That is all?”

  Now that he’d all but cleaned out the can of beans in his hand, Slocum rattled his spoon along the bottom to make sure he’d gotten every last bite. “That’s all. Sound familiar?”

  “If you’re asking if I’ve ever heard of someone named Justin, then yes.”

  “That’s not what I mean. Have you ever heard of someone who might be riding with a killer like Abernathy? An outlaw. A known man in these parts. Someone like that . . . named Justin?”

  Setting down his empty can, Haresh gru
nted, “No.”

  “Well, at least we have a name to give to folks when we get to Hollister and start asking around. Could spark someone’s memory. If we get lucky, we might even run into someone who’s looking for someone with that name as well.”

  “There really is no rhyme or reason to what you’re doing, is there?” Haresh asked.

  “Of course there is. You just can’t see it yet.”

  “And neither can you.” The big man grinned. “Still, there is some bravery to be found in a man who walks into a cave without knowing how many bears he will have to wrestle.”

  “That a fancy way for saying I’m fat, dumb, and happy?”

  After thinking it over for a second, Haresh nodded. “I suppose so. My way sounded better.”

  “So it did. I got something else from our little run-in with Abernathy, though. Something that no dying man had to tell me.”

  Haresh had busied himself with his bedroll, and once he’d spread it out reasonably close to the fire, he asked, “Are you going to tell me or do I need to praise you for your observational skills?”

  “Back at that saloon, Abernathy didn’t take all those shots on his own.”

  “That is no surprise. We have already found at least two partners riding with him.”

  “That’s not what I mean,” Slocum said. “I’m talking about the actual shots he fired during that commotion. When I went back to examine some of the damage done, I could tell that some of them bullet holes were made by a rifle.”

  Haresh scowled at him and asked, “How could you tell that just by looking?”

  “I’ve been fired at more times than I can count. I’ve had to track more men than I can remember. In all that time, I’ve picked up a thing or two. One of them is being able to tell the difference between shots that came from a pistol and a rifle. Kind of how a trapper can tell the difference between wolf and dog prints. Granted, it was just a suspicion I had before, but it panned out when I put more of the pieces together.”