Slocum and the Santa Fe Sisters

by Jake Logan

  They shook hands on the deal and separated.

  Slocum decided they needed more time to work on this deal before they sprung the trap on Proctor. No way could they simply coax him out to the graveyard, find out about his hidden bank account, and then arrest him. They also could spook him off if they went too fast. As much as he wanted Proctor behind bars, Slocum owed it to the three women to get that money he must have stashed and then take him in for the New Mexican authorities to deal with. But time might also mean more chance of their exposure and him running off.

  He and Davis went back to the hotel.

  “You’re in deep thought about this deal?” Davis asked quietly as they walked the dark street, lit by an occasional streetlamp.

  “How bad do you want this woman who’s scorned you?”

  “Real bad. I thought I could come back here and convince her to marry me. My dad has a place down by San Antonio. He asked me to come back home and run it. I figured if Shelly would marry me, I’d settle down.”

  “All right. What if we arrest Proctor and you get the credit for it? Get your name in the newspaper for tracking him down. Would that convince her you’re serious enough?”

  “Hey, I’m helping you, not the other way around.”

  “Listen, if I can get you in good with her and that’s what you want, why wouldn’t you use it to convince her that you’re serious?”

  “Why do this for me?”

  “I like you. I’d like to settle down someplace myself, but I can’t. So if you can use this to get her, why not?”

  “What do I have to do?”

  “What we’re doing right now. Trap Proctor and then arrest him and you take him in. If there is as much money as I think he got away with, you could be well off with the reward from his wife for its recovery.”

  “Well off?”

  “It might get you, say, a thousand bucks.”

  “Whoa, that’s a lot of money.”

  “We haven’t got it yet. But do you think you could turn her head doing this?”

  “Damn, Slocum. I am serious about her. She ain’t the queen of England, but I’d sure like to have her and settle down. I ain’t gettin’ any younger.”

  “Keep up your appearances with her. Don’t be pushy. Then when it happens, act casual.”

  “Hey, you gave me a new lease on life tonight. I better get a bath, shave, and go see her tomorrow.”

  “Just act calm.”

  “Oh, I think I can do that.”

  In the morning, Davis went to clean up. By evening Slocum had an idea.

  * * *

  Schade had to send Proctor a message to meet him. They rehearsed what Schade needed to tell him—that he owned a share in his Grandpa Ralph Johnson’s slaughterhouse and was ready to sell it. But they had to be quiet because his father didn’t want him to sell. He’d heard that Proctor wanted to buy into that successful business, and his grandfather agreed to the sale even if it meant going against his son’s wishes. If they were quiet about it, Schade could help Proctor buy in for a small fee for his part. He wanted to do something else with his life.

  They met in at a restaurant uptown. Schade gave them the report later that night. “He really wants into that business. He acted cool enough but I know he’s pleased to have me helping him. I made a list of the things he wants to know before the deal goes further.”

  “Can we find all this out?” Slocum asked after looking at the list.

  “Hey, for ten bucks I can have it done tomorrow,” Hughes said.

  “I’m going to count on that,” Slocum replied.

  They returned the next night and went over the things Proctor wanted and the answers.

  When they finished, Schade nodded. “They have a damn good business, don’t they?”

  “Yes, and I can see why they don’t need his money,” Slocum said. “Schade, you now have all the answers he wants.”

  “Yeah, and I’m sure looking forward to fooling the bastard.”

  “Now you need to tell him that the old man wants to be damn sure he has the money to do this and where it’s at or he won’t talk to him.”

  “What if Proctor balks?” Schade asked.

  “Then we’ll tell him no deal,” Slocum said. “I think he wants in badly enough to agree.”

  “Meet him in the cemetery after dark on the north side in that grove of trees,” Davis instructed. “I think we can surround the place easily there.”

  “We need to be out of sight and ready to spring the trap when we find out the specifics of the money. Schade, you need to give him a cigar and light one for yourself when you get the information.”

  “I can do that.”

  “If he gets riled or anything, you drop the deal and we’ll come on the run.”

  “I may become a detective,” Schade said. “If Slocum will coach me.”

  They laughed.

  “Guys, if we get lucky and pull this off,” Slocum told them in a low voice, “I guarantee you’ll have some nice money in your pockets. I got a wire today. The sheriff in Santa Fe told Proctor’s wife that he would send two deputies here to get him as soon as he knew the authorities here had him in custody. So we’ll have no problem having him held. If we can learn the whereabouts of his money, we’ve got the frosting on the cake.”

  They nodded. In the next twenty-four hours, they would know if their plan worked or not. Slocum knew lots of things rode on the deal. But unless Proctor found out it was hoax, they should make it work. And the man’s greed also helped grease the tracks for them.

  When he and Davis went back, they talked softly along the way. “How are things going?” Slocum asked.

  “Better. You mean with my girl Shelly, don’t you?” Davis said.

  “That’s the other game we got going, isn’t it?”

  “I asked her yesterday if she would go down to San Antonio and look at the family ranch.”

  “And?”

  “She said she would but not to expect that would change her mind.”

  “Hey, you’ve made some progress.”

  “I told her I couldn’t explain what I was doing but I was gainfully employed for the moment.”

  “She understand that?”

  Davis nodded. “I think when she meets my parents and sees the ranch, I’ll stand a chance.”

  “Good. In twenty-four hours, we’ll know a lot more.”

  “Hey, I appreciate what you’re doing for me. I guess I was suspicious at first. Now it’s making sense. We’re going to win.”

  “Time will tell.”

  “You’re right, but I’m sure feeling better on all fronts. Thanks for taking me along.”

  The setup was made. Proctor was to meet Schade at eight o’clock in the graveyard. The cards had been dealt.

  By nightfall, Slocum, Davis, and Hughes were hiding in the cemetery in the area where Schade was to meet Proctor. When it was time to arrest Proctor, Schade would give the signal by lighting a cigar.

  On the ground about a hundred feet from the point where Schade waited, Slocum had a good view through the shadow of trees. The moon had begun to rise, and when the three-quarter globe provided some light, it would be easier to see.

  A single-horse taxi cab came clopping onto the grounds. The .44 in his fist, belly down on the ground, Slocum could hear Proctor tell the taxi driver to pull over and that he would not be long. The man drove the horse to one side.

  Slocum couldn’t hear the conversation between Schade and Proctor. His heart pounding in his chest was the loudest thing he could hear. The time passed slower than cold molasses. Then Schade struck a match and Slocum was on his feet.

  “Get your hands in the air or die,” he shouted. “This is the law speaking.”

  Schade had his hands up and Proctor joined
him.

  “What the fuck is this?” Proctor demanded.

  “I don’t know,” Schade answered.

  Hughes was there already and had disarmed Proctor. Davis told the cab driver to stay there.

  Proctor blinked in shock at Slocum. “Are you behind this?”

  Ignoring him, Slocum turned to Schade. “Well?”

  “He has two keys to two safe-deposit boxes in his vest pocket. He showed them to me. He planned to show me the money tomorrow at the bank.”

  “What the hell is this?”

  “Oh, your wife Camilla sends her regards and was sorry that she could not be here for a reunion.” Slocum took the keys from Proctor’s vest. “Are you ready to go back to New Mexico and stand trial?”

  “Listen, I can pay all of you—”

  “How much?”

  “Over a hundred thousand dollars.”

  “No thanks,” Slocum said.

  “Damn you. It was my mistake. I should have killed you myself.”

  “Hiring cheap help must have been the problem. Davis, you take him to the marshal and have him held for the Santa Fe sheriff, who has warrants for his arrest on felony charges. Hughes, go along and be certain he doesn’t try to get away. We’ll meet at the usual place at eleven tomorrow morning.”

  The First Bank of Texas opened at 9 a.m. Fifteen minutes later, Slocum entered the building and presented the keys to the clerk. The clerk told Slocum to follow him. Inside the brass-fronted safety-deposit box room, the man used his master key and the keys Slocum handed to him to unlock two boxes.

  Slocum thanked the man and began packing the satchel he brought with stacks and stacks of paper money. The job finally complete, he wondered how much was in the suitcase. It was heavy enough.

  He shut the doors on the deposit boxes and removed both of his keys. Then he walked out of the vault and thanked the man. On the street he hailed a taxi and went to the Wells Fargo Office four blocks away. There he talked to the manager about transferring the money to Camilla Proctor’s account in Santa Fe at the New Mexico National Bank, and the man said they would need to count the money.

  “Good. Do it. Just make sure it gets there.”

  “Oh, we’re totally insured, but we must know the amount we are handling.”

  “Okay, I’ll be back this afternoon for the receipt showing the full amount and indicating that you’ve sent it.”

  “Very good, sir. Do you have any idea how much is there?” He motioned to the satchel.

  “Two hundred thousand, maybe more.”

  “Good heavens. How did you get that?”

  “A man stole it from his family business. I’m returning it.”

  “They must be very pleased. Here is a receipt for the satchel saying it’s worth ‘about two hundred thousand dollars.’ When you come back, I will have counted it, sent, and will give you another receipt with the exact amount.”

  “The women who receive it will be very pleased. Thank you, sir. See you later.”

  Next, he sent a telegram to Camilla. He told her he had more money to send her from Proctor’s hidden stash. He also told her to send him three bank drafts: Jim Davis, one thousand; C. Hughes, five hundred; and Mark Schade, five hundred. He would distribute them. He would send her another telegram indicating the exact amount of the new stash of money once it had been counted. There was going to be lots of money for her family.

  Slocum and the three others met and had lunch at the Elephant. He announced that the money was being counted at the Wells Fargo Office and would soon be heading to Santa Fe.

  “How much?” Schade asked, busily eating his soup.

  “I am guessing it to be close to a quarter of a million dollars.”

  Schade about choked on the hot liquid he was swallowing. “He stole that much?”

  “He had plan B, I guess. He had a nice-looking mistress. Hell knows where she ended up. And we have no idea if this is even all of his money. His wife didn’t know how much money he had in the store safe. I guess he was lying to her all the time about his profitability. She had many friends among the upper crust of Santa Fe, and those ladies told the judge to get her out of the crazy house. When she was out, the pieces of Proctor’s life began to fall like dominoes.

  “Jim discovered him at the end of the Fort Worth-to-Denver tracks over by Tularosa and he beat us leaving for Fort Worth by twenty-four hours. But Jim found him here and that’s when we hired you two.”

  “You should have been there when Jim told those reporters his story about capturing Proctor in the cemetery,” Hughes said. “Man, he told them how he coaxed him out there so no one else would get hurt or shot in case that Proctor went to shooting at him. He told them all the charges that were awaiting him in New Mexico. And what a scallywag Proctor was. They loved it. He had his wife put away, shipped his kidnapped daughters off to a convent in shame, and even had his bastard grandson put in an orphanage. They were ready to lynch him down at the sheriff’s office today.”

  Hughes burst out laughing. Davis seemed a little embarrassed by all the attention.

  “We did well,” Slocum said. “There’s no doubt about that. You fellows will soon be a little richer. I’m grateful, and so are the women. If you ever need a job in New Mexico, all you have to do is tell them who you are—the men who nailed Harvey Proctor.”

  “Where are you headed next?” Hughes asked Slocum.

  “Oh, I have several places to go.”

  “If you ever need me, just holler,” Hughes said. “I’ll come a-running. Whew! I’m going to my mom and dad’s this next week and buy me some cows so someday I can own a ranch. They’ll be shocked I saved anything. Davis, what are you going to do?”

  “Build a house on my dad’s spread out in the hill country.”

  “What for?”

  “I hope my woman will marry me, and then we’ll go run the ranch. My dad’s getting too old to do it.”

  “You sound serious,” Hughes said.

  “It’s up to her now.”

  “And Slocum’s sugar-footin’ away.” Hughes laughed and raised his mug of beer. “Here’s to us all.”

  The party broke up. Slocum paid the bill for the food, then he and Jim walked back to the hotel to pack.

  “Do you think she’ll marry you?”

  “I hope so. I told her I’d build our own house down there.”

  “No idea what she’ll tell you?” he asked Davis.

  “I’m thinking she may do it. I hope the newspaper story impresses her some. Hell, I tried.”

  “You damn sure did.”

  They were almost to the hotel when a woman who was sitting on the hotel stairs jumped up and called to Jim.

  “Is that her?” Slocum asked under his breath.

  Jim perked up and hurried to hug her.

  By the time he got to them, she was crying and they were kissing.

  “Ah, Slocum, this here is Shelly.”

  She wiped at her wet eyes. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Slocum. I’m so glad you brought him back to Texas for me.”

  “It was no problem, ma’am. Are you two fixing to get hitched?”

  “Yes, we are, if he doesn’t change his mind.”

  “Naw, he won’t,” Slocum said.

  She laughed. “You sure sound certain.”

  “Good luck, you two. I need to move on. Thanks, Jim. I never could have done it without you.”

  They shook hands, and two hours later, Slocum was on board the Texas Central passenger train to Houston with a ticket to get off in San Antonio. With three weeks to kill before he was to meet his rich lady friend in Galveston, he planned to relax in the Alamo City. Something about the place attracted him time after time. The pretty brown-skin girls were one thing; the gentle music and dancing in the evening around the area of
the old church-fort were another.

  He could gather his wits again in such a soothing environment. That was what he looked forward to when he took a seat in the middle of the car, behind a young woman with a baby in her lap.

  At first, he didn’t paid her much mind but soon found himself in a conversation with her, and he turned around the empty seat in front of her so he could sit down to continue their conversation face-to-face.

  Joan Briscoe was her name. Her boy was Samuel Colt Briscoe. He guessed her to be close to twenty. She had blue eyes and light brown, almost blond hair, and a nice figure. He soon learned she was going to live at her family’s home place while her husband took a herd of cattle to the Kansas markets that summer. In the fall when he came home, he was going to come get her and his son and they were going to look for a new ranch for themselves. A very nice story. She asked him about the trail north that her husband was on by this time.

  When the train stopped in Waco, Slocum got off on the depot platform, found the three of them some food, and bought a newspaper. The headlines screamed about a thwarted bank robbery up at Denison. When he was back on the train, Joan offered to pay him for the food, but he refused, and held the boy for her while she ate.

  After she finished eating her fried chicken and bread, he ate his food and looked at the newspaper while she nursed her baby.

  He read that earlier on Tuesday three then unknown men rode into Denison, and at midafternoon pulled up masks and charged into the North Texas Bank on Ranger Avenue to rob it. In an exchange of gunfire with the bank president, Phillip Eubanks, and teller Rupert Cornelius, one of the robbers was shot dead. His name was Henry Pike. As the other two escaped to the street, the town marshal shot and killed James Erwin Briscoe of Fort Worth, a gang member. The third man escaped—his name was believed to be Harry Court. A reward of five hundred was offered dead or alive for this Harry Court’s capture.

  Slocum looked at the woman across from him. The clack of the train wheels on the joints pounded much louder. The sway of the car rocked them from side to side. How could he tell her that her husband had not been on a cattle drive at all, and that he was not coming back for her this fall? How did he get himself into such a situation?