Slocum and the Killers

by Jake Logan

  They sat quiet for a moment until the unmistakable sounds of a coach and horses could be heard. All of the men pulled out their six-guns and waited. Finally, the coach came into sight. There was a driver and a shotgun rider on top. Sluice and Gillian could not tell about passengers, but two more armed men rode alongside the coach. Guards. Of course. Sluice thought that Gillian had to be right about this. Why else would a coach be traveling with armed guards?

  “Sluice,” said Gillian.

  “Yeah?”

  “Ease down to your left and tell Harvey to use his rifle. Tell him to pick off the driver and the shotgun.”

  “Gotcha,” Sluice answered.

  He scooted off to his left until he came to where Harvey was hidden. “Reb says pick off the driver and the shotgun,” he told him. “Use your rifle.”

  Harvey holstered his six-gun and picked up his rifle. He cranked a shell into the chamber and took careful aim. He waited a moment till the coach came closer, and then he squeezed the trigger. The driver gave a jerk and slumped in the seat. Harvey cranked another shell and took quick aim, firing a second shot, which knocked the shotgun rider off the coach. The man was dead by the time he hit the road. The body bounced a few times and then lay still. The coach, now driverless, raced wildly on down the road.

  “Take some boys and go get it,” Gillian said to Sluice.

  Sluice hurried to gather some help and chase the runaway coach. By the time they were all mounted and riding, the coach was out of sight. They rode hard after it. The two mounted guards had dismounted and taken cover at the first shot. Gillian and the remaining outlaws stayed hidden and fired wild shots at the two men. Now and then, the two guards returned fire. Mostly, the men on either side did not have good shots at their opponents. All parties were well dug in.

  Farther on down the road, Sluice and two outlaw riders caught up with the wildly careening coach. The two riders caught the lead horses by their harness. Sluice climbed up onto the seat and gathered the reins. “Whoa. Whoa,” he called out. Soon, the horses were settled down. Sluice looked under the seat and found nothing. One of the outlaw riders opened the door to the coach, and found himself facing another special guard who had been hidden in the coach. The guard fired, striking the outlaw in the neck. The flabbergasted outlaw, head bouncing ludicrously, slowly sagged from his saddle and fell onto the hard-packed road. Sluice dropped off the coach on the other side and fired a bullet into the guard’s back.

  The remaining outlaw turned his horse and hurried to where his partner had fallen. The man was still lying there, kicking and gurgling.

  “Bart?” said the outlaw.

  “He’s dead,” said Sluice, “or will be soon.”

  “He’s still alive,” said the outlaw.

  Sluice moved through the coach to the doorway nearest the wounded man. He thumbed back the hammer on his revolver, aimed, and fired a shot into the man’s heart. The twitching and the gurgling stopped. The man was dead. The remaining outlaw looked at Sluice in disbelief.

  “I just put him out of his misery is all,” said Sluice. “I’d do the same for you. Now let’s find that fucking gold.”

  Back at the gunfight, Reb Gillian was getting frustrated. He snaked his way down to Harvey.

  “We ain’t getting nowhere here,” he said. “We can’t see them, and they can’t see us.”

  “We’re just wasting bullets,” said Harvey. “You got any ideas?”

  “We got to draw their fire, so we can see where they’re at,” said Gillian. “I want you to run across the road.”

  “Me?”

  “It’ll be all right,” Gillian said. “If you move fast, they won’t have time to aim. Duck low and run like hell. Head for that big tree over there. As soon they show their damn heads, we’ll start shooting. You got it?”

  “Yeah,” Harvey said. “I got it all right.”

  Harvey took several deep breaths, then stood up suddenly in a crouching position and ran for all he was worth, zigzagging across the road. As soon as he moved, one of the guards popped up from behind a rock. Gillian and a couple other outlaws fired, and the guard dropped out of sight. The sound of the shots was like a spur in Harvey’s butt. His speed increased considerably, but just before he was about to duck behind the big tree, the other guard showed himself and fired a rifle shot that hit Harvey in the back, causing him to tumble forward and wind up on his shoulders with his legs sticking up the side of the tree trunk. He did not move. He was dead.

  At the same time, Gillian and the others fired at the second guard. The guard, like the first one, disappeared. Finally, the shooting stopped. After a few quiet moments, Gillian called out, “Boys. Get down there and make sure them two are dead.” There was a little hesitation, but the men began showing themselves. Slowly, guns ready, they walked down the road, mostly along one of the sides. Gillian waited till they had all walked past his position before he exposed himself. Then he stood up and walked behind them. The first of the gang to reach the area where the guards had been hidden finally called out, “This one’s done for.” In another minute, a shot was fired. “So is this one,” another man yelled.

  “Mount up,” said Gillian. “Let’s go find that coach.”

  Sluice had just jerked open the rear boot on the stage when Gillian and the rest came riding up. He had exposed a large locked box. Gillian pulled up beside him and dismounted. The others dismounted and crowded around Sluice and Gillian. Gillian pulled out his six-shooter and said, “Stand back.”

  They all backed off as Gillian fired, busting the lock. Sluice moved in quickly, throwing the top back to reveal bags. Gillian grabbed one of the bags and fumbled with the tie, at last getting it open. He shoved a hand in and came out with a fistful of gold coins, which he displayed to all. A general cheer rose up from the gang. Gillian dumped the coins back into the bag and tied the string again. He pulled out two of the heavy bags and held them toward one of the outlaws.

  “Put these on your horse,” he said. The man took them and staggered away under the weight. Then Gillian handed out two more bags, and two more, until all of the bags of gold were tied onto horses. He was out of gold bags before he got to his own horse or to Sluice’s horse. Sluice gave him a questioning look, and Gillian smiled and said in a low voice, “Don’t worry. They’ll all get to the ranch safely.”

  Grimes and his small gang arrived at the Gillian ranch, not knowing, of course, whose it was. Grimes stopped in the middle of the road and stared for a moment at the gateway. Finally, he spoke.

  “Let’s check in here and find out if anyone’s stopped by,” he said.

  “Sure, Boss,” one of the men answered.

  They turned and headed down the lane toward the ranch headquarters. Down the lane inside the house, Limpy looked out and saw them coming.

  “Hey, Jigs,” he said. “Come here.”

  “What?” said Jigs, hurrying over to join Limpy at the window.

  “Do you know them that’s coming?” Limpy asked.

  Jigs pressed his face against the windowpane.

  “Goddamn,” he said. “That there’s Grimes. Him I told you about. He’s the one that had me beat up. I knowed he’d be after me.”

  “Well,” said Limpy, “there’s seven of them, and there’s five of us. It seems to me like we’ve got the edge. We’re in the house and they’re out in the open. We know who they are, and they don’t know that you’re in here. They don’t know us. We sure as hell won’t let them get you, friend.”

  The riders came closer, and Limpy stepped out on the porch.

  “Hold on there,” he yelled.

  “Hold it, boys,” said Grimes, halting his own mount. The other six pulled up behind him. “Just seven travelers passing by,” he said to Limpy. “Looking for ranch hospitality.”

  “Well,” said Limpy, “ordinarily you’d get some, but the boss, he went off for a few days and left us shorthanded. His orders was to let nobody stop over.”

  “Well,” said Grimes, “could we maybe
at least water our horses?”

  “Trough’s over there by the corral,” Limpy said. “Go on ahead, and get it over with.”

  Grimes urged his horse toward the corral and his men followed him. “Come along, boys,” he said. Then louder, he said, “Thank you, friend.”

  The seven men rode to the trough. Two of them let their horses drink. “Don’t hurry it up now,” said Grimes. “Take your time.”

  The horses drank their fill, and the next two were moved up to drink. There were still three horses left. Meanwhile, one of Grimes’s men was staring at the house, but he was not looking at Limpy standing on the porch. He saw Jigs’s face pressed against the glass of a windowpane.

  “Boss,” he said.

  “What?” Grimes answered.

  “Jigs is in there.”

  “In the house?”

  “Yeah. He’s looking out the window to the right of the front door.”

  Grimes took hold of his saddle horn, put his foot in the stirrup, and swung himself into the saddle. When he did so, he allowed his horse to turn in a circle, and while the animal was turning, he looked toward the house. He saw Jigs there in the window.

  “He’s right, boys,” he said. “They’re hiding Jigs. That’s why they wouldn’t let us stop over.”

  The last horse was watered, and the other six men mounted up.

  “What’re we going to do, Boss?” asked one of the men.

  “See them bales of hay out in front of the house?” Grimes said. “Head for them.”

  They started riding back toward the road, but as they were about to pass the house, Grimes yelled and kicked his horse in the sides, heading for the hay bales. The others followed him. Behind the bales, they dismounted quickly and ran for the cover of the hay bales, allowing their horses to run loose. When they did that, Limpy turned and ran back into the house, slamming the door behind him. He went to a window and opened it so he could yell out.

  “What the hell are you up to?” he shouted.

  “You’re hiding Jigs in there,” Grimes yelled. “Send him out, and we’ll ride away.”

  “We ain’t sending nobody out,” Limpy shouted.

  “I’ll give you a little time to think about that,” said Grimes, “before we start shooting.”

  “Shoot away, you son of a bitch,” Limpy said, and he fired the first shot. His bullet buried itself harmlessly in the hay. Grimes and his six men started returning fire instantly, peppering the front of the ranch house and shattering every pane of glass in the windows. All the cowhands inside ducked down close to the floor. No one was hit.

  “Hold your fire, boys,” said Grimes. The shooting stopped. After the loud barrage of shots, the silence was ominous. Grimes and his men were huddled up low behind the stack of hay bales, safely out of sight of the men in the house. But if they stayed that way, they would be in a stalemate that could last forever. The men inside had food, shade, chairs, and beds.

  “What’re we going to do, Boss?” asked one of Grimes’s men.

  “I don’t quite know, Red,” said Grimes. “Give me a few minutes to think on it.”

  “Boss?” said Red.

  “What is it?”

  “I got me a idea.”

  “All right,” said Grimes. “Tell me about it.”

  “See that old wagon over yonder?”

  “Sure. I see it.”

  “I think I could work my way over there real slowlike by dragging one of these bales along.”

  “Yeah?”

  Once I get there and have the wagon as cover, I could shove the bale up into the wagon. I got some matches in my pocket. I could—”

  “Light the hay on fire and shove the wagon up against the house,” said Grimes with a grin on his face. “Is that where you were going?”

  “That’s just where I was going,” said Red.

  “All right then,” said Grimes. “Go to it.”

  Red grabbed hold of one of the top bales of hay and started pulling on it. Two other men gave him a hand. Soon the bale toppled over onto the ground. Staying behind the bale, Red began to move it. It moved only a few inches at a time, but it moved.

  Inside the house, Jigs was looking out a window. “What the hell are they up to?” he said. Limpy came running to his side.

  “Where?” he said.

  “Look,” said Jigs. “That there hay bale weren’t out there away from the stack like that. Were it?”

  “By God,” said Limpy, “you’re right. They’re moving it.”

  “Well, how come?”

  “Maybe they’re just trying to get up closer,” Limpy said.

  “Only thing is, they ain’t getting closer. They’re just kind of sidling along there.”

  “Well, they got to be up to something,” Limpy said. “Let’s see if we can stop them. Boys, empty your guns into that lone hay bale out there.”

  The five men in the house unleashed a salvo of bullets into the bale of hay, and when they did, Red scrunched up as near to the ground as he could get. He would have laid himself flat on the ground, but he was afraid if he did that, part of his body would show somewhere. As soon as Grimes figured out what was happening, he issued a new order.

  “Shoot those windows,” he called out.

  Grimes and his men behind the stack of bales started firing at the windows. One of the men inside yelped and dropped to the floor. “I’m hit,” he cried out. “I’m hit.”

  The rest of the men ducked low again. The firing stopped. The lone hay bale inched along again.

  15

  Red at last made his way to the wagon. He lay low for a moment, taking deep breaths. Then he stood up, grabbed hold of the bale, and heaved it up into the wagon bed. Some shots were fired at him, but another barrage from Grimes and the other men stopped it. Red pulled a match out of his pocket and struck it on the side of the wagon. He cupped his hands around it and held it to the hay bale. When he had a fire going, he hurried to the front end of the wagon and taking hold of the tongue, maneuvered the wagon toward the side of the house. When he had it aimed properly, he began to push. It went easily. It rolled smoothly and picked up speed. Red was soon running behind the wagon. And then it smashed against the side of the house. Red stayed there waiting. He watched until the flames had caught the wall and began inching their way up the side. Then he ran to the front corner of the house and gestured to Grimes that he was going to run around to the back. Then he ran.

  Behind the hay bales, Grimes watched gleefully as the flames crept up the wall. Then he said, “All right, boys. Before long, those bastards will start running out of the house. Red’s watching the back door. We’ll watch the front. When they come out, shoot them.”

  Inside the house, smoke began creeping in through the cracks in the wall and around the windows. “They’re burning us out,” said Limpy.

  “The dirty bastards,” said Jigs. “They’d burn us alive.”

  “In just a few minutes,” said Limpy, “we’ll have to leave the house.”

  “We can go out the back way,” said another of the men.

  “They’ll have that covered,” said Limpy. “Likely, the son of a bitch that set the fire.”

  “Well, he’s only one man. There’s several out front.”

  “Yeah,” Limpy agreed. “Let’s not wait. Let’s make a run for it. Now. Fire a couple of shots out the front window first.”

  The other man fired two shots at the hay bales, then ran for the back door. The men out front fired another barrage at the windows. Inside, the first two men ran out the back door. From the corner of the house, Red fired a shot, dropping the first man. The second fired a snap shot at Red, who ducked back around the corner. A third man, the one who had been hit before, ran out and kept running. Red peeked around the corner again, but the second man out was still there, and he fired again. Red ducked back again. Flames were licking high on the wall of the house by this time, and Red suddenly realized that he would not be able to hide there for much longer. Jigs came out then and ran like h
ell, and finally Limpy stepped out.

  “Let’s go,” he said, and he and the man who had been firing to cover them ran after the other two. They all ended up in the middle of an open field, vast and flat. It was grassland, good for grazing cattle, but not worth a damn for hiding. They stood there watching flames engulf the house.

  “What’ll we do now, Limpy?” asked the wounded man.

  “Here,” said Limpy. “Let me tie a rag around that wound.”

  “Ouch,” said the man as Limpy wrapped his bandanna around the nicked upper left arm and pulled it tight. “What’re we going to do?”

  “Those farts are still out there,” Limpy said. “We got no rifles, no horses.”

  “They’ll come looking for us pretty soon,” the man said.

  “Lay down flat,” Limpy said. “They won’t see us in the tall grass.”

  Meanwhile, Red ran back around to the front of the burning house. “Grimes,” he called out. “They got out the back way. I got one of them, but the rest are out there in back.”

  “Come on, boys,” said Grimes. “Mount up.”

  Grimes’s men, including Red, all hurried to their horses and climbed into their saddles, pulling the rifles out of the boots and cranking shells into the chambers. Grimes led the way around the blazing house. Behind it, they stopped. They looked around. They saw nothing. Grimes looked at Red.

  “Where the hell are they?” he said.

  Red swept his arm at the grassy field beyond. “Out there somewhere,” he said.

  “Let’s ride out there and get them,” said one of the men.

  “No,” said Grimes. “They got no rifles or else they’d be trying to pick us off right now. We’re out of their pistol range. If we go riding out there looking for them, we lose that advantage.”

  “So what do we do?”

  “Take the horses off to the side there,” Grimes said. “We’ll just stay here and watch. We can last longer than they can.”

  Out in the field, Jigs started inching his way through the tall grass, moving in the direction of the corral and the cookshack. He was grateful for the slight breeze that was causing the grass to wave. Perhaps his movements would not be detected. Even so, it was going to take him a hell of a long time to get there. He had two six-guns on him and a belt, its loops almost all stuffed with shells. As he crawled along, all of his bumps and bruises and scrapes and cracked ribs started hurting him again. He crept on.