Slocum in Shot Creek

by Jake Logan

  “In case you ain’t figured it out,” he said in a loud and clear voice, “I’m the new town marshal. Name’s Slocum. Tommy Howard here is my deputy. Now, I’m going to assume that some of you can’t read, and the ones that can read just didn’t notice the new signs. There’s one outside the door and another one right over there beside the new cabinet. The signs say that you have to check your guns when you come into the saloon. I can see ain’t none of you done that, so you can start doing it right now.”

  No one got up. No one made a move to comply.

  “If you ain’t going to cooperate,” Slocum said, “I’ll just have to start taking them from you.”

  A big cowhand sitting at a table near the bar laughed out loud, and everyone else joined in the laughter. Slocum walked over to the big man’s table. Before anyone knew what was going on, he jerked out his Colt and bashed the man over the head. Out cold, the man’s head dropped to the table and hit it with a thud. Slocum took the gun out of the holster and handed it to Tommy, who put it on the bar. The nervous barkeep took it and put it in the cabinet.

  Slocum turned to another man. This time, the man gave up his weapon easily. Slocum went around the room collecting guns. Soon the new gun cabinet was stacked up with guns. Slocum moved toward the last table in the place, and a snotty little brat wearing two guns stood up snarling.

  “I don’t give up my guns to no man,” he said.

  “You’re awful young to die for such a silly reason,” Slocum said.

  “Who said I’m going to die?”

  “You will if you don’t give me those guns,” Slocum said. “Or if you don’t want to give them up, you can leave. Right now.”

  “I ain’t going to do neither,” said the kid.

  “It’s your call,” Slocum said.

  The crowded saloon was as quiet as the wee hours of morning when everything was closed and locked up tight as a Klondike miner’s butthole. The kid stepped out a couple of paces from the table, keeping his narrow, mean eyes on Slocum all the while. He flexed the fingers on both hands.

  “Kid,” said Slocum, “you don’t have to do this.”

  “You’re the one come looking for trouble, Marshal.”

  “All I want is your gun. You can have it back when you leave.”

  “No way,” said the kid. Both of his hands streaked for the six-guns at his sides. They had just cleared leather as Slocum’s Colt roared and his bullet smashed the sternum of the kid. The young gunman’s face registered total surprise. His eyes opened wide. His mouth hung open. His fingers went limp, and both his guns dropped to the floor. He staggered back a few steps and backed into the next table. The men sitting there grabbed hold of it to keep it steady. The kid’s knees buckled, and he dropped to the floor on them. His eyes glazed over, and he pitched forward—dead.

  Slocum looked around. “Anyone else got anything to check in?” he said. The remaining three men with guns then unbuckled their belts and laid them on the table. Tommy picked them up.

  “You men have a good time,” Slocum said. “Let’s go, Tommy.”

  They walked out of the Fat Back and down the sidewalk till they came to the Fancy Pants. Inside, Slocum noticed right away that the gun cabinet in there had a few guns in it. At least some men were cooperating. He walked up to the bar, followed by Tommy, and Charlie, the barkeep, came over to greet them.

  “Any guns out there?” Slocum asked.

  “A few,” said Charlie. He pointed out a couple of tables. Slocum looked at Tommy.

  “You take that one over there,” he said. “I’ll take this one.”

  The two lawmen headed for their respective tables. Slocum reached his first.

  “You boys see the new signs?” he said.

  The three men at the table all looked up at him. They looked sheepish. One man finally answered. “Uh, yeah,” he said. “We seen them.”

  “You ain’t checked your guns,” Slocum said.

  “I guess we didn’t take it serious,” the man said.

  “Yeah,” said another. “We thought it was a joke.”

  “It’s no joke,” Slocum said. “I’ll take your guns now.”

  The men all shucked their weapons, and Slocum picked them up and carried them to Charlie at the bar. Charlie took them and toted them to the cabinet.

  At the other table, Tommy had asked the same questions. There were four men at the table, and they were engaged in a game of poker. The tabletop was covered with cards and money. Two of the players shoved their chairs back. One man stood up. The man standing was the first to speak.

  “Sonny boy,” he said, “I don’t think you’re man enough to take our guns.”

  Tommy blasted the tabletop with his shotgun, scattering cards and money. Two of the players dropped to the floor and covered their heads. One man squealed. Some of the shot had glanced off the tabletop and peppered his face. Most of it had dug into the table. The wounded man’s hands went up to his face. The man who was standing went for his six-gun, but Tommy swung the scattergun around to cover him. He stopped.

  “There’s another shot in this here gun,” Tommy said.

  Slocum looked over at Tommy, unbelieving. He walked over to the table quickly.

  “We’ll take those guns now,” he said.

  The men all took off their weapons and laid them on the table. Slocum gathered them up.

  “You can all pick up your guns when you leave,” he said. “We don’t expect any more trouble here tonight.”

  They left the saloon and walked to the marshal’s office. Inside, Slocum sat down in the chair behind the big desk. Tommy replaced the shell in the shotgun. Then he put the shotgun in the gun rack. As he turned away from the rack, he saw that Slocum was staring at him.

  “Something wrong?” he asked.

  “What the hell made you do that?” Slocum said.

  “What?”

  “What? What the hell do you think? What made you shoot that scattergun back there?”

  Tommy shrugged. “It seemed like the thing to do,” he said. “It damn sure got their attention, didn’t it? The fellow who thought he wanted to shoot it out changed his mind.”

  “I got to admit that.”

  “Look,” said Tommy, “I knew that at that close range, the shot wouldn’t scatter out much. I didn’t hurt no one. Not much anyway. That one shot did exactly what I figured it would do.”

  “It sure as hell fucked up that poker game,” Slocum said.

  Both men laughed at that. Then Slocum told Tommy to keep an eye on things. He announced his intention of going to bed and getting some sleep, but he told Tommy his room number at the hotel and said, “If you need me for anything, come and get me.”

  He left the office and walked to the hotel and upstairs to his room. He found the door unlocked, looked a little puzzled, then opened the door and stepped inside. The small lamp on the table was lit and turned down low. Terri Sue was sitting in the chair and smiling at him. He shut the door and locked it. Taking off his hat, he tossed it onto another chair.

  “This is a surprise,” he said.

  “A pleasant one?” asked Terri Sue.

  “That depends on what you’re doing here.”

  “Well, I’m not sure. It depends a lot on you.”

  Slocum unbuckled his gunbelt and hung it over the back of a chair. He walked toward Terri Sue, and she stood up to meet him. He put a hand on each of her shoulders and leaned forward to kiss her on the lips. She responded delightfully. Slocum stepped back to pull off his shirt. In another moment, they were both naked. Slocum picked Terri Sue up and carried her to the bed. He placed her easily on the mattress, and then he crawled in beside her. They rolled toward one another to kiss once again. Slocum’s right hand found her left breast and clutched it. He massaged it, delighting in the softness and the smoothness of it. She moaned through their kisses, enjoying the feel of his hand on her breast.

  Slocum was thinking ahead, though. He was impatient. His tool was standing out by this time, long an
d hard and throbbing. His hand moved from her breast down her body to the hairy tuft at her crotch. It was damp. He prodded for the slit and felt between the lips with his finger. It was wet and slippery. He dug deeper until his finger slid into the hole.

  “Umm,” she groaned.

  She rolled over onto her back, pulling him on top of her as she did and spreading her legs to allow him to lie between them. As he crawled into position, Terri Sue reached down low with both her hands and found his rod.

  “Oh,” she said. “I think you’re ready to go.”

  “More than ready,” he said.

  She aimed the tip of his tool for her slit and rubbed it up and down, getting it nice and wet and slick. Then she put it into her hole, and Slocum drove it forward.

  “Ahh. Oh,” she gasped.

  As he thrust his cock all the way into her tunnel of love, she wrapped her legs around him and crossed her feet on his back. She thrust her loins up to meet his downward thrust.

  “Take that, baby,” he said.

  “Oh. I’ll take it and more. Oh. Oh.”

  Slocum drove in and pulled out over and over again. She responded to each of his thrusts with one of her own. They went faster and faster, harder and harder until at last, the pressure built up inside Slocum’s loins was too much to contain, and he shot forth, burst after burst, deep inside her.

  In the Fat Back saloon a fistfight started. No one saw it begin. It was just going on. Two cowhands pounding on each other. They knocked over several tables and broke a couple of chairs. The crowd gathered in the saloon yelled and cheered them on, each rooting for his personal favorite. Most of the crowd was on their feet, screaming and hollering. At last one man knocked the other through the swinging batwing front doors and out into the street. He ran through the doors after his intended victim. The other man was just getting up and met him with a roundhouse right, knocking him back through the doors and into the crowd that had rushed up to the door to watch the action in the street.

  The crowd caught the man and shoved him back outside. Some of them followed him out. Others stayed at the doors, watching. As the man went back out, he was met again with a right that staggered him. This time he turned his back on his rival and pushed his way back through the crowd into the Fat Back. He made his way to the gun rack and grabbed a six-gun. Cocking the gun as he went, he pushed his way back through the crowd. The man outside stood in the street waiting, but when he saw the other come through the crowd again, gun in hand, his eyes widened.

  “Hey,” he shouted. “I ain’t armed.”

  “You’re dead, you son of a bitch,” the armed man said, and he pulled the trigger. A bullet smashed into the man’s chest. He staggered backward and fell.

  “You’ve killed him,” someone shouted.

  “He asked for it,” said the killer.

  In the marshal’s office, Tommy Howard heard the shot. Jumping up, he grabbed the shotgun from the rack and hurried outside. He could see the crowd on the sidewalk in front of the Fat Back, and a moment later, he could see the body in the street. He ran toward the scene. As he got closer, he could see the man with the gun standing facing the crowd as if threatening them. He ran up closer and stopped, the shotgun pointed at the man with the six-gun in hand.

  “Hold it right there,” he said.

  The man turned, noticing Tommy for the first time. His six-gun was aimed vaguely in Tommy’s direction.

  “Even if you hit me,” Tommy said, “this scattergun will tear you to pieces.”

  The man dropped the gun, and Tommy gestured with the shotgun toward the jail. The man started walking. In the hotel room upstairs, Slocum had thrown open the window. Tommy noticed it as he passed by. He looked up and grinned.

  “Everything’s under control, Marshal,” he shouted.

  6

  Slocum had breakfast in the morning, and then he started checking up on the events of the night before. There were plenty of witnesses to the murder; there was no doubt that Tommy Howard had the right man in jail. He went to see Will Church. The mayor had already heard the tale.

  “So what do we do now?” Slocum asked.

  “We’ll have a trial, of course,” said Church. “We’re so out of the way here that we’ve had to learn to do things for ourselves. The council decided some time ago that the mayor would be the judge. That’s me. I see no reason to prolong things. We’ll set the trial for Monday.”

  “That’s just four days from now,” said Slocum.

  “That’s plenty of time. I’ve heard that Hyde already has a lawyer.”

  “Hyde?”

  “Sammy Hyde. That’s the man you have in jail. He works for the Simple Simon Ranch. Simon Oates owns the place, and he has his own lawyer. There can’t be much of a defense anyway. He shot down Bennie Dill in front of plenty of witnesses, and Bennie didn’t even have a gun on him.”

  “What’s my role in this?” Slocum said.

  “Keep Hyde in jail till Monday, and then make sure that he’s in the courtroom on time. Make it ten o’clock in the morning.”

  “He’ll be there,” said Slocum, and he left the office.

  Later that morning, Slocum saw Tommy in the marshal’s office.

  “Hyde’s trial is set for Monday morning at ten,” he said. “You did a good job last night, Tommy.”

  “Thanks, Marshal,” said Tommy.

  “You put the coffee on?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Just then six men rode up in front of the office. They dismounted, and two of them walked to the door. The older of the two opened the door and walked in, followed by the second man. The older was a tough-looking fellow with a sandy-brown handlebar mustache. He had a slight middle-age paunch to his belly, and he was wearing a Colt at his side. His companion was dressed similarly but was smooth-shaven and younger.

  “What can I do for you?” Slocum said.

  “You can let my man out of jail,” said the older of the two men.

  “Your man?” said Slocum. “You mean Hyde?”

  “Who else you got in there?”

  “He’s being held on a murder charge,” said Tommy.

  “His trial’s set for Monday. He’ll stay in jail till then, and after that, likely he’ll hang,” Slocum said.

  “I’ll put up his bail.”

  “Bail ain’t been set. Probably won’t be on a murder charge.”

  “Marshal,” said the younger man, “maybe we come in here too hasty. We should’ve made some introductions. I’m Mo Diamond. I’m the foreman at the Simple Simon Ranch, and this here is my boss. This is Mr. Simon Oates.”

  “I’m the new marshal. Slocum’s the name. And this here is my deputy, Tommy Howard. There still ain’t no bail.”

  “We’ll see about that,” said Oates. He walked over to the cell, where Hyde was standing, clutching at the bars of the door and looking anxious.

  “Boss,” he said. “Get me out of here.”

  “You goddamned fool, Sammy,” said Oates. “Why’d you do it?”

  “I was drunk, Mr. Oates,” Hyde said. “Ole Dill, he was mouthing off about you and the ranch. We got into a fistfight. Our guns was checked in. We fought our way outside and back in and then out again, I think. Well, he punched me up pretty good, and I run back inside and got my gun, and I-I shot him. That’s all.”

  “You’re a fucking blockhead,” said Oates, “but don’t worry. You won’t hang. I’ll see to that.”

  “I wouldn’t make no bold promises like that,” said Slocum.

  Oates turned and gave Slocum a hard look. “I don’t make promises,” he said. “I just state what it is I mean to do. Come on, Mo.”

  “Be seeing you, Sammy,” said Diamond, and he followed Oates out the door.

  Tommy Howard walked to the window and watched as the Simple Simon crew rode over to the office of the mayor. “They went right straight to Church,” he said.

  “That figures,” said Slocum.

  “Mr. Oates will be right back to get me out of here,” said
Hyde. “He’ll likely have you both fired, too. You’ll see. Nobody around here bucks Mr. Simon Oates. Nobody.”

  Slocum walked to the stove and poured himself a cup of coffee. “Shut up, Hyde,” he said.

  “All right, but I’ll have me a cup of that there coffee.”

  “You ain’t in jail to be waited on,” Slocum said.

  “They’re leaving the mayor’s office,” said Tommy. “Looks like they’re riding out of town.”

  “What?” said Hyde.

  “You heard me right,” said Tommy. “They’re leaving town.”

  “Damn it. There’s going to be hell to pay for this.”

  “I told you to shut up,” said Slocum.

  Tommy walked over to Slocum’s desk and sat on the edge, looking hard at Slocum. “He’s right, you know,” he said. “Oates is used to getting things his way. He ain’t going home to sit quiet.”

  “What do you think he’ll do?”

  “My bet is that he’ll try to bust Sam out of here before Monday.”

  “How many hands has he got at the Simple Simon?”

  “Oh, I ain’t sure. Around twenty, I’d say.”

  “The odds ain’t good,” Slocum said.

  Hyde laughed out loud from inside the cell. “If you’re smart,” he said, “you’ll unlock this cell right now and let me out.”

  A bucket of water stood near the far wall. Slocum stood up and walked to it. He picked it up and strode to the cell. Then he pitched the bucketful through the cell door onto Hyde. Hyde sputtered and fumed.

  “I’m smart enough to keep my mouth shut when I’ve been told to,” Slocum said. He dropped the empty bucket on the floor and walked to the front door. “I’m going to see the mayor,” he said. “Hold down the fort.”

  Slocum crossed the street to Church’s office and went inside. He found the mayor just putting on his hat. When Church saw Slocum walk in, he put the hat back on the hat rack. “I was just coming to see you,” he said.

  “You just had a visit from Simon Oates,” Slocum said. “He wanted you to set bail for Hyde. Right?”

  “That’s right,” said Church, going back to his desk. “He didn’t take it kindly when he didn’t get his way.”