Slocum 420

by Jake Logan

  He wasn’t there for more than a few seconds before he heard a light knock on his door. “Yeah?” he grunted.

  The door was pushed open by a tall woman in her early twenties. She had long, golden hair that was kept in a single thick braid currently pulled forward to rest over her shoulder. She looked at Slocum with bright blue eyes and whispered, “Not so loud. My mother will hear.”

  It had been difficult for Slocum to wrap his head around the fact that Greta Morrison was Helga’s daughter. With a bit of imagination, he could see something of a resemblance in both of their narrow faces, but Greta’s hair and bright complexion made a comparison between the two seem more like night and day. Greta did have the same slender build, but hers was accented by firm, rounded breasts.

  “Your mother is already mad at me,” Slocum said. “Adding one more thing to her list won’t hurt my case any.”

  “Then you do not know my mother.” Greta stepped inside and shut the door behind her. “I was hoping to see you tonight.”

  “And here I am.”

  “I meant . . . see you when the house was empty. Everyone went away to a town meeting and I waited for you.”

  Allowing his eyes to wander along the smooth curves of Greta’s body and the milky slope of her neck, Slocum said, “Maybe we could make up for some lost time right now?”

  As he stepped forward and placed his hands upon her hips, Greta moved back and gently pushed his hands away. “Now is not the time for lost time,” she said. Even though that didn’t make perfect sense, the way she said it still held plenty of promise for times to come.

  “I thought since you came to my room and all . . .”

  “I came to make sure you were all right. I heard about how you were hunting down Lester Quint.”

  “You did?” Slocum asked. “So you know that thieving son of a bitch?”

  “He rented a room here when he first came to work at the mill. My mother did not like the look of him and told him she had to rent his room to someone else. When he came back to see there was no one else, Lester got very upset.”

  “What did he do?”

  “Nothing,” Greta said with a smirk. “Especially when my mother pointed her shotgun at him and told him to leave.”

  “I always knew there was something about that old gal I liked.” Slocum placed his hands upon her hips again and pulled her close. “Something other than her daughter, that is.”

  She smiled and tried to pull away. Since she wasn’t trying very hard, Greta’s movements simply made her hips shift in Slocum’s hands and her body writhe against his chest. “I told you,” she whispered. “Now is not the time. My mother might even know I am out of my room already.”

  “You’re not a child, Greta. You can do what you please.”

  “I know that, but this is my mother’s house. If you think the rules she has for her boarders are something, you should see the rules she has for me.”

  Slocum put his face close to hers and whispered into Greta’s ear while reaching around to massage her tight, rounded buttocks through her skirts. “Then why don’t you buck against the rules? Wouldn’t that feel good?”

  “God, yes,” she purred.

  And as if responding to every hushed word that passed between them, a set of methodical footsteps pounded against the stairs in the hall. Greta turned around so quickly that her braid slapped Slocum across the face. “That’s her,” she said in a hurried whisper. “I’ll see you later.”

  Before Slocum could do or say anything, Greta was out of his room and shutting the door behind her. She padded down the hall as footsteps from the opposite end reached the top of the stairs. Feeling like a boy who’d been caught with his knickers down, Slocum remained perfectly still. Greta hadn’t shut the door all the way, so he held it in place.

  The footsteps stopped directly in front of his room, and Slocum felt a chill run down his spine. Suddenly, the notion of misbehaving with Greta wasn’t so appealing. Not only did Helga have access to a shotgun, but he knew the old woman well enough to be certain she’d use it.

  “Mother, what are you doing there?” Greta asked.

  Slocum could hear a grating breath, followed by footsteps that traveled a bit farther down the hall. “I should ask that to you,” the old woman whispered in a way that made her voice carry almost as much as if she’d talked normally.

  “I am going to my room.”

  “From where?”

  “Honestly, Mother,” Greta said. She groused a bit more, but Slocum couldn’t make out much of what was being said. He was ready to write off the rest of the conversation as a scuffle between mother and daughter before he heard the latter portion of Helga’s response to her.

  “. . . know what sort of man he is.”

  Slocum scowled, wondering what sort of mud was being slung at him while his back was turned. In order to find out, he eased the door open just enough for him to lean out and hear a bit more without being seen in the darkened hallway.

  The only other guest in the boardinghouse was a gambler named Robert McCoy. Slocum had played cards with him once or twice and used to think that the older man from Mississippi was putting on an act when he claimed to be partially deaf. Getting others to believe something like that could be an advantage at a poker table, but McCoy didn’t win nearly enough to warrant much suspicion. Helga must have believed it well enough because she didn’t seem to be worried about waking him as she stood in front of the door to his room with her hands upon her hips to scold her daughter.

  “I have heard some things about that man,” Helga said while jabbing a finger back toward Slocum’s room. “You would do well to stay away from him.”

  “You gossip too much,” Greta said. “And those old hens you have tea with gossip even more.”

  “It was not from them that I hear these things. Well,” Helga amended, “not all of these things. Some I have heard from Sheriff Krueger.”

  That sparked Slocum’s interest. In fact, it took every bit of restraint he had to keep himself from throwing open his door and charging out to demand the entire story be told to his face. Fortunately, it seemed he was going to hear plenty more without having to be so forward about it.

  “What did you hear that was so bad?” Greta demanded to know.

  Helga dropped her voice, prompting Slocum to ease his door open and lean out.

  “. . . sheriff told me when he came around asking about him earlier this evening,” Helga said. “He was out to kill another man in town. Did you know that?”

  “Did he kill that man?” Greta asked.

  “No, but there was some trouble.”

  “I’m sure there was a good reason for John to be upset.”

  “But the sheriff also told me that someone has been to town looking for Mr. Slocum,” Helga continued. When she twisted around to take a quick look down the hall behind her, Slocum thought for certain he’d be spotted. The old woman held her candle, which cast a flickering light upon her wrinkled face while also making the shadows even harder to pierce from a distance. Even though she looked almost directly at him, she turned back around as if she hadn’t spotted anything worth her concern.

  “Those men at the mill fight and argue all the time,” Greta said dismissively. “That is what men do. If John and someone else had words or perhaps fought, then the sheriff is doing his job by checking on him.”

  “It is more than that,” Helga insisted. “The man who came to town looking for Mr. Slocum is a killer. A paid killer.”

  Now Greta looked toward Slocum’s room. Whether or not she could distinguish any details past the light being cast by her mother’s candle, Slocum couldn’t be certain. She did appear to be somewhat concerned, however. When her mother whispered in a voice that Slocum wouldn’t have been able to hear if he was two feet away from them, Greta allowed her to enter her room. The door shut and all Slocum could see af
ter that was the dim flicker of candlelight seeping beneath the closed door.

  Slocum eased his door shut and stood in the dark for a few seconds. Being in the quiet room without much of anything to occupy his senses allowed him to think clearly. One name sprang to mind upon hearing the two women talking in the hall. It was the name of a man who wanted to see him dead and had a fairly good reason for it. Until now, he’d thought Bennsonn was plenty quiet enough to remain hidden away from prying eyes. So far, the only trouble Slocum had experienced was with Lester Quint and he’d already handled that. But now this matter rose up from the recent past to try and sink its teeth into him. He’d ridden all the way to Bennsonn to wait for that storm to pass. From what he’d just heard, it seemed that very storm had found him instead.

  “Damn it, Buck,” he snarled under his breath. “You’re gonna make me kill you, is that it?”

  6

  “You’re killing me, John! You truly are.”

  It was the following morning when Slocum shrugged at a stout man with a scruffy beard. “I don’t know what else to tell you, Mr. Womack. That’s just the way it’s got to be.”

  Sifting stubby fingers through his thinning hair, Womack scratched his head, which sent a fine mist of sawdust drifting onto his shoulder. He and Slocum stood outside his office in the mill. The saws were working at full capacity, which filled the entire building with the sound of iron teeth biting into solid wood. Along with that, men shouted back and forth while logs were dragged into place to wait their turn beneath the large spinning blades.

  “But I just gave you that job!” Womack said. “Why would you quit so soon?”

  “I’m not quitting altogether,” Slocum explained. “Just turning down the promotion.”

  “Is it because of what Lester did? I can loan you some money until the next payday and I swear he won’t be a problem again.”

  “Oh, I’m not worried about him,” Slocum chuckled. “I just think it might be better if I stay where I was, working as nothing but another set of hands.”

  Womack crossed his arms and studied Slocum carefully as if he was expecting some sort of surprise. When he didn’t get one, he said, “I suppose that’s your choice. Hate to lose a good man, though.”

  “Like I said, I’m not going anywhere.”

  “I know, I know. I heard you the first time,” Womack grunted. “You’re a fine worker, so if you want to go back to splitting logs instead of overseeing the men, I won’t stop you. Just promise me you’ll think about reconsidering my offer.”

  “I will.” Since there wasn’t much else to say, Slocum left the disgruntled Womack to fret about hiring another overseer and found a group of men who looked like they needed help loading logs onto a cart to be brought inside.

  Work at the mill was hard, yet simple. Both of those things did Slocum plenty of good. Keeping his muscles moving and sweat rolling down his face allowed him to get his blood flowing and work up a hell of an appetite. As his body strained, his mind was able to digest plenty of other things. For the moment, his main concern was what he’d overheard the night before. Although he didn’t worry much about a random bounty hunter trying to cash in on his scalp, Slocum was all too familiar with one that had recently taken it upon himself to track him down. Just having Buck Oberman in the same town as him meant trouble would soon follow. Any hint of a scent he might catch would only strengthen Buck’s resolve. It was only a matter of time before he caught up with Slocum, and when he did, things would get real messy real fast.

  Slocum thought about this for the rest of his workday, tossing different possibilities back and forth in his mind as he carried logs, swept floors, loaded freshly cut planks, and even fixed a broken cart wheel. By the time the day was over, he wasn’t certain giving his mind so much time to work on its own was such a good thing.

  As he left the mill, Slocum was just one face in a sea of men heading back into town. Those numbers quickly dwindled when some of the men split off to go to their homes while others found their way to a saloon. Slocum couldn’t help noticing the folks standing on the boardwalks of the main streets, watching the procession of workers. They were locals tending to their own business or possibly some family members waiting for their loved ones to return to them after a long day. Some of the folks were there almost every day. The ones Slocum didn’t recognize seemed as if they were staring directly at him.

  Reflexively, his hand dropped to his side but his holster wasn’t in its usual spot. Management at the mill frowned upon men coming to work with guns strapped to their hips. It was a reasonable policy that Slocum understood perfectly. Today, he felt exposed and helpless. He still had a knife tucked into his boot, but that wouldn’t do a whole lot of good if someone decided to take a shot at him. Simply having a gun belt around his waist was enough to make a potential attacker think twice before coming at him. Unarmed, Slocum was practically inviting an ambush.

  “Aw hell,” he grunted. “I’m getting worked up over nothing.”

  His walk back to the Morrison House took him through the town’s saloon district. The Second Saloon was on his left, so he stepped in there and headed straight for the bar.

  “What can I get for ya?” the barkeep asked.

  “How’s your beer?”

  “Best in town!”

  Since any barkeep worth his salt would have made the same claim no matter what sludge was mixed into the establishment’s brew, Slocum wondered why he’d even bothered to ask that question. Even so, he slapped some money down and said, “I’ll take a mug.”

  As the barkeep poured the drink, he asked, “You work at the mill, right?”

  “I do. Have we met?”

  “Nope. You’re covered in sawdust,” the barkeep said while placing the mug in front of Slocum. “That’s a dead giveaway.”

  “I suppose it is.” Slocum picked up the mug and took a drink. The beer wasn’t the best he’d ever tasted, but it wasn’t putrid and it did a good job of clearing the dust from his throat.

  When the barkeep reached for Slocum’s money, he was stopped by a sharp slap to the back of his hand. “Hey, now!” he said.

  After giving him the playful slap, Eliza wagged a finger at him. “Rolf,” she said, “if you take that money, you’ll be getting a lot worse than that from me.”

  “Every man’s gotta pay for their drinks,” the barkeep said.

  She stood beside to Slocum and rubbed his shoulder. “Not after they’ve saved my life.”

  Rolf’s eyebrows went up and he nodded. “All right. But just beer.” He then walked away to refill some of the glasses in front of customers at another end of the bar.

  “Saved your life?” Slocum asked. “I thought you said Lester wasn’t hurting you.”

  “He could have,” she said. “He wasn’t much of a gentleman.” Lowering her voice, she leaned in closer to him and added, “The only way you would have gotten a free drink from Rolf after telling him anything less would be if you wrung it out of his dead body.”

  “No thanks,” Slocum said.

  “Exactly. I’m glad to see you.” Examining the layer of sawdust covering his shirt, she said, “I see you’re still working at the mill. Was it awkward being there with Lester after all that happened?”

  “He didn’t show up.”

  “Hmm. Imagine that. Must’ve crawled back under a rock somewhere.”

  Slocum turned to lean sideways against the bar. That way, he could take a good, long look at the woman who’d decided to join him. Eliza wore a black dress with hints of white lace in the skirt and sleeves. Though the collar buttoned all the way to her neck, there was still plenty to catch his eye. Even if she’d been wrapped in a burlap sack, he still would have noticed the slopes of her large breasts and inviting curves of her rounded hips. For the moment, though, the most captivating thing about her was the smile that positively beamed as she looked at him.

 
“You seem to be doing much better than the last time I saw you,” he said. “I’m glad to see it.”

  “Funny what a good night’s sleep in your own bed can do. My life may not have been in danger, but I do owe you my thanks.”

  “No you don’t,” Slocum said. “As I told you before, I was coming after Lester no matter what. He got what was coming to him, and if you happened to benefit a little along the way . . . so be it.”

  “Here, here!”

  Slocum took another drink and then said, “Remind me again . . . how did you benefit exactly? Because if he did hurt you or was about to and you didn’t tell me, then I’d like to have another word with Mr. Quint.”

  “I told you all there was to tell,” she assured him. “The more I thought about how that man lied to me to get what he wanted, the angrier I got. What I got out of you busting into that room was getting to watch as he was taken down a peg or two by having the tar beaten out of him. There are plenty of men like Lester around, and it’s a rare thing for a woman to see that kind of justice done.”

  “Well then, I’m glad I could oblige. You need anyone else like Lester to be taught a lesson, you just let me know. I’ll do damn near anything for free liquor.”

  She laughed and ran her fingers through her hair while brushing her fingertips lightly against one ear. As he watched her, Slocum couldn’t help noticing just how smooth the nape of her neck was and how enticing the two little beads of sweat were as they rolled down her neck on their way beneath the front of her dress.

  “I just thought of something,” he said.

  “What’s that?”

  “You were in that room under false pretenses with Lester.”

  “Yes,” she replied. “But we established that a while ago.”