Slocum and the Killers

by Jake Logan

  His first few steps were sure, and then he slipped, but he hung on tight to his rope and only banged himself against the side of the drop-off. He regained his footing and started the slow descent again. It was difficult going. At last he came to a small ledge, and he stopped to get his breath and to figure his next step, only to see Slocum snugged up tight against the wall of rocks. Jan moved cautiously to where Slocum lay. There was no movement. He pressed his head against Slocum’s chest, and he could detect a heartbeat and shallow breathing. He also could feel sticky blood on Slocum’s chest. He had lost considerable blood. Old Jan had no time to lose.

  He dragged Slocum out closer to the edge of the shelf and grasped Slocum’s rope, which was dangling there. Struggling with Slocum’s deadweight, Old Jan managed to get the rope around the body under the arms, and he tied it securely. Then he positioned Slocum as best he could to be dragged up the rough rock wall.

  “Just hold on there, partner,” he said to Slocum. Then he took hold of his own rope, still tied around his waist, and started the climb back to the top. It was slow, and it was a tough climb. He slipped twice, but he managed to hang on. At last, he struggled back up onto the ground beside the road. The Appaloosa neighed a greeting. Old Jan got to his feet and heaved a few heavy breaths.

  “I found him, horse,” he said. “We’ll get him up here all right.”

  He moved to the boulder around which he had tied the ropes. He took his own rope off from around his waist and pulled it up, tossing it on the ground. Then he took hold of Slocum’s rope and started to pull. He did not have the strength. He thought for a moment. Then he untied the rope from the boulder, and moved quickly to the Appaloosa. He lapped the rope around the saddle horn and secured it. Taking hold of the reins close to the horse’s head, he started moving it backward.

  “Come on, big horse,” he said. “Let’s get him up here. Come on now.”

  The Appaloosa moved back slowly, as if he understood Old Jan. He backed up to the center of the road and then almost to the other side. Old Jan looked back over his shoulder, watching for Slocum to appear over the edge. All he could see was the rope tightly stretched. There was no more room for backing up. He started moving north along the side of the road. He wondered how Slocum was faring, being dragged along the rugged, rocky side of the drop-off. He was bound to come up scratched and bruised in addition to the way he was when he’d landed down below. There was nothing for it, though. He had to be brought up. Then Slocum’s head appeared over the edge. Old Jan rejoiced.

  “We’ve got him, boy,” he said to the Appaloosa. “Come on now. Bring him on over.”

  He backed the horse up some more. Just then he heard the sound of horses coming. He hoped that it would be help. It could be the opposite.

  “Whoa,” he said. “Stand still.”

  The horse obeyed. Old Jan pulled the Remington revolver out of his holster and cocked it. Hunkered behind the Appaloosa, he waited. When he saw Gourd and Pierce come riding along, he eased the hammer back down and put the gun away. The two rode on up.

  “What the hell?” said Gourd.

  “It’s about time you two shaggy-headed bastards showed up,” Old Jan said. “Get him up over there.”

  The two looked toward the end of the rope and saw Slocum’s head.

  “Is he alive?” said Gourd.

  “Just barely,” Old Jan said. “Get him up.”

  Gourd and Pierce dismounted and hurried over to Slocum. Old Jan stayed where he was and kept the rope taut. Gourd took hold of Slocum by one arm and Pierce by the other. They pulled him up over the edge and laid him out flat. Old Jan unwound the rope from the Appaloosa’s saddle horn. Then he rushed across the road to where Slocum lay and untied the rope that was around him.

  “He’s been shot,” said Gourd.

  “What other brilliant observation have you got?” asked Old Jan. “Get him up into my saddle.”

  The three of them managed to heave Slocum up, drag his leg across the horse, and then hold him in position in the saddle. Old Jan climbed on behind him and held him. “Let’s go,” he said.

  “Where we going?” said Gourd.

  “Back to North Fork,” said Old Jan. “Where else?”

  The ride back was slow. Old Jan was afraid of jostling Slocum around too much. He hoped and prayed along the way that they would find a doctor in North Fork. He hoped and prayed that Slocum would last that long. He needed attention, and he needed it soon. He was in a bad way.

  “How’d it happen?” Pierce asked as they rode along.

  “I don’t know,” Old Jan said. “I just found him like that. His horse was standing there by the side of the road. There was blood on the saddle. I went over to look for him. You know the rest.”

  “He must have caught up to them and got the worst of it,” Gourd said.

  “I don’t think so,” said Old Jan. “He was shot in the back. It looked to me like they got behind him some way and then bushwhacked him.”

  “Oh,” said Gourd. “Well, say, why don’t I ride ahead and locate a doc for you?”

  “That’s a good idea,” said Old Jan.

  Gourd kicked his horse in the sides and raced off. Old Jan looked at Pierce.

  “I’ll stick with you,” Billy said, “in case you need any help with him.”

  Old Jan was a patient rider, but he did not usually have a nearly dead friend in the saddle in front of him. All the way back to North Fork he worried that they might not make it in time. He worried if North Fork would have a doctor, and if it did, if he would be worth a shit. At last they made it, though, and Old Jan thought that Slocum was still breathing. As they rode into town, Gourd was sitting in his saddle in the middle of the road. He waved at them.

  “This way,” he said.

  He led the way to a small building a few doors down from the Watering Hole Saloon. They tied their horses and eased Slocum down out of the saddle. The doc, having been alerted by Gourd, saw them and opened the door. As they carried Slocum in, the doc indicated a table, and they laid Slocum out on it.

  “Do what you can for him, Doc,” said Old Jan.

  The doctor looked at Slocum. He examined the wound.

  “One of you men run across the street to that little yellow house and tell my nurse to get over here. She’s there by herself.”

  “I’ll go,” said Billy. He hurried out the door.

  “I’ll be a while at this,” the doc said. “You men might just as well go have a drink or get yourselves a room for the night. Get out of my way.”

  The two looked at each other, and Old Jan nodded toward the door. They left the doctor’s office. Outside, they stood for a moment on the sidewalk. A good-looking young woman came running from the house across the street followed by Billy. The woman hurried on inside, and Billy stopped on the sidewalk with Old Jan and Gourd. “What’re we going to do?” he said.

  “Get us a room and then get something to eat,” said Old Jan.

  “We can’t do anything more for Slocum,” said Gourd. “I say we go on after them three bastards before they get too far ahead.”

  “I’m staying here with him,” said Old Jan.

  “No sense in three of us staying here,” said Gourd. “I’m going after them. What about you, Billy?”

  Billy looked from Gourd to Old Jan. He looked back at Gourd. “I’ll ride with you,” he said.

  “Well, then,” said Old Jan, “good luck to you boys.”

  “Yeah,” said Billy. “The same to you and to Slocum.”

  The two mounted up and rode out of town going south. Old Jan watched them go. Then he looked up and down the street for a hotel. Spotting one, he walked down there leading his horse and Slocum’s Appaloosa. He went inside and got a room, asked for a livery stable and got directions, then took the horses to the livery. He walked down the street again till he came to a small café, where he went in for a meal. Having finished the meal, he walked to the Watering Hole. He went inside and bought a bottle. The barkeep gave him a glass as
well, and Old Jan stood at the bar to drink.

  “Say,” said the barkeep. “Wasn’t you here before with two buddies?”

  “I was,” said Old Jan.

  “I thought you was riding out looking for someone. You give up so soon?”

  “I found him,” said Old Jan. “He’d been bushwhacked. Brought him back to the doctor.”

  “That’s too bad. How is he?”

  “It’s too soon to tell. He’s tough, though.”

  “He was after three men, wasn’t he?”

  “That’s right. I think they got behind him.”

  “I’d bet they was in here when he was,” the barkeep said in a low voice.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Well, earlier, one man come in here by himself. Stood right here having a drink. A little later, two more men come in and sat over yonder. In a while, the two went upstairs with Bitsy there. Then your pard came in asking about three men. The one here at the bar told him that he seen three men heading south out of town. Your pard left after them. Then the man that had told him that story hurried upstairs, and he came back down with those other two. They left out of here in a hurry.”

  “Did you hear any names?” Old Jan asked.

  “Nope, but Bitsy might have.” He looked around the room and spied her. Raising his voice, he called out, “Bitsy. Come over here.” Bitsy looked in his direction. Then she made an excuse to the cowboy she was talking to and walked over to see what the barkeep wanted.

  “What is it, Mike?” she asked. “I got a live one over there.”

  “This will just take a minute,” Mike the barkeep said. “You remember those two you took upstairs together?”

  “How could I forget?” she said.

  “Did you get their names?”

  “Names?” she said. “Who cares about names? A couple of drifters. Wait a minute. Wait. One of them was called Jigs. I remember that one. A funny name. Jigs.”

  Old Jan pulled a bill out of his pocket and handed it to Bitsy. “Thanks,” he said.

  She looked at the bill and a broad smile spread across her face. “Thank you, mister,” she said. “Is that all you want to know?”

  “That’s it,” said Old Jan. Bitsy turned and went back to her cowboy. Old Jan pulled out another bill and handed it to the barkeep. “And thank you, sir.”

  “Glad to be of assistance,” Mike said. “So, are they the ones?”

  “Just as sure as hell,” Old Jan said. “They’re the ones.”

  5

  Sluice sat in a poker game in the small town of Jones Mill some miles south of North Fork. He was in a saloon and gambling hall called simply The Place. He was winning big. Hardy and Jigs were sitting at a table sharing a bottle of whiskey. Hardy always lost when he gambled, so he decided to stay out of the game. Jigs did not even know how to play the game. But Sluice was mighty lucky at cards, or maybe he was a slick cheat. Whatever the truth, he was winning.

  One shrewd gambler dropped out of the game saying that he was damn near cleaned out. More likely, he realized that Sluice was probably cheating him, but he didn’t want to fight, figuring that Sluice was a tough and mean son of a bitch. So he cut his losses and got out while the getting was good. There were still a cowpoke, a businessman, and a traveling salesman at the table. They played another hand, and Sluice scraped up the winnings again.

  “By God,” he said, “the luck’s with me today. I ain’t had a streak like this in a fucking coon’s age.”

  “Your luck’s got to play out sooner or later,” said the salesman. “Deal the cards.”

  Sluice dealt another round, and each man picked up his cards and held them close to his face. The cowpoke called for two cards, the businessman for one, and the salesman held on to what he had. Sluice held his. They made their bets and Sluice called. The businessman laid down his cards, a weak hand. The salesman put his down. It was a little better. The cowpoke put down his cards and grinned a wide grin.

  “Beat that, by God,” he said.

  Sluice smiled a sly smile and laid down his cards. “How’s that?” he said. He reached for the pot to scrape it in.

  “Your luck couldn’t be that good,” said the cowpoke. “I say you’ve been cheating.”

  “Either take that back or back it up,” said Sluice.

  “You son of a bitch,” said the cowpoke, reaching for his six-gun. Sluice’s revolver was out in a flash, and he blasted a hole in the man’s chest. The cowpoke was dead on his feet, but he staggered back a few steps to sprawl across the table in between Hardy and Jigs.

  “Goddamn,” said Hardy. Jigs grabbed the bottle just in time to save it. “Damn, Sluice,” he said. “Couldn’t you have killed him in another direction?”

  The two got up and moved to another table. Sluice kept his shooter in his hand and looked at the remaining players. The salesman put his hands up and shrugged. The businessman spread his arms wide. “The cowboy pulled his gun first,” he said. Sluice looked around the room. No one else said anything or made a move. Sluice holstered his weapon and finished scraping up his winnings.

  Just then a man with a badge on his chest stepped into the room. He looked around and spotted the body still laid out on the table. He walked over to look at it. “Dead, huh?” he said. “Who did the shooting?”

  “I did,” said Sluice. “It was self-defense.”

  The sheriff looked around, and several men nodded their agreement. “That’s right,” said the businessman. “The cowboy drew first.”

  “That’s right,” said the salesman.

  Over at the bar, the gambler who had dropped out earlier spoke up, too. “The cowpoke was a sore loser,” he said.

  “All right then,” the sheriff said, but he gave Sluice a hard look. “If I was you, though, I’d get the hell out of town.”

  “Funny thing, Your Honor,” said Sluice, “I was just thinking about that myself. It ain’t too friendly a town anyhow.”

  He poured himself another drink and downed it. Then he turned to his two cronies. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get out of this goddamn one-horse town.”

  Jigs and Hardy stood up, Jigs picking up the bottle, which was still about half full. On the way out of The Place, Sluice stopped and bought two more bottles. The three of them walked out of The Place and mounted up. They rode out of town, still headed south, actually a little southwest. As they rode, Jigs and Hardy drank from their bottle, passing it back and forth. Sluice reached out and took the bottle, taking a long drink before handing it back to Jigs.

  “How far we riding, Sluice?” asked Hardy.

  “I ain’t sure,” Sluice said. “I’m breaking new ground here. Don’t know how far it is to the next town.”

  “Say, how much money did you make back there?” asked Jigs.

  “Never mind that,” Sluice said. “I made enough all right. We’ll get along just fine for a spell, wherever we land up.”

  Gourd and Pierce rode into Jones Mill. It was a small place with only one saloon, so they rode up to the front of The Place, tied their horses, and went inside. They ordered a drink at the bar. When the barkeep poured their drinks, Gourd said, “Do you have a sheriff in this town?”

  “He’s sitting right over there at that table,” said the barkeep.

  Gourd looked, and saw a man sitting alone at a far table. There was a badge on his chest. Gourd picked up his drink and walked over to that table, followed by Pierce. The sheriff looked up.

  “Howdy,” said Gourd.

  “Something I can do for you?” said the sheriff.

  “We’re trailing three men,” said Gourd.

  “Killers,” said Pierce.

  “Killers, you say?”

  “The boss of the bunch is called Sluice. He killed a man in Cheyenne and was set to hang. His pals, names of Jigs and Hardy, busted him out. Then they murdered our boss, Trent Brady. There was four of us set out after them, but they ambushed our pard, name of Slocum. Our other pal stayed back in North Fork with him, waiting for hi
m to heal up, I guess. Anyhow, now it’s just two of us after them.”

  “Killed Trent Brady, huh? I knew old Trent. He was a good man.”

  “The best,” said Pierce.

  “Yeah,” agreed the sheriff. “Well, I expect your bunch was here, all right. Man named Sluice killed a cowpoke who objected to his poker-playing techniques. I told him and the others to get out of town. You’re not too far behind them.”

  “They head south out of town?” asked Gourd.

  “The only way they could go if you didn’t pass them on your way in.”

  Back in North Fork, Old Jan went back to the doctor’s office. When he went in, he saw Slocum still laid out on the table, still sleeping or unconscious or whatever he was. The doc looked up when Old Jan came in. “How is he, Doc?” Old Jan asked.

  “Not much change,” said Doc. “I can say this. He’ll live. He’s a tough one all right. He’ll come around, but I don’t have any idea how long it’ll be.”

  “Well, how much do I owe you?” said Old Jan.

  “Never mind that till he gets up and around,” Doc said. “That is, if you intend on hanging around till then.”

  “I’ll be around,” Old Jan said. On his way out the door, he met the young nurse coming in. He tipped his hat to her and went on his way.

  Night was falling when Sluice decided they better stop along the trail to sleep. He still had no idea how far it was to the next town. He chose a spot where the road, which wasn’t much more than a trail at that point, ran alongside a clear mountain stream. He ordered Jigs to take care of the horses and Hardy to build a fire. He sat down with his back against a tree and opened up one of his bottles to take a long drink.

  “Hurry up with that fire, Hardy,” he said. “It’s getting chilly tonight.”

  “I’m moving as fast as I can, Sluice.”