by Jake Logan
“Aaaahhhh,” Hump screamed. He leaped up from his chair and turned to face her. His six-gun was still lying on the table. Lonnie turned and took it all in. He raced for the squirrel gun. Etta swung the coffeepot with all her strength, bashing it into the side of Hump’s head. Hump screamed again, and his scream turned into a growl as he reached for Etta with both hands. Just then Lonnie raised the squirrel gun and fired. The shot tore through Hump’s right buttock at an angle. Hump howled, turned to reach for his six-gun, and Lonnie fired again, the shot striking Hump just below the neck, high on the chest. He staggered backward staring at Lonnie with a look of mixed astonishment and hatred. Lonnie fired a third time. The last bullet smacked into Hump’s forehead, and Hump fell over hard on his back and lay still.
Etta stared at the body, oozing a pool of blood on her floor, in disbelief and horror. Lonnie stared only for a moment. Then he put down the gun and rushed to his wife, holding her tight and close in his arms. “It’s all right now,” he said. “It’s over.” Etta was shaking. “Oh,” she said. “Oh, Lonnie.”
Slocum was still easing along the trail when he came to the rise with a house at the top off to the left side. He moved slowly, watching carefully. He could not see Hump’s horse, but then, that did not prove anything. The horse could be hidden. The occupants of the house could be dead. Hump could be waiting to gun him from a window or from the front door. He tried to tell if the front door was ajar, but he was still too far away. Perhaps Hump had just rushed on by this house the way he had done the last three. But there was something about the way this house was situated that made it particularly useful for an ambush. Slocum wondered if Hump would have missed that about it. He wouldn’t have a better chance.
He was moving slowly on the trail trying to decide how best to approach the house when he heard three shots fired. Quickly he moved his horse to the side of the trail and pulled out his Winchester. Cranking a shell into the chamber, he stared at the house. Anything could have happened in there. The shots sounded as if they came from a small caliber rifle, but that could mean anything. He dismounted and walked toward the house. He heard nothing more. Hump could have murdered the people who lived here. Close enough now for a shot from his Colt, he stopped.
“You in the house,” he called out.
The front door opened a crack.
“Who is it?”
“My name’s Slocum. I’m trailing a man. A murderer. Is everything all right in there?”
In the house Lonnie looked at his wife. “Did that man say he was going to kill Slocum?” he asked her.
“I think that’s what he said.”
Lonnie looked back out the door. “Slocum,” he yelled. “Come on up, but come slow.”
“I’ll just fetch my horse,” Slocum said. He turned and walked back down the hill to where he had left the Appaloosa and mounted up. He put the Winchester away and started to ride slowly up to the house. When he reached it, Lonnie stepped out the door still holding the squirrel gun.
“I heard some shots,” Slocum said.
“If you’re really Slocum,” said Lonnie, “we got something for you inside.”
“Couldn’t be someone’s in there holding a gun on you or on your wife?” Slocum asked.
“Etta,” Lonnie said, “step on out here.”
Etta stepped out to stand beside her husband. “There’s no one alive in there,” she said.
“Who you got inside?” Slocum asked.
“Called himself Hump,” Lonnie said.
“By God,” said Slocum, “that’s who I’m after. Can I get down?”
“Come ahead,” said Lonnie, still holding the squirrel gun.
Slocum swung down and walked slowly toward the house. He hesitated a moment at the door.
“Go ahead,” Lonnie said.
Slocum stepped inside and saw the body. He walked around the table to get a better look. It was Hump Beamer all right. The last of the Beamers.
21
Lonnie and Etta were both nervous. Neither one had ever killed a man before. They told Slocum in detail just what had happened. Their tale told him that he had been right. Hump Beamer had planned to ambush him from the small house, and his plans had been thwarted by the quick thinking of Etta. When they had finished with the story, Slocum said, “You all did just the right thing. He’d have killed me first, then Lonnie, and then—Well, you did just right. That was a smart and a brave thing you did, ma’am.”
“But what do we do now?” Etta said. “We have a dead man right here in our house. Won’t there have to be a trial or an inquest or something? We have to tell someone what happened here.”
“You told me,” said Slocum. “That’s enough. I was after him legal. I’ll take him out of here, and I’ll explain everything to the sheriff when I get back.”
“Thanks,” said Lonnie.
Slocum lugged the remains of Hump Beamer outside and loaded them on Hump’s last stolen horse. Then he went back inside. There was a big pool of blood on the floor where Hump had fallen. Slocum did not think that Etta would be up to cleaning the mess, and he wasn’t sure about Lonnie either. He asked Etta for a pail of soapy water and a brush or a rag. Then he swabbed the deck. He was about to leave when they invited him to stay for a meal. Etta cleaned the table of the mess that Hump had left, and soon they all sat down to eat. At last there was no more to be done, and Slocum had a long ride back to Tipton’s place or to Breakneck, either way he figured it. He said his good-byes and left, riding his Appaloosa and leading the extra horse with the foul load.
Riding along the lonely trail, Slocum considered the irony of the whole situation. He had gone after Hump almost desperate, fully determined to find the man and kill him, only to find his body, killed by someone else. Hump had been killed by two innocents. Slocum could not imagine anyone less likely to have done in the horrible murderer than Lonnie and Etta. Along the way, he decided that the carcass was going to get too rank to carry all the way back. He stopped by the side of the road, scooped out a shallow grave and rolled the wretched thing in. Then he threw the dirt back in, mounted up, and moved on. He found the horse of the man he had promised to bring it back to and took it along. The owner was so grateful that he provided Slocum with another meal. Along the way, he stopped everywhere there were survivors and told them what had happened. He returned what property he could.
Carl Tipton had spent another night in Breakneck. He had taken six ranch hands into town with him, and they all knew why he had wanted to spend the night. No one said anything about it though. They had just made the best they could of the situation, enjoying a night in town at the boss’s expense. It was early morning, and they were on their way back to the ranch. They had gone about half the distance and were rounding a sharp curve in the road when a rifle shot sounded, shattering the morning silence. The cowhands all fought to control their frightened horses. Carl Tipton jerked in the saddle. He too fought with his mount but only feebly. When the cowhands got their horses back under control, Charlie Hope noticed that his boss was having trouble. He rode up to steady the horse, and he saw the bloodstain on Carl’s chest.
“Hey,” he said, “the boss’s been hit.”
He reached over to steady Tipton in the saddle.
“Hold on, Boss,” he said. “We’ll get you home.”
Tipton stared at Charlie with wide eyes that suddenly went blank. He went limp and sagged in the saddle. Charlie had difficulty holding him up.
“Someone help me here,” he said.
Two cowhands dismounted and took Tipton to lower him to the ground. One of them leaned over him for a moment. He looked up at the others with a shocked expression on his face. “He’s dead,” he said.
“Where’d the shot come from?” asked Charlie Hope.
“I’d say up yonder,” said one of the hands, pointing almost dead ahead.
“You two stay with the boss,” said Charlie. “The rest of you come with me.”
The two cowboys that had lowered the body stayed
there, and Charlie Hope and the other four rode hard toward the place they supposed the shots had come from. They did not see anyone riding away. They rode around for a while until they discovered the place from which the shots had been fired. One of them picked up a lone shell. It was still hot. They looked around some more but never found a trail. At last they rode back to where the two hands waited with the body of Carl Tipton.
“We found a shell,” said Charlie. “Nothing else. Let’s get on back to the ranch. No use putting this thing off.”
Slocum rode first into Breakneck to the rooming house where the sheriff was laid up. He reported the activities all along the way and the final outcome to Seth Willis. Willis was doing much better by this time. He was dressed and sitting up in a chair. When Slocum went in to his room, he was drinking a cup of coffee. He called for another for Slocum. When Slocum had finished his story, Seth took another sip of coffee and put the cup down on the small table that stood beside his chair.
“Well,” he said, “I reckon that’s the end of it. Maybe now things will get back to normal around here.”
“Yeah,” Slocum said. “I guess I’ll be riding on.”
“You ain’t staying around?”
“Got no reason to,” Slocum said.
“You got no reason to leave either,” said the sheriff.
Slocum thought about his near entanglement with both Jamie and with Harmony. He thought about the fact that he knew about Carl Tipton’s sordid affair in town while he had a perfectly nice wife out at his ranch.
“Before I got hooked up with ole Tipton,” he said, “I was just passing through.”
“Well,” Seth said, “if you should change your mind, most everyone around would be just tickled to have you stay.”
“Thanks,” Slocum said. “I reckon I’ll be getting back out to the ranch to tell ole Carl what’s happened. He’ll be pleased to know that he can rove free and easy again.”
“Yeah,” Seth said. “I know he will.”
Slocum went outside and was about to mount his Appaloosa when he saw Randy Self and Charlie Hope come riding into town. When they saw him, they rode directly over to where the horse was tied up. They both dismounted.
“Howdy, boys,” Slocum said.
“Slocum,” said Randy. “Man, I’m glad you’re back.”
“Well,” Slocum said, “it’s all over.”
“I reckon so,” said Randy. “The damn Beamers got Carl.”
“What are you talking about?” Slocum said. “The last Beamer is dead.”
“Then I reckon you got him a little late,” Randy said.
“They got Carl from an ambush,” said Charlie. “I was riding along with him when it happened. We couldn’t pick up no trail. All we got was this shell casing.”
He pulled the spent shell out of his shirt pocket and handed it to Slocum. Slocum turned it over in his palm and studied it.
“Boys,” he said, “it couldn’t have been a Beamer. There was just the one left, and I been on his trail all this time. He’d dead. I buried the body. It had to have been someone else.”
“That don’t make sense,” said Charlie.
“If it wasn’t the Beamers—”
“It wasn’t,” Slocum said. “I’m telling you.”
“Then who the hell could it have been?” Randy finished.
Slocum studied the shell some more.
“I’d call this a forty caliber,” he said. “It wasn’t shot from no Winchester. Likely not from a Henry. My guess would be a Sharps buffalo gun.”
“I ain’t seen one of them around here,” Randy said. “Not for a while.”
“Keep your eyes open,” said Slocum. “What are you boys doing here in town? I was just about to head out to the ranch to tell ole Carl what’s happened. I reckon I’ll tell the ladies now.”
“We come in to tell Seth about the boss,” said Randy. “This is the first we’ve been to town since it happened.”
“And then?”
“I guess we’ll go back out to the ranch.”
“Go on in and tell him,” Slocum said, “and then I’ll ride back out there with you.”
Charlie and Randy went in to see the sheriff, and Slocum pulled a cigar out of his pocket and lit it. He had been thinking that his job was over and that he would head on out of town. But now someone unknown had murdered old Carl Tipton. Technically, Slocum guessed, his job was over. He had hired on to protect old Carl from the Beamers, and now the Beamers were all dead, but then so was old Carl. Slocum figured that the job he had been hired to do included many surprises like this. And even though his boss was now dead, his job wasn’t really over until he had found the killer or killers and brought them to justice, whichever kind of justice happened to work out.
Charlie and Randy came back out, and the three of them mounted up. They rode toward the ranch for a while in silence. At last, Slocum broke the spell. “How did ole Seth take the news?” he asked. “They seemed to me like they was pretty good friends.”
“Yeah,” Randy said. “They went back a few years. He took it kind of hard, I’d say.”
“Yeah,” Charlie agreed. “Kind of hard. He figured, like you, that with the last of the Beamers done in, ole Carl would be safe.”
“We tried to figure who it might be,” said Randy. “The boss just didn’t have any enemies around here. Except for the Beamers, of course. It don’t make any sense.”
“No sense at all,” said Charlie.
Slocum had not been around long enough to add anything to that.
“Oh, yeah,” said Randy. “Seth said that as sheriff he can officiate at the reading of the will. He said that he knowed that Mr. Tipton left a will and had it filed all proper. Seth set the day for the reading of it in two days from today at 1:00 in the afternoon. Said he didn’t want to rush the ladies into town. Course, it’s just a formality. The ranch belongs to Mrs. Tipton now. I guess we’ll all of us stay on and run it for her as long as she wants us to.”
“That’s good,” Slocum said.
Back at the ranch, Slocum found both women in a solemn mood. They were over the initial shock of the killing. The crying time was past. Myrtle was going about her household duties with a long face, and Jamie was doing what she could to help. Like everyone else, they had assumed that the dirty deed had been done by a Beamer, but when Slocum told them the tale of the fate of the last Beamer, they, like everyone else, had gone into deep thought.
“Who could it have been?” said Myrtle.
“It’s crazy,” Jamie said.
“I mean to find out,” Slocum told them. “I feel like I let him down. He hired me to protect him.”
“Daddy hired you to protect him from the Beamers,” Jamie said. “You did that. You did an admirable job of it, and at the time he was killed, you were on the trail of the last of them. He might even have already been dead from the way you tell it. You can’t blame yourself, Slocum.”
“Slocum,” said Myrtle, “you did your job. We’re grateful for it. If you want to move on, no one here will think any the less of you. On the other hand, we’d love for you to stay. You’ll have a job here as long as we’re around.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Slocum said. “I think that I’ll just remove myself from the payroll though. I’ll pack up my things and move into town. But I’ll be staying around. I mean to find out who done this thing.”
“You don’t have to move out,” said Jamie. “You can—”
“I’ll be looking for some things,” he said. “I’ll see more in town.”
“Whatever you think is best,” Myrtle said. “Slocum, I’m glad you’re staying on. I hope you find out who did it. I hope you find out real soon.”
Slocum packed up his few belongings and strapped them in a bedroll behind his saddle. He said his good-byes to Randy and to Charlie and a few more of the boys, and then he rode back into Breakneck. He was hungry, so he went by Harmony’s place for a meal and some coffee. She was busy when he got up to leave, so he just put his c
ash on the counter and walked out. He took the Appaloosa to the stable and put him up for the night with instructions to the man there to feed him well and take good care of him. Then he walked down the street toward the Hogneck. All along the way, he looked at the rifles in the saddle boots on horses. When he saw a man carrying a rifle, he took note of it. Everything he saw was .45 caliber.
He went inside the Hogneck and paid the man for a room upstairs. He pocketed the key and took his bedroll up and tossed it on the bed. Then he went back out, locking the door behind himself. He went back into the saloon and bought a bottle of good bourbon whiskey. He took the bottle and a glass over to a table and sat down. He looked over the crowd thinking that there could be a murderer among them. He poured a drink and downed it at once. He still had an unpleasant feeling, a bad taste in his mouth. He thought that he wrapped up a job, only to find that someone had come up and blindsided him, and he had no idea who that someone might be.
He poured another drink, and this time he sipped it. He figured it was going to take several of these, hell, maybe the whole damn bottle, to get that taste out of his mouth. He then realized that he was angry, really angry at whoever it was who had killed Carl Tipton. He felt like there had been a major conspiracy involving the Beamers to get him off the track. Of course, he knew that had not been the case. The Beamers would not have been involved. They wouldn’t have gotten themselves all killed just to help someone else along. Still, the feeling was there. Someone had damn sure taken advantage of Slocum’s preoccupation with the Beamers to murder ole Carl. He just couldn’t figure out who it might be.