Slocum's Close Call

by Jake Logan

  “Double-crossing bastards,” he snarled, and sighting quickly on Pride up on the balcony, fired. The dynamite stick landed on the ground just behind Slocum. As Stick ducked back inside the saloon, Slocum threw himself off his horse. He hit the ground with a thud, rolled, and grabbed up the dynamite stick.

  The women ran screaming for the perceived safety of the ranks of men across the road as Pride, staggering on the balcony, knowing that he had been hit bad, pulled out his revolver. He wanted to shoot someone, anyone before he died. He pointed toward the crowd of ranchers and cowboys across the street. He wavered. He fired.

  Slocum tossed the dynamite stick right back where it had come from. It sailed neatly back into the saloon over the bat-wing doors. Up on the balcony, Pride jerked and twitched as a barrage of bullets smacked into his body. Behind a row of Thurman’s mounted cowboys, Myrtle slumped in her saddle, a red stain spreading over her left breast. She had caught the wild shot from Pride’s six-gun.

  Then there was a deafening roar as the front of the Hi De Ho exploded, sending dust and debris out into the street, showering the riders out there. Horses stamped and shrieked. The four whores screamed. Riders fell or were blown out of their saddles, and frightened, confused horses ran this way and that in the street.

  Harman was growing impatient. He knew that Axel was up there on the rise, and he figured that he had left his rifle back on his horse. Otherwise, he would have been shooting. Harman thought about riding up there, but that would put him within Axel’s six-gun range, and he didn’t know exactly where Axel was hidden. He was safer right where he was. Maybe Axel would lose his patience and make a move for the rifle. Show himself. Then Harman could pick him off.

  But wait, he thought. He can’t hit me from that range with a six-gun. What if I was to just jump in the saddle and take off? It seemed like a good thought for only an instant. If he were to mount up and start riding, Axel would be able to run for his rifle and get a shot at his fleeing back. Even if he could ride off faster than Axel could take aim and fire, Axel would still be behind him and in pursuit. That wouldn’t work. But suddenly he knew what would. He took careful aim across his saddle. His rifle shot echoed through the morning air. Axel’s horse gave an almost human-sounding scream, reared, and fell hard to the ground.

  “Goddamn,” Axel said. A second shot rang out, and Harley’s horse staggered and fell. “Son of a bitch!” Axel shouted. He stood in time to see Harman mount up and start to ride. Axel ran to the side of his fallen horse. It was lying on its side, partially pinning the rifle under its dead weight. Axel took hold of the stock with both hands and started to pull. He looked back in the direction of Harman, but Harman was racing away. The rifle came loose, and Axel fell over backwards. Scrambling, he got to his knees and picked up the rifle. Sighting desperately, he squeezed off a round, and he saw Harman’s big black stallion jerk and kick. Harman fell off to the side.

  “Now we’re even,” Axel said. Rifle in hand, he started walking down the road.

  When the cloud of smoke and dust began to clear, Slocum, Joiner, and the others could see that the whole front of the Hi De Ho Saloon had been blown away. They knew that Pride had been killed up on the balcony. There wasn’t much doubt that the others inside, gathered there around the front door, had been blown to bits by the blast. Slocum wondered if it would even be possible to figure out who all had been there and been killed.

  “Goddamn,” Joiner said.

  “I reckon there ain’t no one left to arrest,” said Cobb.

  “Likely you’re right about that,” said Slocum. “It’s going to be damn hard to prove one way or the other, though.” He recalled that Pride had said that Harman had run off the night before, and he reminded Cobb and Joiner of that fact. “Why don’t we ask them girls?” he said. “They’re the only ones left that was in the building.”

  “I’ll do that,” said Cobb. He dismounted and started walking toward where the girls had huddled up behind the Thurman cowhands.

  As he approached, one of the hands in back called out to him. “Hey, Cobb. Lady’s hurt back here.” Cobb hurried on over to the cowboy who had called his name. Another cowhand was lowering Myrtle from the back of her horse. Cobb got to them just as they were laying her out on the board sidewalk. He could see immediately that she was hit bad. “Someone get Slocum over here,” he said. He knelt beside her.

  “Myrtle,” he said. “Can you hear me?”

  “Yeah,” she muttered. Her eyelids were half down, and her voice was weak.

  “Someone get a doctor,” Cobb yelled. Then he lowered his voice again. “Hang on, Myrtle,” he said. “We’re getting help.”

  Then Slocum pushed through the crowd of cowboys and dropped down beside Myrtle. He lifted her head gently and cradled it. “Oh, Myrtle,” he said. “Myrtle, it’ll be all right.”

  “John,” she said, her voice barely audible, “what were all those things you wanted to say to me?”

  “I wanted to say that I want to spend a lot of years with you,” he said. “I wanted to say I never before knew a woman I wanted to grow old with. I wanted—”

  He felt her relax suddenly in his arms, and he knew that she was gone. Silently he cursed himself for not having insisted that she stay behind at the ranch. Now she was gone. Just like that. All that life and all that loveliness. Gone was the vision in his head with which he had been struggling. The vision of a home and a settled life. All gone. All because of one stray shot, the only shot that had been fired in their direction.

  “Step aside,” someone said. “Here comes the doc.”

  Slocum didn’t bother looking up. “Never mind,” he said. He still cradled her in his arms, and slowly and gently, he rocked.

  Some of the men had gone inside the shambles of the Hi De Ho to see what they could see. “Here’s a boot,” one of them said.

  “Here’s one that ain’t blowed apart,” another one said. The body was close to the back wall, lying facedown and burned black all up and down its back. “He must have been running for it. Got farther than the others.”

  A cowboy wandered through the open door to Harman’s office. He stood studying it for a moment. Then he stepped back out. “Say,” he hollered. “One of you call Eddie Cobb in here, will you?”

  Outside, Cobb had stepped aside to leave Slocum with his grief. He was a little relieved to hear his name called, and he strode on over to the wreck of the Hi De Ho. Walking in through the mess, he saw the cowboy in the back waving him over. He picked his way across the debris to the open office door.

  “Look in there,” the cowboy said.

  Cobb looked. He saw the open window and the open safe. He walked over to look in the safe and saw that it was empty. “I guess ole Pride didn’t lie to us,” he said. “It sure looks like Harman flew the coop, all right.”

  He turned and went back outside, where he found Joiner talking with Thurman and some of the other ranchers. He walked over to them. “I guess it’s all done here,” he said, “except that it looks like Pride told us true. Harman’s gone. His safe’s standing open and so’s his back window. Looks like he run out on his own boys. Course there ain’t no telling how long it’ll take us going through this rubble here to prove who was in there and died. Maybe we won’t ever know. Far as I can tell, there’s just one whole body in there. The rest was blowed to bits, I guess. Still, it looks like Harman got away. We ought to investigate that.”

  “He’d have had to get him a horse,” Joiner said. “We can check down at the livery stable.”

  “Let’s you and me go do that,” Cobb said. “Should we say anything to Slocum?”

  “Not now,” said Joiner. “He’s sitting over there with Myrtle—taking it pretty hard. Let’s leave him be for a while.”

  Cobb and Joiner walked down the street to the livery stable, where they found old Gorman standing out front and staring down the street toward where the big explosion had taken place. “What the shit happened down there?” Gorman said as the two men approached hi
m.

  “Those old boys in the Hi De Ho tossed a dynamite stick at us,” Joiner said. “We tossed it back.”

  “God A’mighty damn,” said Gorman. “Who was they? Harman’s bunch?”

  “That’s right,” Joiner said.

  “You see anything of Harman last night?” Cobb asked the old man.

  “He come in here from the back way and took off with that big black stallion,” Gorman said. “Left out the back way too.”

  Joiner looked at Cobb. “Just what we figured,” he said.

  “About what time was that?”

  “Ain’t got no idea,” Gorman said. “I’d been sleeping. He woke me up. I never checked the time.”

  “All right,” Cobb said. “Do you know which way he rode out of town?”

  “Never looked,” Gorman said. “I went back to sleep.”

  “Well,” Joiner said, “maybe we can find some tracks. Anything distinctive about that black horse’s prints?”

  Gorman shook his head. “Naw,” he said, “but I reckon you could look for the prints of that little roan. She’s got a nick in her left front shoe.” He looked around a bit, then said, “Right here. See?” He was pointing to a hoofprint in the dirt.

  Cobb and Joiner looked at the print. Then Cobb looked back at Joiner. “What do we want to be looking for this print for?” he said.

  “Well, after Harman left,” Gorman said, “two of his rannies came along and woke me up again. Axel and Harley’s their names. They made me saddle up two horses for them. A sorrel and a roan, they was. They asked me if I’d seen Harman, and I made out like I hadn’t seen nothing. But I reckon they was taking out after him for some reason. I surely do.”

  “Mr. Gorman,” said Cobb, “thanks for the information. You’ve been a big help.”

  Cobb and Joiner turned to walk back toward where the others still milled around the scene of all the action, and Gorman hollered at their backs. “Does this mean that Harman and that bunch is cleaned out of here?” he asked them.

  “Yes, sir,” said Cobb.

  “That’s exactly what it means, Mr. Gorman,” said Joiner.

  “Well, hot damn,” Gorman said, and he did a little dance. “Hot diggity damn.”

  Walking along, Cobb said to Joiner, “I got to go after them two. They’re wanted for rustling, at least.”

  “Well, you ain’t going alone, Eddie,” Joiner said.

  “Thanks,” Cobb said.

  Slocum had torn himself away from Myrtle’s body and then not looked back. He would let someone else take care of it. He didn’t want to see it. He tried to see her as she had been alive, but the image of her limp body in his arms would not leave his head. He was afraid that it never would. He felt a terrible rage rising up inside him over what had happened to her. He wanted to kill someone. He knew it would do no good, knew that nothing could bring her back, but that didn’t matter. He wanted to kill someone. He remembered that Pride had said that Harman was gone. He hoped that was true. He could at least have the satisfaction of tracking that son of a bitch down and killing him. He was afraid that everyone else had already been blown to the winds.

  He was standing on the sidewalk across the street from the wrecked Hi De Ho, and was just about to walk over to inspect it when he saw Joiner and Cobb returning. He met them in the middle of the street.

  “Ain’t no need for you to go in there, John,” Joiner said. “Me and Eddie’s already checked it out.”

  “What did you learn?” Slocum asked. His face was grim, and both of the other men could see it.

  “John,” Joiner said, “why don’t you just take it easy for a spell? Go on back out to the ranch and rest up. We can handle the rest of this.”

  “What did you learn?” Slocum said again.

  Joiner sighed, and Eddie Cobb said, “Harman was not in there. He cleaned out his safe and ran out on his own boys, what was left of them. He got a horse down at the stable last night. We don’t know what time. But after he left, two of his boys, Axel and Harley, went in the stable and got horses. They took out after him. We figure they had found out he run out on them.”

  “Which way did they go?” Slocum asked.

  “We don’t know yet,” Cobb said, “but one of their horses has got a nicked left front shoe. All we need to do is look for its tracks.”

  “Let’s go then,” Slocum said.

  “John,” said Joiner, “you ain’t fit to ride out after them just now. Not just after—”

  “I’ll go alone, or you can ride along with me,” Slocum said. “Either way. I don’t give a shit.”

  He walked back to where his big Appaloosa stood patiently waiting, and he mounted up. Turning the horse, he rode toward the stable.

  “Come on,” Cobb said, and he and Joiner ran for their horses.

  17

  Axel cranked a shell into the chamber of his rifle as he walked. Pretty soon, he figured, he’d be close enough for a shot, and he wanted to be ready. He saw Harman stagger to his feet, obviously stunned by his fall. As Harman stood swaying, Axel started to trot. He needed to get his shot off before Harman recovered sufficiently to pick up his own rifle. He picked up his pace. He wasn’t quite close enough for a sure shot. He could see Harman straighten himself up, almost stretch, and shake his head as if trying to clear it. Axel watched as Harman, apparently recovered, looked up in his direction. Then Harman quickly retrieved his own rifle. Axel could see him work the lever, then raise the rifle up to his shoulder. Axel quickly jumped to the right side of the road and crouched behind a tree. A shot rang out, and Harman’s bullet kicked bark from the tree trunk.

  “Son of a bitch,” Axel snarled, and he snapped a shot off at Harman. He could see it kick up dust a few feet to Harman’s left. “Damn,” he said. He knew he’d fired too quickly. Harman moved to his own right over behind a rock there at the side of the road. Axel looked around at the surrounding landscape. He had to find a way to get closer to Harman. The growth along the side of the road was mostly low and scrubby. There was another tree not quite halfway down to where Harman lurked, waiting for him. He decided to try to make it to that tree by crawling along in the low brush.

  Dropping down to his hands and knees, he began moving slowly toward his new destination. Harman snapped off another shot, and Axel stopped still. He had no idea where the shot hit, but Harman must have seen him move, or he wouldn’t have wasted a bullet. Axel dropped down flat and began to belly his way along. He cursed Harman silently as he crawled. He was tearing his clothes, filling his shirtfront with dirt and rocks and scratching himself up. He was already a fair distance out away from civilization without a horse. Now, even killing Harman wouldn’t change that.

  He wanted to kill Harman, though. He wanted to kill the man for having run out on him the way he did, for having stolen from him, for having put him in this troublesome and uncertain situation. He also wanted all that cash that he knew Harman was packing. He thought again about the possibility of finding someone’s home not too far down the road. With Harman’s money, he would be able to buy a horse, pay for a home-cooked meal, and never even miss the money he spent. He decided that he’d have to push those thoughts back out of his mind, as much as they were bothering him. He needed to concentrate on Harman, on getting himself close enough for a good sure shot and on getting a dead bead on Harman before Harman even saw him pop up to shoot.

  Slocum, Joiner, and Cobb rode back to the stable, where they managed to locate the one telltale hoofprint. They followed it out of town, and soon they were able to determine pretty clearly that there were indeed two horses following a third horse. Axel and Harley following Harman. There seemed to be no question about it. “It’s them, all right,” Cobb said.

  “Let’s go get the bastards,” said Joiner.

  “They’ve got a pretty good head start on us,” Cobb said.

  “Yeah,” said Joiner, “but when Axel and Harley catch up with Harman, they’ll slow down for sure. They’ll be having it out. Hell, if we’re lucky, some of
them will be killed already by the time we get there.”

  Slocum rode in silence. He hoped that the three weren’t all killed. It could happen in a gunfight. He’d seen it before. This time, though, he hoped it wouldn’t happen that way. He wanted to kill someone himself for what had happened to Myrtle. He didn’t want to just see them dead. He wanted to do it personally. For a brief instant he thought that he should force himself to stop thinking about Myrtle and concentrate on tracking the three fugitives ahead and what he would do when he found them. Then he changed his mind. The more he thought of her, the more he remembered, the more he kept that final terrible image of her dying in his arms sharp and clear in his mind, the more determined he would be to catch them, and the more cold-blooded and hard and cruel he would be when he had them in his sights.

  “We don’t catch up with them pretty soon,” Cobb said, “we’ll be outside my jurisdiction.”

  “When that happens,” Slocum said, “you just turn on around and go back to town. Both of you. I’ll kill them myself.”

  It was the first thing he had said since they had started following the tracks out of Rat’s Nest, and the harshness of it stung both of the other riders. They had been partners in this fight. They thought they were friends. Joiner, especially, wanted to snap back, but he kept himself quiet. He knew that Slocum was hurting. He knew why. They rode on in an uneasy silence after that. They rode easy. As bad as Slocum wanted to kill, he was in no hurry. He savored the hard-edged hatred that burned in his breast. It didn’t need to be over with too quickly, this killing. The men they were tracking could run from him as far as they wanted to run. He would be right behind them, walking steadily. He would keep coming. No matter how far they ran, he would keep coming. Sometime he would catch up. Of the three fugitives, there might be only two left, or just one. Either way, Slocum would finish it.