by Jake Logan
“Deader’n hell,” he said.
“What?” said Brace in a feeble voice. “Hump? Did you bring the doc?”
“Can you hear me?” Slocum said.
“Huh?”
“Can you hear what I’m saying?”
“Yeah. I hear you.”
“Well, I ain’t your goddamned brother. It looks to me like he ran out on you. Left you here to bleed to death. Your brother over yonder on the table is already dead.”
“What? Hump run out on us? Who—Who are you?”
“I’m Slocum.”
The name of Slocum seemed to put a little more life back into Brace. His right hand slapped for his gun, but he discovered that it was not there. Summoning all of his strength, he sat up and opened his eyes wide. He looked at Slocum with hate in his evil eyes.
“You son of a bitch,” he said. “You’ve butchered my whole family.”
“You brought it on yourselves,” Slocum said.
“Goddamn you,” said Brace, and sucking in a deep breath, he made a lunge for Slocum. Slocum stepped back, and Brace fell hard on the dirt floor, face first. Slocum stepped over and toed the body onto its back. Brace was dead.
Slocum wanted badly to ride out after the one remaining Beamer, but he thought about the poor wretch out back. Someone ought to notify—someone—about this situation out here. Besides that, if he just took off the Tiptons would not know where he had gone. He had to ride back to the Tipton Ranch and tell them the whole story. Then he could ride after the last Beamer. Holstering his Colt, he went back outside and studied the ground carefully. He determined that there had been three horses there, and that one had ridden off alone. It had ridden in the same direction it had been going when it came in. It continued away from the main road on the small trail. Slocum walked back to where he had left his Appaloosa. He mounted up and headed back for Tipton’s place.
“I tracked them to a little log cabin on a trail on the other side of the road from here,” Slocum said to Carl Tipton. “There was two horses there. I checked out back and found a body. It’s in a sorry state. Been there for a while. Nothing else but goats. Inside the cabin I found two of the Beamers, both wounded. One was already dead. The other’n died while I was in there. He kept on calling for Hump. The way I figure it, there’s one of the bastards left alive, and it’s got to be this Hump.”
“Sounds like it to me,” Tipton said.
“It appeared to me like the Beamers had moved into this cabin and killed its owner. I figure that was his body out back.”
“Goats you said?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, that has to be old Yancey Jones’s place. I’ll take some boys out there and clean up. I don’t know what the hell to do with his damn goats. Maybe I’ll take a ride into town first and talk with Seth.”
“Wherever you go,” Slocum said, “take plenty of the boys with you. I wouldn’t want this to get right down to the last man and then lose you.”
“Don’t worry,” said Tipton. “I’ll travel with a small army everywhere I go. What’re you going to be up to?”
“I’m going after that last Beamer,” said Slocum. “He’s already got too much of a start on me.”
“You want to take a fresh horse? Maybe an extra riding horse or two?”
“No thanks, Carl. Me and my big horse will do just fine. I got to get going now. I’ll see you back here as soon as I can.”
“All right, Slocum, and you be careful, too.”
Slocum mounted up and rode back to old Yancey’s cabin. He gave it a quick check to make sure that Hump had not doubled back. Everything was just as he had left it. He climbed back into the saddle and started on Hump’s trail. He rode the rest of that day, and then he had to stop for the night. Hump was making pretty good time, better than Slocum had expected.
Up early the next morning, Slocum started the day with only a slug of water out of his canteen. He poured some into the crown of his hat for the Appaloosa to drink. Then he saddled the big horse and mounted up. About noon, he came across a small and lonely cabin, the first since the cabin of old Yancey. He stopped, and a man came out the front door with a rifle in his hands.
“What do you want, mister?” the man said.
“I’m tracking a man,” said Slocum. “Thought maybe he’d come by here.”
“Who are you?” said the suspicious man.
“My name’s Slocum. I work for Carl Tipton. The man I’m trailing is called Hump Beamer. He’s a mean one. Killed old Yancey the hermit back down the trail. I’ve tracked him out this far.”
The man lowered the rifle. “He come by here all right,” he said. “I reckon I can trust you. He come in here a hollering, and I peeked out the door. He had his gun out and ready. I took my wife out the back door and we run and hid in the woods. When he finally left, he had took my best horse. Left me his old wore out one. He had et his fill of our food, too.”
“So he got him a fresh horse,” Slocum said. “Well, thanks, mister. I’d best be getting after him.”
“Say, you’ll need some food.”
Slocum hesitated a moment.
“It’s ready,” the man said. “It won’t hold you up much. Why don’t you climb down and come inside.”
Slocum’s stomach was growling and complaining anyhow, so he took the man’s offer. He climbed down and started to tie the Appaloosa. Then he looked up at the man. “You got a place I can water my horse?”
“Water and feed,” said the man. “Follow me.”
They went around behind the house where the man showed Slocum a stall with a trough of oats. There was also a watering trough nearby. “You can put him right in there,” the man said.
“Thanks,” said Slocum, turning the stallion loose. He followed the man into the house. A woman stood against the far wall looking nervous.
“It’s all right, Nellie,” the man said. “This here is Slocum. He’s after that man that stole our horse. I told him he could have a bite to eat.”
“Surely,” said the woman.
Slocum stayed longer and ate more than he intended to, and when he had finished, the woman packed him some food for the trail. Slocum thanked them both kindly. He went out back to get his horse and led it around the house. There near the front door he mounted up. The man was standing at the door.
“Slocum,” he said, “if you do find that man—”
“I’ll bring your horse back to you,” Slocum said, “and don’t worry. I will find him.”
He tipped his hat and headed on down the trail. Now and then he slowed and checked the tracks. He was still following Hump Beamer. That was for sure. It was also clear that Beamer was still a good distance ahead of him. Slocum maintained a steady pace. He came to another home, and he stopped by to inquire about his prey. The people there said that a man had come by earlier, and he had obviously been in a big hurry. They had not even gotten a good look at him. It was unusual, they said, for the trail was out of the way, and there were not very many places along the way to stop. Travelers usually stopped. Slocum thanked them and continued along his way.
Hump Beamer did not know that Slocum was on his trail, but he strongly suspected that he might be. He rode hard with no regard for the horse he was riding. Hell, he had stolen the horse anyway. What did it matter? He knew that the animal was getting weary of the way it had been ridden, so the next place he came to, he stopped. He told the man there that he needed to trade him for a horse. The man refused, and Hump shot him to death. Then he swapped his saddle to another horse there. He went inside the house, where he was startled by a woman. He shot her, too. Then he rummaged through the house for anything that might be of some use to him. He found a few dollars which he pocketed, and he found some food he could carry along on the trail. He also found a couple of extra guns and some ammunition, and he found a spyglass. He took all that as well.
He was riding his fresh horse as hard as he had ridden the other two, but he stopped when he topped a fairly high rise. He turned around
in the saddle to look back down the trail he had been riding. He turned the horse around and stared hard, squinting. Then he recalled the spyglass he had stolen. He took it out and tested it, finding just the right setting where he could see clearly way back down the road. There were places along the trail that were obscured by the curves, the rises and drops in elevation, and the trees that grew along the sides of the trail, but he had a clear view of the trail other than that for quite a ways back. He studied it carefully, starting with the closest part to him. He went back as far as he could. He saw no one coming along. He closed the glass up and put it away. He was about to turn his horse and ride on when something caught his eye. He squinted after it. It was a rider. He had just come into view from around a tree-shrouded corner in the trail.
Hump hurriedly pulled out the spyglass again and searched with it until he had found the rider. He focused as best he could. The first thing he noticed was the big Appaloosa horse. It was Slocum all right. The son of a bitch was still on his trail.
“Goddamn it,” said Hump as he put the spyglass away for the second time. “Damn it to hell.”
He turned the horse quickly, kicked and lashed at it viciously, and rode hard down the trail. He had to put more space between them. He had to get out of this country as fast as possible. He was riding his third horse, and that Slocum was still riding his own spotty-assed horse. It couldn’t go on forever. It had to wear out sometime. He’d catch him another horse before too much longer. Then he was bound to be able to outdistance Slocum riding just his one damned horse. He was looking over his shoulder for any sign of Slocum, but, of course, there was none. He wouldn’t even have known that Slocum was after him had it not been for the spyglass. He turned his head back around and saw a bridge coming up.
It was not much more than a footbridge, but it spanned a river too wide to leap, and its banks were too steep and the water too far down for a crossing. Just a few planks, barely wide enough to allow a wagon to cross over with basic rails on each side, the bridge was obviously pretty old. The horse’s hoofs clattered against the boards as Hump raced across. Then an idea came to him. He stopped the horse quickly and turned around. He rode back to the bridge, stopped and dismounted. Reaching into his saddle bag, he pulled out the last stick of dynamite, left over from the batch he and his brothers had used to attack the Tipton place.
He crawled down under the bridge and tucked the dynamite into a nook there where it would stay. Then he fished around in his pocket for a match. Coming up with one, he struck it on the underside of the bridge. It flared up and then went out. “Damn it,” he snarled. He felt for another match. Bringing it out of his pocket, he struck it and cupped the flame carefully in his hands. Slowly he moved it toward the dynamite, and he lit the fuse. It spewed sparks. Hump backed out from under the bridge as fast as he could and scrambled back up onto the trail. Hurrying back to his waiting horse, he climbed into the saddle and lashed at the poor animal. He rode away from the bridge quickly, stopped, and turned around to watch.
He was getting impatient, and then suddenly there was a roar and a flash. Flames shot up from the old bridge, and pieces of splintered wood filled the sky. A great dust cloud arose. The horse underneath Hump, neighed and whinnied and bucked. It threw Hump off, and he landed on his face on the dirt trail. The fall knocked all the wind from his lungs. The frightened horse ran off down the trail, leaving Hump there alone. Hump sucked hard for breath. At last, he was able to get back up on his feet. He looked after the horse, but it had already disappeared from his view. He walked down to where the bridge had been and studied the damage he had done. He was well satisfied with that, but now he was afoot. He considered his situation. He was still well ahead of Slocum, and the bridge being out would slow Slocum even more. Now all he had to do was find himself another horse, and quickly, too.
19
Slocum and his horse were both surprised and startled by the blast which came from somewhere up ahead. At first Slocum could not imagine who could be blasting up there. As far as he knew, the country was pretty desolate. Then, almost immediately, he recalled the dynamite attack on the Tipton place launched by Beamers. Maybe Hump still had some dynamite. But what the hell was he doing with it up there?
“It’s all right, old boy,” he said, patting the Appaloosa on the neck to calm it. “Come on now. Let’s keep moving.”
They rode on until they came to another small house beside the trail. Slocum stopped and called out. No one answered. He tried again. Still he received no response. He dismounted and went to knock on the door. Then he saw the body of the man lying close to the wall. He could see that the man had been shot. He stepped to the door to knock. When he hit it with his fist, it swung open. Slocum eased out his Colt and stepped inside. He saw a dead woman lying on the floor across the room. Damn, he thought. Hump Beamer has got to be stopped. He went back outside and dragged the body of the man into the house. Then he went out again, shutting the door tightly. He mounted up and rode on.
Hump Beamer was starting to limp. He thought that he had never walked so much in his whole life. He cursed the horse that had run off and left him. He cursed the settlers in the area for not having put their houses closer to the bridge he had blown up. Finally, he cursed Slocum for being on his trail. What did the son of a bitch care about anyhow? His whole family was dead, and he was on the run. Wasn’t that enough for Slocum’s damned revenge? What the hell kind of a man was he? He hobbled up to the top of the next rise in the trail, and then he saw the horse standing in the middle of the trail not too far ahead. He stopped and stared for a moment. It sure did look good there. It was just waiting. The dynamite blast had scared it, and it had run off. Now it was being a good horse and waiting for him to come on up. He smiled and walked on. When he got close, the horse bobbed its head and turned and walked on farther away. It stopped again.
“All right, horsey,” said Hump. “Just stand still there.”
He walked toward the horse, and it ran. Not far up ahead it stopped and stood still again, as if it were waiting for him again. Hump walked faster in spite of the pain in his feet.
“You stand still there, you son of a bitch,” he shouted.
As he approached it, it ran off again.
“Goddamn you,” Hump shouted. He picked up a rock and threw it, and the horse ran even farther away. Now Hump ran after it, his feet tormenting him as he did. “Stop. Whoa. Wait up there, you fucking knothead.”
The horse paid no attention to Hump’s foul language or his threats. It trotted comfortably on ahead. Frustrated, Hump stopped running. He pulled out his revolver and fired. The horse jumped. It ran ahead fast this time. Hump fired two more shots, both of which went wide. As the horse disappeared around a bend in the trail, Hump dropped to his knees, worn out, and he started to cry. Between his whimpers and snivels, he cursed.
“Fucking knothead. Son of a bitch.”
“That sounds like ole Yancey’s place all right,” said Seth, who was now sitting up in his bed, after listening to the tale Carl Tipton told him. “You say Slocum just went on after Hump?”
“That’s right, Seth. I come into town with a half dozen boys to see you and tell you what the hell was going on. I figure we’ll ride on out there and bury everyone, but I wanted you to know about it first.”
“Well, I’m glad you came in to tell me,” Seth said. “I’m still not worth a shit. Can’t even get up and around without help. Tell you what. Let me swear you and your boys in as deputies. It’s kind of late in the day though. You might want to spend the night here in town and ride on out to old Yancey’s place first thing in the morning.”
“Well, I reckon that does make sense,” Tipton said. “Oh, yeah. Slocum says there’s a bunch of goats out there. What do you reckon we ought to do about them?”
“I’ll talk to Old Man Carter,” said Seth. “He’ll likely go out there and get them. Take them over to his place. He has some goats already, you know.”
“Yeah,” said Tipton.
&
nbsp; “You don’t need to bother with them.”
“Okay,” said Tipton. He rounded up the six cowhands who had ridden into town with him, and the sheriff swore them all in. Then Tipton said that Seth looked as how he needed some rest, and he and the new deputies left the room.
“Boys,” he said, “I’ll get us all some rooms for the night. We’ll head out to Yancey’s place with first light. In the meantime, how about some drinks on me over to the Hogneck?”
“Yes, sir.”
Tipton led the way. They took up a couple of tables, and they all had a few rounds of drinks before Charlie Hope noticed Tipton getting the eye from Bonita who was up at the top of the stairs. Charlie looked away from his boss. Tipton downed his drink and stood up.
“Boys,” he said, “excuse me for a while. I’ll see you later. Maybe in the morning. I might just go on ahead and turn in.”
Slocum stopped at the wrecked bridge. So that was what Hump had used the dynamite for. He not only slowed Slocum down, but he had inconvenienced everyone who used this trail. Slocum guessed that there wasn’t a hell of a lot of traffic along the way, but even so, it was a crappy thing to do. He dismounted and walked to the edge of the bank. Looking down, he could see that there was no way to take his horse down that way. He looked upstream, but he could not see any difference. Looking downstream, it looked even worse. There was no way of knowing which way to ride to find a place where he could get down to the water to cross over to the other side. It was a toss-up. He climbed back into the saddle and turned right.
He had gone for an hour at least before he spotted the place. The banks were much lower and had a less steep grade. He could go down here. He turned his horse and moved down and into the water. The stream was fast moving, but it was not deep, so the crossing was not difficult. Soon they came out of the water on the other side, and Slocum rode back up the bank. Then he turned left to make his way back to the trail. When he reached the trail once again, he looked back at the wrecked bridge. He did not waste much time though. He turned his horse again toward Hump’s trail. Hump, he figured, had already cost him at least two hours.