by Logan, Jake
The old lady snorted. “That’s ’cause he ain’t a preacher. He ain’t much of anything—bad father, lousy husband, even worse farmer. ’Bout all he’s good for is making babies.” She glanced at the huddled children and her daughters as she resumed her post by the window. “Wonder how he got them guns.”
“You know well as I do, Mama, that he had them hidden away in that hidey-hole in the barn,” said Ruth.
The old lady nodded. “Wish I had known how many he had down there. We tried to break through them strap hinges, but it was sealed up tight and we had to get while the getting was upon us.”
Another volley rang out and the little house received another good peppering. “Dang them! Don’t they know we got kids in here?” The old lady shouted out the window, “Hey! I know it’s you, you old God-lovin’ savage!”
In response, she received another fresh round. From the other side of the front door, Ruth let out a sharp cry and spun into the back of the room, knocking into the wooden table. She clutched her shoulder.
Her mother and one of the twins went to her and soon had her seated with the children. “Hush now, hush now, it was only a grazing,” said the old woman to quiet the crying children. “She’ll be right as rain in no time.”
Slocum looked back toward Ruth, met her gaze. She seemed clear-eyed. Pained, sure, but she didn’t seem like one for fainting. They exchanged nods. He turned back to the window, wondering about the mess he’d stumbled into. “What kind of people would shoot their own family?”
“The kind that don’t care about them. The kind who only wants breeding stock. That’s what he called us. Breeding stock!” The old woman sneered as she bandaged Ruth’s wound, and directed a look of pure, smoldering hate toward the window. Slocum felt sure the rascals hunkered down somewhere in those woods felt her anger.
“Is that what this is all about? You ran away because you weren’t appreciated, is that it?”
“Isn’t that enough?” said Ruth. “You make it sound as if we should have stayed and put up with it.”
“No, I’m surprised you didn’t leave sooner.”
As full dark settled down about them outside, Slocum warned them against lighting the oil lamp. “They obviously don’t care about you or the children, and have proven they’ll shoot to harm, or worse, so I’d keep the light to a minimum, at least until I can figure out where they’re holed up. Or if they’re creeping up on us.”
“You think they’d do that?”
“Yep. I would if I had my prey pinned down in a little house. I’d do my best to make sure no one could leave.”
From outside, a sharp voice rang out. “Hey, in the house!”
“It’s him,” said the old woman to the people in the room. Then she shouted out the window, “What do you want, you beast?”
“You come back home now. You’ve made your point, but you all are just women! The Good Lord saw fit to give you to us, but His teachings tell us that second-class citizens ain’t allowed to express themselves such as you have done here. Now come back home and one month’s worth of lashes and fasting will be the only punishment, you have my word on that! But I warn you, any more of this foolishness and the Good Lord will guide my hands to exceed the reach of the lash! You have received but a taste of His mighty vengeance!”
“This is foolish. I’m going out there to stop this old thumper once and for all.”
“This ain’t your fight, Mr. Slocum. You leave him be, you leave them to us.”
“Like hell I will. He’s got me pinned down here, too. But he’s shooting at you. Hell, he already shot one of you.” He gestured at Ruth. “He’s turned his own sons against his own wife and daughters and grandchildren.”
Slocum wasn’t actually quite sure what the family arrangement was, but the members didn’t seem to be all that afflicted with inbreeding. Maybe some of them were from outside. He didn’t really care at that moment; he only wanted to put an end to it, by putting a bullet in the old man’s head if need be.
Despite his brief bit of late-night fun with Ruth, this family, both sides, had caused him more harm than good. And all he wanted now was to get the heck out of there. But like it or not, he was smack-dab in the middle of their family feud.
“You all keep your heads down. I have something to do. I’ll be back.” He ignored the volley of voices that begged him to stay, not to go out in the dark. But he knew the cover of night could be a blade that cut both ways. He slipped out the back door, and stopped short when he heard the old matriarch behind him.
“Whatever you do, don’t you kill my babies, Mr. Slocum. They might be devils, but they’re still my sons.”
“I understand, ma’am, but I can’t promise they won’t die if they draw on me.”
He took advantage of the near dark and stiff-legged his way into the night. He kept low, made straight out back behind the place, then angled right and hobbled around the corral, then the barn. He was rewarded with the flare of a match a few hundred feet away. Someone else was taking advantage of the cover of darkness, and coming closer, from the sounds of it—and they were none too quiet, sounding as if it were a blind bear.
Judging from the size of the older boys, they were quite capable of resembling bears. Slocum cat-footed around the end of the barn and paused at the edge of the road. There were the footsteps again. Stopping, then starting, someone was also waiting to hear the footfalls of an opponent. Slocum wouldn’t give him the courtesy, though. He waited him out. When he heard the other person’s boots on gravel, he tensed. His opponent was on the little roadway then, creeping toward him, and sounding as if he might walk over the top of Slocum.
Just enough new-rising moonlight peeked above the trees and skylined the brute. Slocum recognized the man as one of the bigger older boys. He had no way of knowing how far off the other four were, but he couldn’t risk letting this one through. He counted one, two more steps, then leapt to action. He drove the stock of the rifle at the big, shaggy head and was rewarded with the satisfying thunk! as wood met bone. The big man buckled in the moonlight, folding like a pocketknife before him. As he dropped, a groan wheezed from between his lips.
Great, thought Slocum. Now all I have to figure out is how to get him back to the barn and tie him up. Not one of my better-thought-out plans, but at least I prevented him from making his way to the house to torment the kids and the women.
But would he have tormented them? Maybe he was only trying to get away from his demented father, too. Maybe he was using the only thing he had at his disposal to do so—the darkness of nighttime. Or maybe the father’s brainwashing was so complete that he was intent on doing them all harm, on stopping them any way he knew how.
Slocum tried to drag the brute off the road by the shirt collar, but between the man’s size and his dead weight, Slocum’s own injured leg, and trying to balance his rifle, he wasn’t up to the challenge. He managed to get the big brute to the edge of the road. He also managed to unbuckle the man’s gun belt. He slung the leather over his shoulder, making sure the pistol was secured with a hammer thong in its holster.
He figured he’d head back to the house, get someone’s help, maybe Judith, then truss up the man and drag him to the barn before heading out to do the same to the others. It was just luck that this one fell in his lap, but maybe the men weren’t all that bright and would keep making the same mistakes. He could only hope so.
He repeated his short journey to the house, where the women were still trading random shots with the unseen attackers. “They’ll ease up once full dark lands on us. There’s no way they can keep shooting with any accuracy in the dark. But that means no lamplight from inside here.”
“Why, Mr. Slocum, you sound as though you’ve done this sort of thing before.”
“Matter of fact, I have.” But there was no time for his comment to sink in, because a fresh barrage of bullets chew
ed their way into the already pocked exterior of the little house. But something about it was different.
There were less of them from the front, which meant that some had moved or were in the process of skirting them, surrounding the place. None would be safe, then, for the inside of the house was half exposed to the weather. It sat there, open at the back, the dry wind slicing through, making slow progress in chewing away all the work some long-ago farmer and his family had put into the little place.
Bu he figured he still had enough time to truss up that big brute he’d coldcocked earlier, then drag him to the barn. “I’m going back out there. I have to deal with something.” He didn’t dare mention to them that he had clubbed one of their own. They’d either attack Slocum or find the man he’d hit and tear him to pieces. He felt sure that, given half a chance, they could be as crazy as their father. If Slocum felt himself doubting that fact, he only had to think back on what they did to the old man and the boys.
He slipped out and paused, low, behind the wagon. No shots rang out. Maybe they hadn’t really begun surrounding them yet. He took the chance and headed low and as fast as he was able. No shouts. He’d made it to the far end of the barn when he heard a sound behind him. He spun fast, jacking a fresh round into play in the rifle.
Judith stared at him, her eyes wide. “Don’t shoot me, Mr. Slocum,” she whispered.
“Dammit, Judith, what are you doing? I almost . . .” He shook his head, then said, “Come on. I thought we talked about you following people. Bad habit, you know.”
By the time he made it back with Judith in tow to where he had dropped the man like a big sack of wet sand, the man was gone. “I know I left him here,” he said in a low whisper.
“Who?”
He looked at her. “I hit one of them.” He saw the worried look on her face. “Nah, I mean I knocked him out, not shot him. Not yet.”
“Well, he ain’t here now, Mr. Slocum.”
“Gee, thanks. Not sure what I’d have done without you along.”
“No need to get huffy with me. I’m here, ain’t I?”
“Yeah, so you are. Okay, but we best keep it down, skedaddle back to the house.”
As Slocum and Judith light-footed back around the low barn, he heard the quick ratcheting sound of a hammer cocking back. In the sliver of a second that it occurred to him, he dragged Judith down to the dusty earth and lay atop her as best he could to shield her from anything that might kick up—like a bullet. At the same time, he marked the burst of flame where the rifle shot came from and directed two quick pistol shots straight at it. He was rewarded with the sharp strangled gurgle of someone shot in the throat. That’s all he’ll ever say again, thought Slocum, acutely aware that the girl with him was probably the dying man’s sister.
He pushed away from Judith. “You okay?”
He saw her nod once in the pale new moonlight.
“I’m sorry, Judith. You know I had no choice. They may be your family, but they are behaving like wild dogs.”
“I know.” Her voice sounded raw, husky, the voice of someone about to cry. He supposed he couldn’t blame her. Kin was kin, after all.
“Let’s get back to the house. We have to talk with the others, form a plan. Something tells me we’re in for a long night.”
Once back inside, he was careful to keep his voice down for fear of frightening the children, who were sleeping in a pile in the corner. He didn’t blame them. But there was too much commotion tonight for the rest of them to get any rest.
“Look, ma’am. We need to post a couple of sentries so they don’t sneak up on us. They’re like a pack of mad wolves, there’s no telling what they’ll do. We should have at least four on constant lookout. By my count there are four of them.”
“Five,” said the old lady, but she paused when Slocum didn’t respond. Her face grew stony and sad, all at once, when he shook his head.
“Who was it, then?”
He shrugged. “No way for me to know.”
“You didn’t see who you shot?”
“Not in the dark, no. I’m sorry.”
“Then how do you know you got anybody?” She sounded hopeful.
“There was no mistaking it, ma’am.”
She turned to the girl. “Judith, is he speaking truthfully?”
“Yes, Mama. He did it to save me.” Then the girl broke down, sobbed into her hands. No one made a move to comfort her.
The old woman’s face became even more pinched. “It’s not knowing which of my babies is gone. I never should have done this, never should have dragged you all out here. It’s my fight with him, always has been.”
Ruth barked a short laugh. “Your fault? Your fight? Who do you think has put up with them all these years? Don’t you dare try to shoulder this blame all for your own. I wear it proudly. I’m a full-grown woman and so are they.” She nodded toward the twins.
“And Judith.” Ruth looked around, but Judith must have slipped outside. “Wherever she got to is pretty near it, too. And someday they will be.” She nodded toward her sleeping children. “No, Mama. This is our fight and we ain’t goin’ back.”
Slocum cut in. “Fine, now that we all agree that we’re on the same side, what do you say we hammer out a plan to keep them from wearing us down before we can do it to them.”
Within a minute, they had each chosen a direction to keep guard over, the mother taking the front, along with Ruth covering the east and rear, while the twins took the west and helped with the front and rear. Slocum felt he would be best suited making sure the perimeter of the place got a close look throughout the coming long hours of dark. “While I’m out there, I’ll find Judith and send her back inside to help you cover the house, protect the children.”
“Mr. Slocum, don’t shoot any more of my babies.”
He stared at the old lady for a moment, then stepped on out the door into the dark, keeping low and hugging the side of the house. He hoped like hell they could buy enough time to get them to daylight. And after that? he asked himself—and came up with no good answer.
15
Slocum headed straight out the back and kept going until he felt the longer grass of the sloping meadow brush his fingers. Then he cut west and soon found himself in the sparse undergrowth. He intended to continue in this manner until he circled wide enough that he could come up on the men from behind them at their camp, assuming they had made one.
It was turning cold, so he guessed they had backed away from the roadway enough to build up a campfire. Likely as not, they’d try to storm the place in the night, so he didn’t want to venture too far away from the women and children, but he had to try something. Sitting still, like a lone duck on a small pond, wasn’t something he was used to, leg wound or no.
Most of all, it gave him the chance to do something constructive and a way to work out his frustrations with this family—both sides. He held nothing against the women—they were trying to better their lot in life. It was obvious they had to get away. And the men? What sort of family opened fire on its fellow family members? He didn’t feel too bad about shooting one already.
He felt the ground slope gradually away from him, and he did his best to avoid stepping on anything that might crackle and snap underfoot—not an easy task in the dark. A couple of times he made the mistake of setting his wounded leg down too heavily on a brittle branch or loose rock and froze, crouched low, hoping none of the Tinker men were nearby with a rifle swung his way.
The night had gone cool, but he’d worked up a sweat in the short amount of time he’d been walking. Then he stepped on another stick with his increasingly stiff and throbbing, tired leg. The crackle of twigs sounded to him like a series of forest-floor gunshots. He paused, frozen in place. Then the finicky cloud cover slid westward and revealed the three-quarter moon. It served to help him orient himself. He loo
ked down and saw he’d been steadily edging toward a forty-foot drop that led down to the rough roadway. But it was a drop with no easy way to the bottom, unless he ventured another few hundred yards to either side.
Slocum bent his head back and breathed deeply. The cool night air felt good on his feverish, sweat-covered forehead. What was he doing? He was as crazy as them. He should crawl back to the little ramshackle barn, curl up in the hay, and wait for daylight, when the Tinker men would most probably begin their demented assault again.
But then he heard it, the faint but unmistakable sound of someone or something advancing on him. He couldn’t count on the moon to save him twice—discovering the cliff was enough. But it would be the moonlight that would reveal to him whatever was advancing with barely veiled stealth.
Slocum spun and dropped all at once, bringing the rifle to bear as he landed prone, his feet hanging off the edge of the rocky precipice. He squinted into the gloom, back where he’d come from. There was a dark, hunched shape there, looking less like a rock than a man trying to look like a rock. Whoever it was didn’t realize that rocks, especially large ones, rarely wobbled. Then the rock spoke.
“That you, Peter? It’s Caleb.”
Slocum thought about his next move for a moment. Maybe this would work out just right, and he could draw in the fool as if he were using a call on a turkey or grunting for a moose. “Yeah,” he said in what he hoped was a sufficiently Peter-sounding tone.
“Well, come here. I seen you for a while now, looks like you did what Papa asked and figured out a way down there. He wants to get in that house, without no more blood being spilled, only if need be, he said. I . . . I don’t know if I can follow through with his wishes.”
The man was breathing hard and he advanced like a bear, on all fours. Slocum couldn’t back up, and dashing to either side would show the man he was definitely not his brother. He’d have to wait him out. At least he had the advantage of his rifle, and he trained it on the big man.