“Some feller just popped outta the railroad station,” Slick said. “It was dark and he looked like he was goin’ for his gun, so I had to cut him down.”
“Damn it, Slick!” Preacher exclaimed. “That’s the kinda thing that gets a couple of deputy marshals on your trail. Ain’t no use stirrin’ them up if you can help it. We’re gonna have to stay outta Texas for a while because of that bank teller you shot down. Now you start out first thing by shootin’ two men in Oklahoma. You think the marshals ain’t gonna want to start lookin’ for us?”
Slick leveled a hard stare at Preacher from under dark eyebrows. He didn’t like being lectured to like a schoolboy. Maybe this was Preacher’s gang, but that might change, he was thinking. “Like I said, it was unavoidable.” A long pause followed and for a moment, it looked as if the disagreement might escalate into something more violent. “Hell,” Slick finally said, “don’t nobody know where me and Elmo went, anyway.”
“That’s right,” Elmo said, trying to avoid trouble between the two. “Let’s get the fire goin’ and cook us up some breakfast.”
“That’s the first smart thing anybody’s said this mornin’,” Lon commented. “Come on, Preacher, let’s take care of these horses.”
“Right,” Preacher agreed. He went then to unload the horses and move their packs and saddles into the cave. Although saying nothing more, he was thinking the time might not be long in coming when he found it advisable to put a bullet into Slick’s head. He had made a good living on the opposite side of the law, had been at it for quite a few years, primarily because he was smart enough to strike and disappear. He would not hesitate to kill if it was unavoidable, and that had been necessary a few times, but he believed it best to avoid it if possible. It was murder that got the law riled up to hunt you down forever. Lon Jackson was primarily a gunman, but it was a business with him and he went about it in a cold, professional manner. He found no pleasure in it, but he had no qualms about using a gun if the job called for it. He posed no potential for unnecessary trouble due to a hot temper, as opposed to Slick, who actively sought a reputation as a fast gun. The more Preacher thought about it, the closer he came to giving the would-be gunfighter notice that he was finished with Preacher McCoy’s gang. That would reduce their number to three, and he always felt that four was the optimal number. Having considered Slick and Lon, his mind moved on to Elmo. Elmo had been with him since his first stagecoach robbery. Elmo was just Elmo, fat and unkempt, but even-tempered and cool in the midst of a robbery. He voluntarily took on the cooking, primarily because he was always hungry. Preacher could always count on him and that was his most valuable asset. He was as faithful as an old hound dog.
* * *
It was late afternoon when Will approached the lower slopes of the mountain range. He was suddenly struck with a feeling of melancholy when memories of his first visit to these mountains came rushing back to him. This was the place where Fletcher Pride was killed, when Will was a new deputy on his first assignment. Pride and Charley Tate were both shot by Max Tarbow and his men while Will searched for their camp on another mountain. There was nothing he could do other than to avenge them. He had done that, but he still carried a feeling of guilt and regret that he had not been there to back Fletcher up.
But that was a few years past and what was important now was to search his memory of the many caves and gulches he had explored in these mountains. Some he recalled in detail, due to the perfect conditions they offered if one was looking for a hideout. There were a couple, on opposite sides of the same mountain, he planned to search first. He had found ashes from fires and some articles of trash left behind when he was there before, evidence of a long stay by someone. That search would begin first thing in the morning. For now, he had to find a good place to make his base camp. Like the outlaws he hunted, he needed a camp not easily detected, where his horses had grass and water. So he followed a game trail he had tracked before, knowing it would lead him to a glen where the stream ran wide over a rocky bottom and there was grass on the bank before the trees. When he came to it, he was glad to see there were no recent remains of fires. He took care of his horses, then gathered wood for a fire.
Later, when sitting by his campfire, drinking coffee made with the fresh clear water from the steam, he considered his chances when confronting the two men he chased. He would have to count on the element of surprise, especially since one of them was apparently quick to pull a trigger. So he was going to have to be careful in his scouting to be sure he saw them first and not the other way around. Had he known his quarry was four, and not two, he might have wished for a posse man and a jail wagon to transport his prisoners.
* * *
Daylight brought the four outlaws out of their cave by the waterfall. As usual, Elmo was the first up and already had a fire built outside with some more of the fatty bacon from Cannon’s store frying in the pan. Preacher walked down past the creek to untie the horses so they could graze on the meadow beside the pond. He lingered there a few moments to watch his horse, a coal-black horse, more accurately described as a blue roan. He was proud of that horse and never missed a chance to brag about it, and how smart it was. Just to satisfy himself, he performed a little test he often repeated. Pressing two fingers to his lips, he whistled two short bursts. The roan raised his head and immediately came to his master, who greeted him with a smiling face and a generous amount of petting.
Back by the cave, Slick and Lon made an appearance outside and were greeted by Elmo. “Good mornin’, sleepyheads. Welcome to Elmo’s. Help yourself to the coffee and cook your own bacon. I’m fixin’ to make me some pan biscuits. If you mind your manners and ask me politely, I might share ’em with you.” He squinted up at Preacher when he walked up to the fire. “What’s the matter with you, Boss? You got your face squinched up like you just ate a sour pickle.”
“Is that right?” Preacher replied. “I reckon I was just thinkin’ about somethin’ sour.” In fact, he had been thinking about something that didn’t sit just right with him. He was rehashing a conversation he’d had with Lon before turning in for the night and the topic was Slick Towsen and his tendency to go off half-cocked. Slick’s potential to bring unnecessary trouble down upon the four of them didn’t sit well with Lon, either. “We might have to do somethin’ about it,” Preacher had said, and left it at that for the time being, but he knew that it would not likely be a friendly parting. Lon had nodded, having the same thoughts.
After doing away with Elmo’s biscuits, the four were left with very little to do. The horses were grazing peacefully by the edge of the stream, enjoying the rest and the lush grass. The conversation eventually got around to their plans after they had cooled their heels in this restful retreat. The major decision to be made was whether to return to Texas where they had spent most of their time, or move on up through Osage country and into Kansas. Lon didn’t really care. He was willing to go with whatever decision Preacher made, and Elmo would follow without question. Not so, Slick. “Hell, there’s four of us riskin’ our necks on these jobs,” he insisted. “Maybe we need to have a say in what we’re gonna tackle and where we’re gonna do it. I say we know Texas a helluva lot better’n we know Kansas. Texas covers a lot of territory where nobody knows us. That’s the smart thing to do, go back to Texas.”
“That woulda been a whole lot easier if you hadn’t shot that bank teller and made us all real famous down there,” Preacher said. “I expect the Texas Rangers already have our descriptions and there’s most likely WANTED papers out on us by now.”
“Hell, what if there is?” Slick spat in disgust. “I swear, you three beat all I’ve ever seen. I’d enjoy facin’ down one of them Texas Rangers.”
“We’ve got our way of doin’ things,” Preacher said. “You knew that when you joined up with us.”
“Yeah? Well it ain’t my way, I reckon,” he huffed, then got up and walked over closer to the edge of the creek, leaving them to grumble about his increasing irritability.
“I was wonderin’ how long it’d be before he started practicin’ with that .44,” Elmo said after a few minutes. “Every time we stopped for more’n five minutes on the way up here, he’d have that gun out, cleanin’ it, playin’ with it, practicin’ his fast draw.”
Preacher and Lon looked over in Slick’s direction and watched him go through his motions for a moment or two before Preacher released a weary sigh and commented. “He is fast as greased lightnin’ with that gun, ain’t he? But I reckon it’s time we settled that problem.” He nodded at Lon and Lon nodded in return. Nothing more was said about it until Slick ambled back over to the fire.
“You figure you’re pretty fast with that six-gun?” Lon asked.
“I ain’t never run into anybody faster,” Slick replied.
“I mean when you ain’t doin’ your little play-like game with yourself, when it comes down to dyin’ if you ain’t faster than the feller you challenge?”
“Maybe you’d like to find out for yourself,” Slick answered, certain that Lon would immediately back down.
“Why, I might at that,” Lon said. “I think I might be a little faster when it comes to killin’ a man than you are.”
“Ha!” Slick snorted. “You’re talkin’ like a crazy man, or maybe a hound dog bayin’ at the moon. Ain’t but one way you’re gonna find out. I’m givin’ you fair warnin’, this ain’t no game with me. If you stand up in front of me, I’ll gun you down faster’n you can blink your eye.”
“Fair enough,” Lon said. “Let’s get to it. You call it like you want it.” He drew his .44 out of his holster and checked to make sure it was fully loaded, loading one more cartridge in the one chamber he usually kept empty. Dropping it back in his holster, he walked out away from the fire and waited.
Fairly astonished that Lon had so casually called him out, Slick was halfway certain that Lon was merely japing him. Maybe Lon could use a little lesson on when to keep his mouth shut, he thought. “All right,” he said. He checked his weapon and eased it back in the holster, lifted it and settled it a couple more times to make sure it would come out smoothly. He favored Lon with a satisfied smile, then turned to Preacher and said, “You heard the whole thing. He called me out, not the other way around, so there ain’t no reason for complainin’ after it’s done, right?” Then another thought occurred to him. “This is just between Lon and me, so when I’m done with him, anything he’s got, including his share of the bank money, belongs to me. Any complaints?”
“Oh, there won’t be no complaints from me or Elmo,” Preacher assured him, amused that Slick was dividing the spoils before the showdown was even started. “We’ll play whatever hand is dealt.”
“All right, then.” He turned back to the piece of business he was now eager to finish before Lon had a chance to claim he was just japing. “Lon, I ain’t never had much use for you, but I’ll give you one more chance. You admit that you’re a yellow dog and I’ll let you pass.”
“’Preciate the offer, Slick. You may be a mite faster than me, but I figure I’m a helluva lot smarter, so let’s get this over with.”
His comment caused a second of confusion, but Slick shook it off as foolishness, or a ploy to work on his mind. Speed and accuracy wins any duel, he assured himself, and strode out to position himself for the gunfight. He had ridden with Lon long enough to know the man’s moves and knew there was no way Lon could draw faster than he. “Just let me know when you’re ready,” he said as he turned and walked off a few more paces.
“I’m ready,” he heard Lon say. When he turned to face him again, Lon’s gun was already out and aimed at him. The horrifying shock of his final moments was forever registered on his face as Lon’s bullet tore into his gut, followed a split second later by a round in his chest. “Like I said,” Lon drawled, “I’m smarter than you.”
“That’s for sure,” Preacher agreed. “It takes a damn fool to take a chance on the other feller bein’ faster’n you. Hell, if you wanna kill a man, shoot him when he ain’t lookin’. Reckon we’ve got some more bank money to split three ways.”
“Looks to me like I oughta get a bigger cut of his money since I’m the one who did the shootin’,” Lon said, joking. “Like he said, this was just between him and me and he was plannin’ to keep all my share. I even went to the trouble of lettin’ him play his little game before I shot him.”
“Hell, no,” Elmo piped up. “I’da done it, only I’da just shot him in the back without all that fuss. Besides, you oughta give us your share for lettin’ you have the pleasure.” The lighthearted bantering went on for several minutes with no qualms about the murder of one of their own partners before Elmo got up and walked over to check on the body. After a minute, he informed them, “He’s deader’n hell, all right.” He chuckled and commented, “That was one helluva surprised look on his face when he turned around.” He started going through Slick’s pockets.
“I expect most of his share of that bank money is in his saddlebags,” Preacher said. The next half hour was spent on the dead man’s inventory and the splitting up of his possessions. When they had finished, there was nothing left on the body but the clothes he wore, and that was only because Slick had been too skinny for any of the others to wear his clothes. The one exception being his beaded vest, which Lon took a fancy to. They decided to sell his horse and saddle when an opportunity presented itself, then divide that money. All three were satisfied that the day couldn’t have started out better. Slick’s surly disposition would hardly be missed and twenty thousand dollars split three ways was a sight better than the same amount split four ways.
The only thing left to do was to dispose of the body. Since no one cared enough to dig a grave, Lon took it upon himself to remove it from their campsite. “I’ll drag him far enough away from here, so we don’t have to smell him when he starts gettin’ ripe.” He saddled his horse, tied a rope around Slick’s boots, and dragged the body through the trees to a deep ravine about seventy-five yards from the waterfall. He pushed the body over the edge of the gully and watched it fall some twenty feet to the bottom. “So long, Slick,” he said. “It was a pleasure.”
CHAPTER 5
Will pulled Buster up short when he heard the two shots. As near as he could tell, they seemed to have come from higher up on the other side of the mountain he was now scouting. He waited, listening, but there were no more shots. A hunter? He doubted it because both shots came from a pistol. There was a possibility that there were others camping out in these mountains, but he felt confident the shots came from the two men he pursued and could mean he wasn’t going to have to scout the entire mountain range to find them. He backed Buster a few feet, then turned him back down the mountain, the slope at that point being too steep to traverse to the other side. When he descended to the base, he rode around the mountain until he came to a ravine that appeared to rise almost to the top of the mountain. He decided it to be his best path up the mountain, not too steep to keep Buster from climbing it, so he started up, keeping his eyes scanning the steep sides of the ravine ahead of him.
As he climbed higher, he heard a waterfall somewhere above him; he had been here before. The waterfall dropped from a rocky ledge some thirty feet to form a small pond a few yards from the mouth of a cave. It was an ideal arrangement for a camp, he thought, as he pictured it in his mind. He continued on and was within sight of the top of the ravine when Buster suddenly paused and began shifting back and forth from one foot to the other. Having been focused on the trees above the top of the ravine, Will had missed seeing what caused the buckskin to stop so abruptly. “Damn!” he swore under his breath when he saw the body lying several yards in front of his horse. He took only a few seconds to look around him to make sure he wasn’t in the shooter’s sights, then pulled his rifle from the sling and dismounted. He realized right away that there was no one waiting in ambush. It was apparent that the body had simply been disposed of here, so he went forward to take a look. At first glance, he identified the body a
s one of the two men he trailed. The description Melva Sams had given him came immediately to mind, skinny as a broom handle and he wore garters on his sleeves. The only things missing were the ornate vest and the gun belt with the reversed pistol. Evidently, he and his partner, Elmo, had a falling out. It was strange, he thought, for he had been told that it was this one who was quick to use his weapon. The two bullet holes in the man’s shirt accounted for the two he had heard, and they were both from face-on. Maybe this will make my job a little easier, he thought, with just one man to worry about. He pictured in his mind the cave they had picked to hide out in. He had been there before, but not from this side of it. Nonetheless, he was able to remember the setting enough to know that he was no more than a hundred yards from the waterfall and the mouth of the cave. He was inclined to hurry now, thinking that maybe he could catch Elmo outside, so he quickly climbed up to the edge of the ravine to see if he was in luck.
He was right in thinking he could get a clear look at the cave from the rim of the defile, but what he saw gave him pause to wonder if he had stumbled upon the wrong party. For there were three men seated around a fire, their horses hobbled near the pond at the bottom of the falls. But the description of the man lying dead at the bottom of the ravine was too close to the one given by Melva Sams. Surely it was the same man. He squinted, straining to see the three men more clearly to identify the one called Elmo, but he could see that he was going to have to get closer to be sure. Even then, he would be relying on Melva’s vague description of the unkempt partner. But if it was so, it meant that the two outlaws he chased from Durant had met up with two more, and he had not come prepared for that. Two were going to be hard enough to handle and three might be too many without a posse man and a jail wagon to transport them. That wasn’t his only problem. He had no idea who the other two men were. He could fairly well guess they were somehow criminally connected to the two he was after, but he didn’t know for sure. He couldn’t arrest them for simply being in the mountains, but he could charge the three of them for the murder of the man whose body he had just stumbled upon. He suspected there might be an alert for four outlaws crossing over into Indian Territory, running from Texas Rangers, but he was not close to a telegraph to find out. Another possibility came to mind. What if there were more of them inside the cave? If that’s the case, he told himself, I’m damn sure going to need help. In that event, he could only keep an eye on them and trail them if they left these mountains, so he could at least know where they were when he could get some help. But for now, he decided he was going to work his way in closer to see if he could get a better look at the three and maybe at least figure out which one was called Elmo. He figured the best way to do that was to follow the ravine the rest of the way to the top, so he backed away from the rim.
Evil Never Sleeps Page 8