by Jake Logan
Slocum stepped over to the stove and poured himself a cup of coffee. He was in the office with two Bartlet cowhands. Tommy was somewhere asleep. He had been on duty most of the night. Sammy Hyde was lying on his cot in the cell. Slocum set his coffee down on the desk, took out a cigar, and lit it. Then he picked up the coffee and walked to the cell.
“You must be one hell of a cowhand,” he said.
Hyde lifted up his head and looked through the bars at Slocum. “You talking to me?” he said.
“Ain’t no one else in there,” said Slocum.
“Well, I ain’t so bad, but what made you say that?”
“Your boss is willing to start a range war to keep you from hanging,” Slocum said. “It could cost a bunch of lives.”
“Ain’t nothing I can do about it,” said Hyde. “’Course, you could.”
“You mean just turn you loose?”
“Why not?”
“Because we got law in this town,” Slocum said, “and there’s going to be a trial.”
“Not if Mr. Oates has anything to say about it,” said Hyde.
“He means to talk loud,” Slocum said. “It looks like he’s just hired himself a new gunfighter.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“I think I’ll walk over and give him a Shit Creek welcome.” Slocum turned away from the cell. He put his cup down on the desk and turned to the two Bartlet hands. “Boys,” he said, “don’t open this door to anyone except me or Tommy. Hyde gets no visitors.”
In the Fancy Pants saloon, the stranger had spotted Oates right away and walked straight to his table. He had then introduced himself and been invited to sit down. Oates had advised the man about the rule regarding guns in the saloons. The man had taken off his guns and handed them over to Charlie, the barkeep. Then he sat down. When Slocum walked in, it looked like the two men were old friends. Slocum went to their table.
“Sorry, there ain’t no room to invite you to sit down, Marshal,” Oates said.
“You hire yourself a new gunfighter, Oates?” Slocum said.
“This here’s a cowhand,” said Oates. He looked at the stranger, and the stranger nodded. “Yeah. He’s working for me.”
“What’s your name, stranger?” Slocum said.
“Richard Cherry,” the stranger said. “What’s yours, Marshal?”
“Slocum.”
“Slocum?” said Cherry. “I’ve heard of you, but I sure never expected to find you behind a badge.”
Slocum felt his face flush. “I reckon I ought to apologize for that,” he said. “Anyhow it’s a long story. Right now I’m more interested in what brought you to town.”
“I got nothing to hide,” Cherry said. “A while back I got a letter from a cousin of mine. He said he thought there might be some trouble brewing up this way. He suggested I come by and look for a job. He was working for Mr. Oates here.”
“You say he was working?”
“He’s dead now,” said Cherry.
“His name was Breezy,” said Oates.
“I see,” Slocum said.
“Don’t worry, Marshal Slocum,” said Cherry. “I won’t be going after your deputy. I heard how it happened. Breezy was hotheaded. There wasn’t nothing else the deputy could have done.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that,” Slocum said.
Cherry shoved his chair back and stood up. “Mr. Oates says there ain’t no room at the table,” he said. “Will you step over to the bar and let me buy you a drink?”
“Sure,” Slocum said.
Oates gave Cherry a disgusted look but kept his mouth shut. Cherry walked Slocum to the bar and Charlie brought two glasses and a bottle. Cherry paid and then poured the drinks.
“Just between you and me, Slocum,” he said, “I never knew Breezy all that well. I heard through the family that he admired me and was jealous of my reputation. He was trying to imitate me.”
Slocum then realized the familiar look Cherry’d had to him when he first saw the gunfighter ride into town.
“Yeah,” he said. “I could see that.”
“He was doing a pretty good job, huh?”
“He looked all right, but like you said, he was hotheaded.”
“Yeah. Slocum?” Cherry reached out and touched the badge. “How’d this happen?”
“The mayor tried to hire me, but I told him that I hate lawmen. Then I saw a kid shot down in the street. I talked to his mother. There was no law here. None. I decided to take the job and see if I could kind of straighten this town out. When I get that done—”
“If you get that done,” Cherry interrupted.
“If I get that done, I’ll turn in this goddamned badge and get the hell out of here.”
Cherry smiled and shook his head, looking down at the bar. “Slocum,” he said, “you got a real soft spot.”
“Don’t count on it,” Slocum said.
“You taking sides in this range war?”
“I’m taking the side of the law,” Slocum said, a little ashamed of what he was saying. “One of Oates’s cowboys shot an unarmed man. I’ve got him in jail waiting for trial. Oates came into town with a dozen cowboys to get him out of jail. That’s when I asked Bartlet for a little help. So Bartlet’s boys are like deputies. Does that explain it?”
“So this is all over one possible hanging?”
“There’s been bad blood between Oates and Bartlet for some time from what I hear, but this one deal has set it off.”
Cherry looked thoughtful and poured two more drinks. “Tell you what, Slocum,” he said. “I won’t interfere with the trial or with the hanging, if it comes to that. You got my word.”
Slocum nodded. “All right,” he said. “I appreciate that.”
“When the hanging’s over and done,” Cherry said, “this deputy deal with the Bartlet hands is over with, too. Right?”
“That’s right.”
“Well then, you and me can be friends, can’t we?”
“Let’s wait till the job is over,” Slocum said. “Then we’ll see.”
When Slocum returned to the office, he found Tommy sitting behind his big desk with the shotgun on the desktop in front of him. Two Bartlet cowhands were sitting in chairs, smoking cigarettes. Hyde had been talking, but he shut up when Slocum entered the room. Perhaps he was recalling the sudden bath he had taken once before for talking too much.
“Everything quiet?” Slocum asked.
“Yeah,” said one of the cowhands.
“So far,” said Tommy.
“Tommy, let’s take a walk.”
“Okay.”
Tommy reached for the shotgun. “You can leave that,” Slocum said. Tommy shrugged and followed Slocum out of the office. Slocum led the way across the street. The sidewalk was less crowded over there. They walked along for a few steps in silence.
“Did you see that stranger ride into town this morning?” Slocum asked.
“That two-gun man? Yeah, I seen him.”
“He’s a professional gunfighter. Name’s Richard Cherry.”
“Have you heard of him before this?”
“I’ve heard of him,” Slocum said. “I went over and had a talk with him just now. That fellow whose head you blowed off was his cousin.”
“Yeah?”
“That’s right. But he says he didn’t know him all that well, and the cousin was hotheaded. He knows that you didn’t have no choice. He ain’t after you.”
“Well, that’s some relief.”
“He’s working for Oates, but he told me he won’t interfere with the trial or the hanging. After that, all bets are off.”
“That’s an interesting twist,” said Tommy.
“Yeah,” said Slocum. “Listen to me now. One reason I’m telling you all this is to warn you to keep your eyes open. I tend to believe that Cherry, but don’t count on it. He might be a good actor. Watch him. I mean to.”
Slocum sent Tommy back to the office and walked over to the eatery to get a bite and some good coffee. He also wan
ted to see Terri Sue again. He found three tables occupied and Terri Sue more or less free. Everyone had their meals. Terri Sue brought Slocum some coffee. Then she sat down.
“Slocum,” she said, “is there going to be trouble in town?”
“That’s hard to say,” Slocum answered. “Oates brought his boys to town to break Hyde out of jail, but Bartlet brought his in to keep Hyde in jail. Right now, it’s kind of a standoff. Oates just brought in a new gunfighter, who told me that he means to stay out of it till the trial’s over.”
“Do you believe him?”
“I’m trying to.”
“Hey, gal, bring us some more coffee over here,” one of the customers called out.
“Be a little patient there, pard,” said Slocum. “We’re talking official business. She’ll be with you in a minute.”
“Official business, my ass,” said the man. “I know all about you two. Bring me some more coffee, damn it.”
Slocum stood up and walked to the man’s table. “You’ve got a dirty mind, mister,” he said. “I don’t think you need any more coffee. Just pay up and get out.”
Terri Sue rushed to the table with the coffeepot.
“It’s all right, Slocum,” she said. “Here’s the coffee.”
Slocum put a hand on her shoulder and gently but firmly pushed her aside.
“I think you heard me,” he said.
The man stood up. He was bigger than Slocum, and from his looks, he had weathered more than his share of fights.
“That badge don’t mean nothing to me,” he said. “If I was you, I’d let the gal refill my cup.”
“You ain’t me, and I ain’t you,” Slocum said. “I told you to pay up and clear out.”
The man looked down and away and then suddenly swung a roundhouse right at Slocum’s jaw. Slocum saw it coming but just barely in time. He dodged and caught a glancing blow along the side of his head. Slocum raised his right foot and brought the boot heel down hard on the big man’s left foot, cracking a few small bones. The man howled and raised his foot and grabbed it with both hands. Slocum stepped quickly behind him, took hold of his shirt collar, and walked him to the door, shoving him through it. The man sprawled in the street, still holding his foot and moaning. Slocum shut the door and went back inside. Terri Sue was refilling all the coffee cups in the room.
“That’s okay,” said the man whose cup she was refilling. He was looking at Slocum, who was moving back toward his own table. “That’s plenty,” he added nervously. “Thanks.”
Terri Sue returned to Slocum’s table.
“I could’ve handled that,” she said.
“Well, I did handle it. Put his meal on my bill with the town.”
“That was Pete James, Slocum,” she said. “He’s mean and tough, and he doesn’t forget or forgive.”
“He’s a bully and a blowhard,” Slocum said. “He doesn’t scare me.”
Outside, Pete James sat seething, still holding his foot with the broken bones. He decided to go get his gun, which was inside his saddlebag. He started to get up, but when he put weight on his foot, the pain was just too intense He cried out and settled back down. The foot was starting to swell; he could feel it. He knew he had to get the boot off. He took it in both hands and tried to pull, but that, too, hurt excruciatingly. He lay over in the dirt so he could reach into his trouser pocket. He came out with a knife, which he unfolded, and then proceeded to cut the boot off his foot.
The door to the eatery opened, and Slocum came walking out. He looked at the man sitting in the dirt. Pete James snarled and flung the cut boot at Slocum, but it missed him by several feet.
“Forget it, pard,” Slocum said. “I paid for your meal.”
“I ain’t forgetting nothing, mister,” Pete James snarled. “You dirty son of a bitch. I’ll kill you.”
9
“You mean to do that today,” Slocum said, “or do I have to wait for your foot to feel better?”
“Right now I can’t even stand up on my feet. A fight now just wouldn’t be fair.”
“You mean to have a fair fight with me?” Slocum said. “A fair gunfight?”
“That’s what I’m meaning.”
“Well, mister, you’d better be handier with guns than you are with your fists, or you’ll be a dead man. You want me to help you up on your horse?”
“I don’t want nothing to do with you till I kill you.”
Just then, another man came walking along the sidewalk. He paused and looked at Pete James sitting in the dirt. Then he looked at Slocum. Slocum did not appear to be a threat, so he walked on over to the man sitting in the dirt wearing one boot.
“Pete?” he said. “You need some help?”
“Yeah,” said James. “Help me to my feet and over to my horse, would you?”
“Sure thing.”
The man reached down and helped Pete James up to his one foot. Every time the injured foot touched the ground, Pete squealed. He put an arm around the other man’s shoulders and hopped on his good foot over to his horse. When he got there, he leaned with both arms on the saddle and panted awhile.
“You want some help up?” said the other man.
“No,” said Pete. “I can swing up in the saddle okay by myself. Thanks. You can run on now.”
“All right. If you’re sure about it.”
“I’m sure. Run on now.”
The other man walked back to the sidewalk and headed on down the street. Pete waited a moment, then slipped his Henry rifle out of the saddlebag. He could see Slocum walking away toward the jail. He cranked a shell into the chamber of the Henry and laid the rifle across the saddle. He took careful aim at Slocum’s back, right between the shoulder blades. He licked his lips and started to squeeze the trigger, but he lost his balance a little just then, and his injured foot automatically went to the ground to steady him. When it touched the dirt, he flinched and squealed, and Slocum turned to see him there with the rifle.
Pete James recovered quickly and aimed the rifle again, but Slocum’s Colt was out of the holster and blazing away before Pete could fire. Slocum’s bullet tore into Pete’s forehead. Pete dropped the rifle on the opposite side of the horse from where he stood as he started to slide to the ground. Slocum could see his hands on the saddle. Then they disappeared, and Slocum looked underneath the horse’s body to see the man’s body crumple up once again in the dirt. Pete James did not move. He would never move again.
“I seen it, Marshal,” a man on the street said. “He was trying to back-shoot you.”
“Yeah,” said Slocum. “Thanks. You think you could fetch ole Gool down here to clean up this mess?”
“Be glad to, Marshal.”
Slocum winced at being addressed that way. He wanted to get this job over with and get the hell out of town and hope that the word would not spread. He did not want this job added to his reputation.
“Oh, uh, Marshal?” the other man said.
“Yeah. What is it?”
“I reckon you know who that man is—the one you just killed?”
“I got no idea.”
“His name was Pete James. He worked for Mr. Oates.”
“That figures,” Slocum said. “Well, go on now and fetch Gool.”
“Yes, sir, I will.”
Slocum walked down to the Fancy Pants saloon and stepped inside. Oates and some of his boys were sitting around a table drinking whiskey. Richard Cherry was with them. Slocum walked right up to their table and looked at Oates. Oates looked back at him.
“What is it, Slocum?” Oates said.
“I want to be the first to tell you,” Slocum said. “I just shot your man Pete James.”
“Dead?”
“Dead.”
“How come?”
“He asked for it,” said Slocum. “He tried to back-shoot me with a Henry rifle. There were witnesses.”
“I don’t doubt your word,” said Oates. “Where’s the body?”
“I sent for Gool to take care of it.”
Slocum shot a glance at Cherry, but Cherry just gave a shrug. “It’s nothing to me,” he said. “I didn’t even know the man.”
“Slocum,” said Oates, “sit down and let me buy you a drink.”
That was the last thing that Slocum expected. He decided to stick around and see what the old man was up to. The chairs at the table were all occupied, so Slocum reached for one at the next table, intending to pull it over. Oates said to one of his men, “Get up and give him your chair.” The man picked up his glass and moved out of the way, and Slocum sat down. Oates called out for another glass, and when it was brought to the table, poured it about half full of whiskey. Slocum looked at it and looked at Oates.
“Drink up,” Oates said.
Slocum picked up the glass and took a sip. Oates drank some of his.
“Slocum,” he said, “there’s something you need to know.”
“I’m all ears.”
“Pete James was always looking for trouble. I wouldn’t even be upset except that I always look after my boys. It’s a matter of principle. If they’re loyal to me, I look after them.”
“Sort of like you’re looking after Sammy Hyde?”
“Just like that.”
“That’s admirable up to a point, but Sammy Hyde’s a murderer, just like James would have been if I’d been a little slower.”
“I can’t help that,” said Oates.
“You’re willing to start a range war on behalf of Hyde, but you mean to let my killing of James just go by?”
“Sammy’s still alive,” Oates said. “That’s the difference.”
Slocum took another sip of whiskey. “I don’t think we’re getting anywhere with this conversation,” he said.
“Well, I didn’t stop you to philosophize with you,” Oates said.
“What then?” said Slocum.
“Pete James had some pretty good friends among my boys. I’ll tell them to let it go by, but I can’t guarantee their behavior.”