by Jake Logan
“Did they go after the killer?” Slocum asked.
Slowly, Womack shook his head. “Both of them were attacked as well. Darryl is with Doc Reece. He was torn up pretty bad.”
“What about Merle?”
“He didn’t make it.”
“Jesus,” Slocum sighed. “He’s dead?”
“Afraid so. There were tracks near the bodies. Marshal Hackett is telling everyone this same thing right now.”
“Then give me the shorter version.”
“Whatever got to those men,” Womack said, “wasn’t the same as what got to Edgar and Dave. The tracks were animal tracks. Big ones.”
“I want to have a look.”
“I can’t ask you to go back after that thing, John. The marshal will be pulling together a group of men to track it down.”
Slocum’s laugh sounded more like he was clearing something from the back of his throat. “Those lazy slugs wouldn’t do anything until someone got ripped to shreds within town limits. If they would have gotten off their asses before, some good men would be alive and well today.”
“Be that as it may, there’s not a lot else to be done now.”
“I want to go back out and hunt that thing.”
Womack smiled and pat Slocum’s shoulder. “I was hoping you might see it that way. When you three first came back, Merle told me that Abner Woodley was nowhere to be found.”
“That’s right. The crazy man said something about him, but I wouldn’t put much stock in it.”
“Abner was a fine tracker and he was always somewhat single-minded when it came to that beast. He was even working on a specially designed trap that was meant to hobble a creature of its size.”
“Anything like a bear trap?” Slocum asked.
“I imagine so.”
“Yeah, well, I know he caught a deer or two, but don’t know about much else. Still, if he’s out there tracking that killer, he may know a thing or two that we don’t. All I’d have to do is track Abner and he might be able to take me the rest of the way.”
Smiling like a cat with bird feathers in its teeth, Womack said, “I was thinking along those same lines. In fact, fortune has smiled upon us today, and I’ve found someone who earns his living tracking men. He’s in my office right now.”
“All right. Let’s have a word with him,” Slocum said. “But if I don’t like what I hear, I’m riding out on my own. We don’t have any time to waste.”
“I agree wholeheartedly.”
The lawmen were still talking to the group of workers taking up most of the main room. Although Slocum wasn’t paying attention to any specifics, he could tell the marshal was spouting a predictable line of bull about how sorry he was about the men that were hurt and killed and how desperately he wanted to see that the good people of Bennsonn were protected. Thinking about the apathy he’d seen before and the fact that the marshal didn’t even care to come out of his office after the first bodies were found, Slocum had to choke back the urge to shout a few choice words at the lawmen. When the door to Womack’s office was opened and he got a look at who was inside, Slocum’s instinct had nothing to do with talking.
“What the hell is he doing here?” Slocum barked as his hand reflexively went to the Remington holstered at his side.
Wincing at the sudden outburst, Womack shoved himself into the office while pulling his door shut before any attention was drawn from the workers or lawmen nearby.
Buck Oberman wasn’t quite as surprised as Slocum, but he also reached for his pistol.
Space was limited within the office, but Womack managed to squeeze between the two other men in there with him. “Hold it, you two! Don’t you recognize each other?”
Slocum stood with his hand upon the grip of his pistol, watching Buck like a hawk. Neither man had cleared leather just yet, but that could change in a fraction of a second.
“You’re damn right I recognize him,” Slocum said. “He’s the man that’s been trying to mount my head on his wall.”
Buck was quick to respond, “That’s only because you killed a good man and U.S. marshal out in Montana.”
“What?” Womack said. Glancing over to Buck, he sputtered, “And . . . what?”
“That’s right,” Buck said. “My father was killed and all he did was see to his duties as a marshal. That bastard right there is the one who did it.”
Slocum shook his head. “That isn’t true and you know it. Max Oberman was killed by Deke Saunders when those marshals were riding after Deke’s gang. I was there!”
“I know you were there. Deke told me all about what happened and how you gunned down my father so the surviving members of that gang could get away.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because you took a bribe,” Buck said. “That’s why.”
“Jesus Christ.” Looking to Womack, Slocum asked, “Why would you throw in with someone like this?”
“Because he told me he was a friend of yours!” Womack’s face was red, and a layer of sweat had formed on his brow. Turning to Buck, he said, “You told me you were a friend of his.”
“He lied just to find me,” Slocum said. “Because he ain’t nothing but a scheming bounty hunter and that’s what bounty hunters do.”
Buck shrugged his shoulders and grinned. “I did what I needed to do to find the man who killed my father.”
“You know damn well I didn’t kill Max Oberman.”
“Then why did you run?”
“Because you were out for my blood and wouldn’t listen to reason,” Slocum explained. “I tried explaining myself to you once, but you wouldn’t have it. Everyone else on that posse knew I wasn’t to blame for what happened. I was even acquitted by a judge, but that still wasn’t good enough for you!”
“Is that why you tried to hide in this little place out in the middle of nowhere?” Buck scoffed.
“I don’t need this grief,” Slocum said to Womack. “Darryl and Merle Beasley may have been loudmouth idiots a good portion of the time, but I owe it to them to put this whole Beast of Fall Pass matter to rest. You wanna take a shot at me?” he added while stabbing a finger at Buck, “then come along and take your damn shot when we’re in the woods. If you feel like doing something that won’t tarnish your family name, you’ll help me put an end to this killing before you fire on an innocent man.”
“Look,” Womack said. “You two obviously have your differences, but good men are dead because of this beast. If you could put those things aside long enough, I believe you can get this job done a whole lot faster than if we left it to those men out there who are still doing nothing but spreading a whole lot of hot air.”
None of the men in the office said anything as they sized each other up. In that time, the echoes of voices from the main room proved that Womack was right about all the talking going on out there.
Slocum kept his hand upon his holstered pistol, but still did not draw. Pointing at Buck, he said, “I did my best to keep Marshal Oberman from getting hurt. I agreed to do a job here and that’s what I aim to do. I haven’t run from any man or beast. If you want to help me, that’s fine. If you want to face me like a man and force me to defend myself, that’s fine, too. I’m done with you, Buck. I’m also done with you,” Slocum added while turning to Womack. “After I collect my pay for this job, you won’t be seeing me around here anymore.”
Womack nodded. “I understand. And . . . thank you for seeing this through.”
“Don’t thank me. Allowing those blowhards out there to stomp after that killer would only make me feel responsible for them getting ripped to pieces.” Slocum stormed out of the office and slammed the door shut behind him. Although the man giving the speech outside paused at the distraction, his droning voice quickly picked up where it had left off.
“Are you truly interested in helping us find the beast?” Womack
asked.
Buck approached him. “Of course. All that other business about—”
“If this wasn’t a pressing matter of town safety, I would’ve had one of my biggest men toss you out on your ear for spouting lies to my face,” Womack snarled.
Buck nodded. “I understand. So . . . John Slocum. What is he to you?”
“He’s a good man who’s already put his neck on the line to do right by this town.” Once that was said, Womack drew a breath and looked at his wall as if he could see through it to what was taking place beyond. “Tell me. What happened in Montana?”
“Slocum signed on to ride with a bunch of men my father had pulled together.”
“Your father was a U.S. marshal?”
“That’s right. They went out after a gang led by a known robber and killer named Deke Saunders. That bunch was hiding out after making a run that started in the Dakotas and was bound for California. Deke and his gang were cornered, so the marshals rode to clean them out. Things went to hell and my father was one of many who wound up dead. Deke Saunders made it through with a few flesh wounds. When the law brought him in, he was telling anyone who would listen that he knew the marshals were coming. He said there was someone working with the marshals who tipped him off.”
“That was John?”
Buck nodded. “That’s what Deke said and he was in a position where lying wouldn’t help him much one way or another.”
“Could be he just wanted to hurt Slocum.”
“I went to ask Slocum about it a few times and there were words exchanged. When I went to find him again, he’d cleared out of town. I make it my business to track men, so that’s what I did. Every time I nearly caught up with Slocum, I found bodies in his wake and a whole lot of folks who had some mighty bad things to say about him.”
“Did anyone speak up on his behalf?” Womack asked.
“Sure they did. I figured I’d get everything straight after I caught up to him so I could look him in the eyes. Needless to say . . .”
“The more he ran,” Womack sighed, “the guiltier he looked.”
“If I’ve learned something while hunting bounties, it’s that innocent men don’t run.”
“Depends on who’s chasing them.”
Straightening his hat upon his head, Buck walked past him and reached for the door.
“Do me a favor,” Womack said as he made a point to stand in the way of the door being opened.
“You’re the man paying me. Ask whatever favor you like and I’ll let you know if it’s within the price we agreed on.”
“I don’t know everything about what happened, but it sounds like this business between you and Slocum could be just some kind of misunderstanding. Don’t do anything you might regret before you’re absolutely sure you’re justified.”
“That’s your favor?”
“Well . . . yes,” Womack said.
“All right, then. Step aside so I can get to work.”
There was no way for Womack to know whether or not his words had had any effect on Buck. He did know that the damage from him and Slocum crossing paths had already been done and blocking a doorway wasn’t going to change a thing. So Womack stepped aside.
When Buck opened the door to leave, the marshal was still giving his speech in the main room.
Once he was alone in his office again, Womack snarled, “Damn it,” and slammed his door shut.
21
Doc Reece did most of his work in a little house wedged between a dentist’s office and a bookkeeper. Slocum went in to have a word with Darryl and was escorted to a small bedroom by an elderly woman who had a smile that shone from her heart. She had something pleasant to say, but Slocum was too focused on the next room to pay much attention. He did, however, return her smile as the old woman left him alone with the wounded man.
“I heard about your brother,” Slocum said.
Darryl’s face was always hard-edged, but this time it seemed about to crack like a mask made from old clay. “Yeah,” he said. His hand was bandaged and his leg was covered by a blanket. There was nothing under a good portion of that blanket, which meant a generous portion of that leg had been amputated.
“Looks like it got to you pretty bad also,” Slocum said.
“I’ll make it.”
“I’m going back out after that killer.”
Almost immediately, Darryl looked up at him and said, “It ain’t no killer. Not like that one we caught. It ain’t no man.”
“Then what was it?”
“I . . . barely know. It moved so fast. When it hit Merle, it brought him down like he was nothin’. When it hit me . . . all I recall is being tossed about. There was pain at first,” Darryl said in a quiet, haunted voice. “Then I was cold and dizzy. Thought I was a goner for sure.”
Slocum’s instinct was to comfort the other man, but knew any gesture along those lines wouldn’t be received very well. “I’m sure you did what you could.”
Focusing on Slocum as though he’d just remembered he was there, Darryl said, “It smelled the same.”
“The same as that crazy hermit we found in the woods?”
Darryl nodded. “The same but worse.”
“What about the wheeze?”
Darryl’s eyes wandered off again. “No,” he said in a distant voice. “No wheeze. It was strong, healthy, and fast. So goddamn fast.” His eyes clenched shut, and he turned his head away.
Slocum felt like he should say something. Perhaps some words to comfort Darryl the way he would comfort anyone in his spot. Having lost more friends and loved ones than he cared to think about, Slocum knew all too well that no words would make Darryl feel better. Not now and probably not for a long time to come.
Stepping out of the room, Slocum was greeted by the friendly old woman. “I’m sure he was glad to have a visitor,” she said.
“Can I see his brother?” Slocum asked. “Is he still here?”
She took him away from the room and lowered her voice so it wouldn’t carry back to Darryl’s ears. “He’s upstairs until the undertaker can get him for a proper burial.”
“I don’t need much. Just a moment to get a look at his wounds.”
“All right. Come this way.”
• • •
When Slocum emerged from the little house where Doc Reece saw his patients, Buck was waiting for him. Slocum stopped at the edge of the boardwalk, squared his shoulders to the bounty hunter, and allowed his hand to hang down within easy reach of his holster. “All right,” he said. “You’ve tracked me down this far. Let’s have it out now and get it over with.”
Although Buck didn’t reach for his gun, he didn’t make any peacemaking gestures either. “I’m not here for that. At least . . . not right now. Mr. Womack hired me on to find this beast and that’s what I intend on doing.”
“Thanks, but no.”
“I would think you’d take any help you could get.”
“I’d appreciate some help,” Slocum said. “Just not from someone who I think will put a bullet into me when it suits him.”
“Then you’ll have to look over your shoulder because I’ll be coming along whether it’s with you or a few yards behind.”
Letting out a frustrated breath, Slocum stepped down from the boardwalk and stormed past Buck. Every one of his senses waited for a hint that the bounty hunter was making a move against him, but Buck stayed put. “Don’t expect me to put everything behind us just because you’ve decided to be civilized now.”
“I was just about to say the same thing, Slocum.” Falling into step beside him, Buck asked, “You went in to have a word with those two hunters that were wounded?”
“That’s right.”
“What did they have to say?”
“There’s only one left.”
“That’s right. Sorry to hear it.”
“How were they different?” Buck asked.
“The wounds on those two in there were rougher. Shallower and messier around the edges. No way in hell they were put there by a blade. At least, not the blades that attacked the first two men.”
“Everyone’s been talking about an animal,” Buck said. “That’s what this sounds like to me.”
“That’s not exactly how I’d describe the first beast.”
“How would you describe him?”
“Come on,” Slocum said as he walked down the street. “I’ll introduce you to him.”
• • •
Slocum didn’t have much to say to Sheriff Krueger when he stepped into his office. He was there to see the man that had been dragged in from the woods, and considering what had happened more recently, the sheriff was inclined to grant him an audience.
While taking them to the next room, Krueger said, “Believe it or not, someone recognized this fella.”
“The beast?” Slocum asked. “How could anyone see much of anything beneath all that filth?”
“Someone claiming to be his cousin. Brought a photograph and everything. Not that it’s gonna change much of anything, but his name is Mick Doubrey. The beast, not the cousin, that is.”
The next room was less than half as big as the one where the sheriff and his deputies kept their desks and gun cabinets. Most of the space in there was sectioned off into three cages, one of which was barely large enough for a man to sit with his legs gathered up close to his chest. The wild man Slocum and the Beasleys had captured was in the small cage, grabbing on to the bars and trembling as if he was about to jump out of his own skin.