Slocum and the Killers

by Jake Logan

  He was on his hands and knees, and someone kicked him hard in the ribs. He fell flat, and two or three men kicked him over and over again. At last, he sucked in some air. He was not at all sure what allowed him to do that, but he did not care. He was grateful. That was all. He sucked in more and more, and then, suddenly, they stopped kicking him. He lay there on his face in the dirt sucking in air.

  “All right,” Grimes said. “Pick him up and put him in the saddle.”

  He felt himself being pulled to his feet again, and then he felt himself being tossed through the air. He was sitting in a saddle. Hands turned him loose. He sat uneasily for a moment, and then he fell, landing hard again on the ground.

  “Put him back,” said Grimes, “and this time, tie him to the saddle.”

  He was picked up one more time, tossed again into the saddle, and then, with hands holding him in place, other hands wrapped a rope around him. He felt the rope being pulled tight. They turned loose of him, and he tried to fall again, but he could not. The rope was holding him in place. Then someone slapped the horse on the rump, and it took off. Jigs felt himself jerk back, but he did not fall. He would have fallen had he not been tied down. The horse raced off with him, heading south out of town.

  From his place on the hill, Old Jan watched it all. His assignment had been to keep an eye on Sluice and Jigs. He got up and saddled his horse. He started down the hill and headed south on the road. Sluice was out there somewhere. Old Jan had no idea how far ahead he had gotten. Jigs was not far. He had to follow them, but his immediate problem was getting through Bascomb. Things were pretty tense down there just then, and he was not at all certain that he could ride through the town unmolested. But he would have to try. He could not see that he had any choice.

  Down on the road, he headed into Bascomb. He rode slow and easy. Soon, he was moving into the town. He was pleased to see that the gang had moved out of the street and into the saloon. Even so, he still did not think that he could move through without detection. He kept going. He was riding past the saloon when Grimes stepped out.

  “Hey, you,” Grimes called out.

  Old Jan stopped his horse and looked over toward Grimes.

  “You mean me?” he asked.

  “Yeah, you,” said Grimes. “I’ve seen you in here before, ain’t I?”

  “That’s right,” Old Jan answered.

  “Where you going?”

  “Just passing through,” said Old Jan.

  “Come on over here,” said Grimes.

  Old Jan turned his horse and rode slowly over to where Grimes stood on the sidewalk in front of the saloon. He stopped his horse there.

  “What’s your business, mister?” said Grimes. “Why are you riding back and forth like this?”

  Old Jan thought quickly. He decided that the best thing was probably to just tell the truth.

  “I’ve got two partners back in North Fork,” he said. “We set out together, with one more man, tracking the men that killed our friend and our boss. We got one of them, but they killed one of us and wounded another. Hurt him pretty bad. Him and the other one are back at North Fork waiting for the wound to heal up. They sent me on to keep my eyes on the prey. Two men. Sluice and Jigs. My partners will be following me before long. I can’t lose those two I’m watching.”

  “Sluice and Jigs, huh?” said Grimes. “I want that damned Sluice myself. I guess I’ll just wish you luck for now. Ride on.”

  Old Jan touched the brim of his hat and moved out, heaving a sigh of relief.

  Up ahead on the road, Jigs bounced along painfully. At last, he had air in his lungs again, but it was still agony to breathe because of his stove-in ribs, so his breaths were shallow. His injured nose caused his entire face, even his whole head, to throb with pain. His vision was still blurred, and everything in his eyesight had a slight red tinge to it. He felt like cursing everyone, Sluice, Grimes, those men who were chasing them, the whole fucking world, but he didn’t have the energy. He rode along, his head bobbing on his shoulders. His hands were free, and he thought that he could untie himself, but then, he considered that he probably still could use the stability the ropes gave him. At last, he came to a stream running alongside the road, and he stopped. He managed to get the rope untied, and he slipped from the saddle. His legs collapsed under the weight of his body when his feet hit the ground. It took him some time, but at last he managed to get the horse unsaddled and picketed near the stream. He stretched himself out nearby. Soon he was asleep.

  When Old Jan came riding by, he did not notice where Jigs had moved off the road. He went right past the sleeping man, still in pursuit of Sluice. As he rode along, he wondered how far behind him Slocum and Billy Pierce were. He wondered if Slocum was yet able to ride and to shoot. The shooting was important. Slocum would need his shooting arm when he caught up with Sluice—if they ever caught up with the no-good bastard. The sun was already dropping low in the western sky, and Old Jan knew that he would have to stop somewhere sometime soon for the night. He started watching for a good place to make a camp.

  Sluice was riding hard. He knew that night was falling, but he was anxious to get lots of room between him and anyone who might be following. He figured that Grimes and his men had already killed Jigs. They’d had plenty of time to accomplish that task. They might be in pursuit of Sluice now. He rode hard, knowing that he was killing his horse. He just hoped that he would come across another one in time to make a trade. Then he would keep riding hard. He would ride well into the night. He would leave his pursuers far behind. He was also hoping to come across a road that would lead him either east or west, or better yet, a road that would lead east and west, thus giving him a chance to confuse his pursuers. He had plenty of cash on him, but it would not last him forever. He had to find a place where he could settle down for a spell and make even more.

  He cursed himself for being a fool back in Bascomb and making his move against Grimes way too soon. He’d had no idea how many men Grimes had at his call, though. He had been surprised by that. He should have waited longer. He’d had a nice setup there. Damn it all to hell. Well, he could get another one somewhere else. He would.

  Slocum and Billy rode along slowly. They did not talk much, but both men were anxious to come across Old Jan, knowing that he would have Sluice and Jigs spotted and would be keeping track of them.

  “Slocum,” said Billy, “don’t you think we’ll have to stop before long? It’ll be getting dark.”

  “We’ll keep going for a while, Billy,” Slocum said. “We’ll make it a short night.”

  “The road is good along here,” Billy said. “As long as we ride easy, we shouldn’t have no problems.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Slocum?”

  “What?”

  “You got yourself ambushed once. Charlie was ambushed and killed. We sure will have to be careful. We don’t want that to happen again.”

  “We’ll be careful, Billy. Don’t worry about that. And this time, we have Old Jan watching things for us. We ought to be just fine, at least until we come across Old Jan.”

  11

  Sluice was moving much more slowly. He had ridden all through the night. Soon, it would be daylight again. His tired horse was about to drop under him. He had ridden it near to death. He knew that he could not go much farther on it, and he sure as hell did not want to be walking out in the middle of nowhere. Had he paced his horse better, he would still have a good mount, but he did not consider that. He considered only that he was almost surely being pursued, and he intended to get away safely. So far in his life, he had learned, or so he thought, that everything always worked out in his favor, no matter how bleak things might appear to be at first.

  And then he saw the lane turning off to the left. It had to go somewhere. He turned the horse down the lane, and had not ridden long before he saw a small house, a thin plume of smoke rising from the chimney. If there was a house and a fire, there had to be a horse. He stopped at a distance from the house wh
ere his horse would not be heard, then dismounted, pulled out his six-gun, and started walking toward the house. When he got a little closer, he saw the small corral behind the house. He moved cautiously toward it. There were two horses, pretty good-looking ones at that. Then a dog started barking.

  “Goddamn,” he said, jumping with fright. Cursing himself for having been so easily frightened, he looked around. The dog was standing at one corner of the house growling and barking. If there was anyone at home, the dog would have roused him by this time. A shot wouldn’t matter a bit. Sluice aimed the six-gun and fired. The dog yelped and jerked and fell dead. The front door of the house flew open, and a man with a shotgun in his hands stepped out looking around wildly.

  “Max,” he said. “Where are you?”

  His answer was a shot from Sluice’s revolver. The bullet slammed into his chest, knocking him over backward onto the floor just inside his door. He kicked once and then lay still. Sluice hurried over to look at his bloody work. The man was dead. Sluice stepped over the body quickly, gun held ready, and looked around the room. It was empty. The man was alone. Sluice relaxed. He had all kinds of time. He had two good horses outside, and he had a house to himself. There would be food. He started to rummage around, and he found a bottle of whiskey. He pulled out the cork and had a swig. Then he continued looking for something to eat.

  Old Jan had stopped but a few hours for the night. He had roused himself early and resumed his journey while it was still dark. He moved along the road slowly. For one thing, he wanted to spare his horse. For another, he did not want to come across Sluice by surprise, either his surprise or Sluice’s. The road along which he traveled was hard-packed and rocky, and he could detect no telltale tracks. He only knew that Sluice had moved out in this direction. When he came to the narrow lane that turned off to the left, he paused. He could not tell if anyone had ridden down that way. He hesitated. Sluice had left Bascomb in a hurry. Old Jan could think of no reason for Sluice to slow his escape to turn down a narrow lane along the way. No reason, except—with the pace he had been setting, Sluice would have ruined his horse. He might wonder if there would be a horse available down the lane. Old Jan decided to take a chance on letting Sluice get farther away from him by spending a little time to check out this lane. He turned his horse and started riding to the left.

  The early morning sun was beginning to light the eastern horizon. Grimes left a few men to run his essential businesses, particularly the saloon, and mounted up with the rest of them to pursue Sluice. He made his men pack plenty of provisions for the trail. He did not want to have to stop his pursuit because of lack of supplies. There were nine men riding with Grimes, making a total of ten, and each man was heavily armed with a rifle and at least two revolvers. They rode out of Bascomb, making noise like a small army, with the pounding of horses’ hoofs, the creaking of saddle leather, and the clattering of arms. Grimes rode in the lead like a commanding general. Their faces were all hard-set and grim.

  Sluice finished his meal and drank down some more of his latest victim’s whiskey. The bottle was empty, and he threw it across the room. He packed up some food that he could carry along the trail, and then he went outside. He fetched his nearly ruined horse and led it to the corral. There he switched its saddle to a fresh horse. Throwing a rope around the neck of the other fresh horse, he tied the one end of the rope to his saddle horn. Next time he wore out a horse, he would have his spare right at hand. He mounted up and started back toward the road leading the spare mount.

  Just as he rounded a curve in the lane, he came face-to-face with Old Jan. Surprised, he jerked out his revolver and fired. His horse reared in fright at the sudden noise, as did the spare he led and Old Jan’s horse. The bullet missed Old Jan, but his spooked horse tossed him off to the side of the road. Old Jan rolled quickly out of sight into the thick bramble that grew there. He scrambled to his hands and knees and crawled deeper into the thicket.

  Sluice finally got control of his horse and dismounted. He started into the thicket, but after only a few steps, he stopped. He looked into the thicket, but he could not see clearly. The sun was still low in the sky, and the thicket was not well lighted. He could not see the man he had shot at. If the man was armed, he could be lying in ambush. He could have a bead on Sluice already, waiting for him to step closer, waiting for the perfect shot.

  “Fuck him,” Sluice said, and he backed out of the tangle, back out onto the road. He remounted and started to ride again, but he grabbed the reins of Old Jan’s horse as he passed it by. Now he had three horses. That was good, but what was even better was that the other man had none. He kicked his mount in the sides to hurry away from possible danger. Soon, he was back out on the main road heading south again. His belly was full of not particularly good food and cheap whiskey.

  Old Jan waited a safe time before poking his head out again. The lane was clear. There was no sign of Sluice or of any of the three horses. Old Jan knew that he would have to walk now. He heaved a heavy sigh and walked out onto the lane. He started to follow Sluice, but decided that he should walk on down the lane first. He saw the house soon, and as soon as he saw it, he could see the feet of the body sticking out through the front door.

  “Oh, hell,” he said.

  He walked on, and then he saw the corral and Sluice’s played-out horse standing nearby. The living took precedence over the dead, even if it was a horse. He found some oats near the corral and poured some out in a trough for the spent animal. He made sure there was water, and he led the horse into the corral. Then he walked to the front door of the house. He stepped over the body into the house, and he could see that it had been ransacked. He was somewhat pleased to find out that there was but one victim. He looked around some more until he found a shovel, and then he went outside and dug a grave. He put the body in the hole and covered it up. Then he went back to the corral. He found a saddle, blanket, and harness, and he got the tired horse ready to ride, but he did not climb on its back. It was not ready for that. He started walking back toward the road, leading the horse.

  Jigs woke up in his spot there beside the stream. The first thing he noticed was that he hurt all over. There was no place on his wretched body that was not throbbing with pain. His first effort to sit up was not successful. It accomplished nothing but sending sharper pains throughout his body. He groaned out loud and lay back again whimpering. “Goddamn that fucking Sluice,” he said out loud. “And double damn that son of a bitch Grimes.” The effort hurt him, so he shut up. He knew that he would have to try again to get up. He could not just lie there until he died. And he knew that it would take longer to heal up than it would to die. He tried again, but it hurt worse. He lay back and cried for a spell.

  With a supreme effort, he rolled over onto his stomach. The agony was so great that he screamed out loud, but he made it. He lay there for a spell taking shallow breaths. Even those hurt his ribs. At last, he pulled his knees up under him, and he pushed himself up on his hands. Every move hurt. Finally, he stood up. His legs were wobbly, but he managed to walk to the edge of the stream, and there beside his horse, he dropped back down on his belly and dipped his swollen and bloody head into the water. He drank. The swallowing hurt him. He soaked his head. At last, he managed to get himself up into a sitting position again.

  “How long?” he cried. “How long will it take?”

  He sat there feeling sorry for himself and assessing his situation. He was hurt so bad he could hardly move. It even hurt him to breathe. He had no food and no weapons. There might be people after him. If he started to move again, he might come across Sluice. Any way he turned, it seemed to him, was certain death. He had to think of something. He wanted to survive. He wanted revenge. He wanted it on Sluice, and he wanted it on Grimes. He remembered that he had money. He had plenty of money. But it was not doing him any good here and now. He would have to get himself to civilization somehow. Then he could use it. He could buy food and whiskey and guns and ammunition. He could get a room wi
th a soft bed and lay up in it until he was healed.

  He heard the sound of horses moving down the road, and as badly as it hurt, he crawled closer to the road and hid himself behind a tree to watch. They came closer, and he recognized Grimes and his men, the same men who had tortured him and hurt him so badly. He fervently wished that he had some weapons. He wanted desperately to kill them. But even more desperately, he did not want them to kill him. Letting him live one time might have used up all the charity they had in them. He hugged the tree until they were gone. Riding on. Riding after Sluice, he expected.

  It was around noon when Slocum and Billy Pierce rode into Bascomb. Slocum was sagging a bit in his saddle. Billy said, “There’s a saloon, Slocum. You need to stop for a bit?”

  “It wouldn’t hurt, I reckon,” Slocum said.

  They pulled up in front of the saloon, tied their horses, and went inside. The place was almost deserted, but there was a barkeep behind the bar and a couple of farmers sitting at one table. Slocum and Billy walked to the bar.

  “Bottle of whiskey,” said Slocum. “Two glasses.”

  “Coming right up,” said the barkeep.

  He placed the order on the bar in front of them and poured out two drinks. Slocum paid him.

  “Thanks,” the barkeep said.

  “Say,” said Slocum. “What’s going on around here? The town seems almost deserted.”