Slocum and the Bad-News Brothers

by Jake Logan

  “Take your time,” Slocum said. “I’m all right.”

  “Hell, yeah, he’s on the payroll, ain’t he?” said Arnie, going through the door. The older Tipton followed him inside. Still sitting in his saddle, Slocum took out a cigar and lit it. He tried not to think about the relationship between the two brothers. It was none of his business. But he couldn’t stop himself. Arnie was a worthless bastard, he thought. That was all there was to it. He wondered why a fairly decent man like Carl Tipton had to be saddled with a worthless shit like that for a younger brother. He looked around. The spread was not bad. He could see no reason why a man couldn’t make a go of it. Arnie had to be lazy and shiftless or just plain stupid. Maybe all of that. He had good grass, and apparently he had water. Slocum puffed on his cigar and tried to make his mind think of something else, but when he tried that, all he could come up with was Jamie. He wondered if he should move on down the road. Maybe he would. Tonight, he said to himself, he would tell Tipton that he had decided to move along. He wouldn’t even take any of the old man’s money. He’d just ride out first thing in the morning. Arnie and Jamie spoiled the whole deal.

  By and by, Carl Tipton came out the door. He walked to his horse and mounted up. Before they could turn their horses to ride out, Arnie stepped out the door. “See you later, brother,” he said. “Slocum, don’t strain yourself now.”

  Slocum fought an urge to say something to the younger Tipton. What he really wanted to do was to get down off his horse and smack the silly little shit across the face. Just slap him like the unruly punk he was. But instead he just kept quiet and rode along with Carl Tipton. Carl said, “Take care, Arnie.”

  They moved back out onto the road, and Slocum was biting his tongue. He really had some things to say about the snotty Arnie, but he knew that he had better just keep quiet. It wouldn’t do to cuss the boss’s brother.

  “I wish that boy’d grow up,” Carl muttered.

  Slocum thought that Arnie looked to be at least forty-five, but he still kept quiet. The ride into town, out to Arnie’s and back to the ranch looked like it was going to take up the best part of the day. Slocum wanted to tell old Carl to leave the damn sponger alone. Then maybe he’d have to grow up. Stop giving him money. If he can’t make a go of the ranch, then let him sell the damn thing and find something else to do. But he knew that it would do no good. He would just stick to his plan to leave first thing in the morning. Before breakfast even.

  They rounded a curve in the road and found themselves looking at two riders who were just sitting there blocking the way. They stopped. Slocum tensed for action.

  “Let us pass, boys,” said Tipton. “We ain’t looking for no trouble.”

  “You are trouble, Tipton,” said one of the riders.

  “Slocum,” said Tipton, “these here are Beamers.”

  “I can’t say I’m pleased to meet you,” said Slocum.

  “The lack of pleasure is mutual,” said one of the Beamers. “Why don’t you just ride on. We got no quarrel with you. Don’t even know you.”

  “You got a brother named Brace?” Slocum asked.

  “He’s my brother,” said one. “I’m Billy. This here’s our cousin, Ike.”

  “Well, I’m going to give you a quarrel with me. Is Brace still in jail?”

  “He is.”

  “Well, I’m the one that put him there. It was me that beaned him with a bottle.”

  “You?” said Billy.

  “You son of a bitch,” said Ike.

  “That’s me,” said Slocum. “Mr. Tipton, you just sit tight.” He urged his horse out ahead of Tipton, watching the two Beamers carefully as he rode. “Now you two can turn around and ride out of here and stay alive a little longer if you’ve a mind to. Otherwise, you can go right on ahead and die right here.”

  “That’s mighty big talk, mister,” said Ike.

  “It’s up to you,” Slocum said.

  “It’s two against two,” said Tipton.

  “No, sir,” said Slocum. “You stay back. It’s two to one. Just the way I like it.”

  He noticed Billy lick his lips. Both Beamers looked worried. His bold talk was making them nervous, and that had been his plan.

  “I’m tired of waiting around for you to make up your minds,” he said, moving a little closer.

  “Billy?” said Ike.

  “Take him,” said Billy, going for his sidearm.

  In a flash, Slocum’s Colt was out and spitting fire. His first bullet smashed into Billy’s chest. His second hit Ike in the left jaw, tearing through his head. Ike hit the ground first. He was still alive and moaning, writhing on the ground. Billy was still in the saddle with a hole in his chest, blood spurting out of the hole. His head lolled. His chin dropped onto his chest. His whole body relaxed then, and he slowly slid from the saddle and fell like a sack of manure onto the road. Slocum knew that Billy was done for. He looked at Ike. He could load him up and take him to a doctor, but he knew that Ike wouldn’t last the journey. He’d bleed to death along the way and be miserable the whole time. He raised his Colt and fired a third shot, hitting Ike in the chest and killing him instantly. He looked back at Tipton.

  “You want to load them up and take them to town?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” said Tipton. “I reckon we ought to.”

  Through the big, front window of his office, Seth Willis saw the two riders stop out in the street. He also saw the two horses they were leading with the loads they were carrying: two bodies. He did not wait for them to dismount and come into the office. He shoved back his chair and stood up, grabbing his hat as he walked out the door. When he appeared on the sidewalk, Tipton said, “Howdy, Seth.”

  “Carl,” said Willis, “what’s this all about?”

  “You can see who they are,” said Tipton.

  Willis stepped down into the street and walked around to get a better look.

  “Beamers,” he said. “Ike and Billy.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Tell me how it happened.”

  “They were waiting in the trail for Mr. Tipton,” said Slocum. “They stated their intentions pretty clear.”

  “They meant to kill him?” said Willis.

  “Damn right they did,” said Tipton. “Told Slocum to just ride on and leave me to them.”

  “Well, it’s obvious that he didn’t do that,” said Willis.

  “I killed them,” said Slocum.

  “Both of them?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Who drew first?”

  “Billy.”

  “You were facing them?”

  “Sitting on horseback.”

  “That’s damn fast shooting, Slocum,” Willis said. “Not that I doubt your word. Especially when it’s backed by Carl Tipton. But it’s damn fast.”

  “That’s why I’m still alive,” Slocum said.

  “You need anything more from us?” asked Tipton.

  “No. I guess not,” Willis said. “You can go on.”

  “We didn’t have to bring them in,” said Slocum.

  “I know,” said Willis. “I appreciate it.”

  “Slocum,” said Tipton, “how about a drink in the Hogneck?”

  “Suits me.”

  They rode their horses down the street to the saloon and tied them there at the rail. Then they went inside. Several people greeted Tipton, and he introduced Slocum to a few of them. Then he paid for a bottle and took it and two glasses to a table. They sat down. Tipton poured the drinks and shoved one over toward Slocum. Slocum took it and downed it at once. Tipton refilled it.

  “Killing do that to you?” he asked.

  “Talking to sheriffs,” said Slocum.

  Tipton laughed. He took a drink of his own whiskey. Slocum took a sip of his second. “It’s good. Thanks,” he said.

  “You’re welcome,” said Tipton. “And Slocum, thank you. You saved my life out there again today. And Willis was right. You were incredibly fast with that Colt. How’d you get that w
ay?”

  “Just lots of practice,” Slocum said. “Combined with a powerful will to live. That’s all.”

  “No secret to it?”

  “No secret.”

  “Slocum, there’s no need in my telling you how glad I am that you were along with me today. I’m no gunfighter. Those two would’ve left my body laying in the road out there. That’s a fact.”

  Slocum took another drink. He knew that Tipton was right about that. And there were still other Beamers to worry about. Hell, he thought, I guess I can put up with what I have to from Lige and Arnie. And Jamie. Even that. He told himself that he could not keep his promise to himself about riding out in the morning. Twice now he had seen Beamers attempt to murder old Tipton. And there were still more of them. There would be more attempts. He was sure of that. No. He would stick around and see it through. Seth Willis came walking in just then. He moved straight to the table where Tipton and Slocum were sitting.

  “Pull up a chair, Seth,” said Tipton. The sheriff pulled out a chair and sat down.

  “Well, Carl,” he said, “it looks like you made the right move in hiring Slocum on.”

  “I sure as hell did.”

  “Slocum, I didn’t mean to be short with you a while ago. I’m glad that you were with Carl. The Beamers are no good, and Carl’s a friend of mine. I sure wouldn’t want to see them get him.”

  “I just did my job,” Slocum said.

  “He did it damn good, too,” said Tipton.

  “I’ve seen Billy in action,” said Willis. “He was pretty good.”

  “Not good enough,” Tipton said.

  “Well, maybe this will make the rest of the tribe think twice before they try to pull anything else on you.”

  “That’s what worries me,” Slocum said.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “They’ve tried twice now. Next time, they might decide to be more sneaky about it.”

  “Like shoot from hiding?” said Willis.

  “Something like that.”

  “Yeah. Well, you might be interested to know that they’ll all likely be in town tomorrow.”

  “What for?” Tipton asked.

  “Brace will be tried tomorrow for attempting to kill you the other night. He could be sent to prison. His whole family’ll be in to see what happens.”

  “You expecting trouble from them?” said Tipton.

  “That’s the sensible way to look at it,” said Willis.

  5

  Slocum again rode into Breakneck with Tipton the following day to attend the trial. Lige had offered to ride along, but Tipton had told him to stay behind and take care of the ranch. “Slocum’s all I need,” the old man had said. That seemed to irritate Lige, Slocum noted, but nothing more was said. In town, they found the saloon, which was doubling as a courthouse, packed. They made their way in and found seats near the front of the room. Slocum noticed a whole crowd of rough-looking rannies glaring at him and Tipton. Sitting right in the middle of the gang was an old woman. She glared the hardest. Slocum leaned over to speak low in Tipton’s ear.

  “Would that be the rest of the Beamers over yonder?” he asked.

  Tipton glanced and answered, “That’s them, all right. And a couple of extras thrown in for boot.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. Them two on the far right. I never seen them before. Might be some relatives come out to join them. Might be some hands they hired on to help with the rustling and killing. They’re with the Beamers though. That much is clear.”

  “Yeah,” Slocum said. So counting Brace, there were eight Beamers, and counting the two strangers with them, there were still ten to worry about. He didn’t worry about the old woman. The crowd was noisy, almost boisterous, even though the bar was closed. There was no liquor in sight except the bottles on the shelves against the wall behind the bar. And there was a guard at each end of the bar to keep anyone from going back there. There were a couple of guards at the front door, too. They had taken Slocum’s Colt when he came in. They were taking everyone’s guns away. Seth Willis and the judge were taking no chances with this trial. Slocum looked the crowd over carefully. In addition to the one at the front door and the two at the bar, he found four more armed deputies, one in each corner of the room.

  At last the judge came in. The crowd was quieted down, and things got started. The charges were read and opening arguments were made. The jury was already seated, having been selected previously. The prosecutor was Mr. Abel Fearing, and the defense attorney was Mr. John Ghost. Fearing was somewhat pompous, rearing back and hooking his thumbs in the armholes of his vest. Ghost was a slimey-looking character, a fitting lawyer for the likes of the Beamers. At last, Slocum was called to the stand by the prosecutor. After some preliminary questions, Fearing asked, “Now, Mr. Slocum, will you tell the court just why in hell you tossed that bottle and beaned Brace Beamer on the noggin?”

  “Well, sir,” Slocum said, “I could see that the man had a gun out and was fixing to do a murder on Mr. Tipton.”

  “Objection,” called out Ghost. “How could Mr. Slocum tell what my client’s intention was?”

  “The man said, ‘I’m going to kill you, Tipton,’ ” Slocum said.

  The crowd roared with laughter, and the judge rapped his gavel on the table vigorously. At last the laughter subsided, and the judge said, “Proceed.”

  “So you saw that Mr. Tipton was about to be shot, and you threw the bottle?” said Fearing.

  “That’s right.”

  “I have no further questions of this witness,” Fearing said.

  “Mr. Ghost?” said the judge.

  Ghost stood up and slithered over to the chair where Slocum was seated. He hawked a great gob of nastiness up from his lungs and spat in the spittoon near the bar. He harrumphed. “Slocum,” he said, “how did you come to know Mr. Brace Beamer?”

  “I don’t know him,” Slocum said.

  “You don’t know him?”

  “Never met him. I’d never seen him before the night we’re talking about here.”

  “Never met the man. Had never seen the man. Yet you threw a bottle more than half full of good whiskey and knocked him in the head. Did it ever occur to you that you might have killed him like that?”

  “I suppose I could have,” said Slocum, “but I figured he’d have a better chance than if I shot him.”

  “Indeed. So you chose to intervene yourself in this fight between Mr. Beamer and Carl Tipton on account of your acquaintance with the latter?”

  “If you mean Mr. Tipton,” Slocum said, “I’d never seen him before that, either.”

  “What’s that? You were unacquainted with either of the parties involved in the fracas?”

  “I didn’t know either one of them,” Slocum said, “and I didn’t see no fracas, either.”

  “Well, just what did you see that caused you to interfere in a private argument?”

  “I didn’t hear no argument. I seen a man with a cocked gun in his hand fixing to shoot an unarmed man, and I thought to prevent a cold-blooded murder. And I think that I done that.”

  Seth Willis was called, and he said that he did not see anything. When he came into the saloon, Brace Beamer was lying flat on his back, out cold. He had interviewed Slocum and Tipton and gotten the same story that Slocum had told in court. Other witnesses to the event corroborated Slocum’s story. Tipton was called to the stand.

  “Brace Beamer came up behind me,” he said. “He pulled his six-gun and cocked it. Then he called me by name. I turned around to find him pointing his shooter at me. He said that he intended to kill me then and there, and that’s when Mr. Slocum went into action.”

  “What do you mean by ‘went into action’?” asked Fearing.

  “He tossed the bottle.”

  Ghost got up to cross-examine. “Mr. Tipton,” he said, “were you acquainted with Mr. Slocum before that night?”

  “No, sir.”

  “How come, do you think, he chose to interfere on y
our behalf?”

  “I take his word that he just wanted to prevent a murder.”

  “Well, it’s a rare thing to find a Good Samaratin these days, ain’t it? Mr. Tipton, is it true that you’ve hired on Slocum as a personal bodyguard?”

  “It is. I figured—”

  “And is it true that your personal bodyguard just yesterday on the public road went and killed Ike and Billy Beamer?”

  “Yes. They was—”

  “No more questions, Mr. Tipton. It seems as how Slocum has got a vendetta against the Beamer family. That’s all.”

  “Objection!” shouted Fearing. The crowd roared. The judge beat the table hard with his gavel. At last the crowd was quieted again. There were no more witnesses to be called. It was time for the lawyers to make their summations. Fearing went first. He stood up and paraded back and forth in front of the jury in silence. At last he spoke.

  “Members of the jury,” he said, “this case is clear. Brace Beamer attempted to do a murder on Mr. Carl Tipton. There were witnesses to that fact. Had he not been interfered with, he would have shot Mr. Tipton to death right then and there. The charge in this case is attempted murder, and you have no choice but to render a verdict of guilty. Now, Mr. Ghost is going to try his best to confuse you with matters that have nothing to do with this case. Ignore his clumsy attempts. You have nothing to consider except the events that took place in the Hogneck Saloon on the night in question. Brace Beamer took out his weapon and cocked it. He aimed it at Mr. Tipton, who was unarmed, and declared his intentions of killing Mr. Tipton then and there, and would have done so had not Mr. Slocum stopped him. Guilty, gentlemen, guilty.”

  “Mr. Ghost,” said the judge.

  Ghost stood up and looked at his papers for a moment. Then he tossed them down on the table and walked over to the jury. He hemmed and hawed, and he spat into the spittoon.

  “Gentlemen of the jury,” he said, “this here is obvious a case of the rich and privileged ganging up on the poor and deprived. Just the other day, I heard, Tipton had some of his cowhands gang up on one of the Beamers and rope him and drag him behind a running horse. Then when there was a little argument in the saloon between Brace Beamer and Carl Tipton, Tipton’s personal bodyguard bashed in Beamer’s head with a full bottle of whiskey and like to have killed him. The sheriff, siding with the rich, put poor Brace in jail and charged him with attempted murder. Hell, members of the jury, it looks like to me that Brace is the one that like to have got killed. Then just yesterday, this same Slocum went and killed two of the Beamers, poor ole Ike and Billy. We all knew Ike and Billy. Good boys they was.”