by Jake Logan
Slocum sighed. He knew he’d have to cooperate with Buck sooner or later if the two of them didn’t kill each other first. Since he’d had his fill of this stretch of woods, Slocum said, “He was probably headed west for a mile or two.”
“That’s a good place to start. Let’s get moving.”
Buck picked his way through the woods at an impressive pace, which meant he was either one hell of a tracker or searching for the perfect spot to try and bury Slocum. Every step of the way, Slocum was ready to defend himself. Even after going over a mile and a half through the brush, Buck hardly lifted his nose from the ground. When he finally did stop for more than a second or two, Buck pulled up something that had been tucked away so well it seemed to have appeared from thin air.
“Well lookee here!” Buck said triumphantly. The burlap bag in his hand was covered in dirt and leaves. It was so bulky that the bottom portion of it was still partially covered by the earth.
Already dreading the answer he might get, Slocum asked, “Is that a body in there?”
“No. The sack’s too heavy for a small body and too small for a heavy one.” Buck reached inside and pulled out a mess of bent, rusted iron. When he held the contraption at a different angle, Slocum could see the twin set of jaws and interlocking teeth. “Looks like a trap. There’s a whole bunch of them in here.”
“Those would belong to Abner, all right. I was told he was dead-set on getting that beast and that he’d put together some traps to get the job done.”
“He must have been taking them somewhere when . . . aw hell.”
Crouching down low and surveying the woods around him, Slocum put a hand to his Remington and said, “What is it?”
“I think I found Abner.” Buck inched forward a few paces and reached down into the undergrowth. This time, he uncovered an arm that was caked in blood. “I could use some help here,” he grunted.
Still wary of a double cross, Slocum approached Buck to get a look at what had been found. Sure enough, from his new angle he could see the vague outline of a partial body hidden beneath layers of dirt and leaves. He winced at the stench of rotten meat that had been unleashed now that the body had been uncovered.
“What do you think?” Buck asked. “This him?”
It was a man and it was mostly in one piece. It had also been killed by the sharper claws forged by Mick Doubrey instead of the stronger ones that had planted the last crop of men into a graveyard outside Bennsonn.
“Honestly,” Slocum replied, “I can’t say for certain. I never laid eyes on Abner. This seems like it would be him, though.”
“Well, the tracks I was following end here. We’ve got the traps and we’ve come this far. It’s too bad we don’t know anything else that could help us get the job done.”
Feeling Buck’s stare boring through him, Slocum grudgingly said, “A bit farther west and then a mile north. That’s where Doubrey told me he found the first beast.”
“That supposed to be where its den is?”
“I would think so. You heard him blathering,” Slocum said. “It was like pulling teeth just to get as much as I did out of him. Asking for it all to make perfect sense is pushing it. Although he did tell me about how he killed one of those things. Even though it came from a crazy man, the story made sense. From what he said and from what I’ve seen, this beast is fast but it’s flesh and bone. Slow it down enough and it can be finished off.”
Buck hefted the bag of traps up onto his shoulder and said, “These right here will slow down anything that needs legs to walk.”
“All right, then. Let’s finish this.”
• • •
Between Doubrey’s stories, Slocum’s familiarity with the woods, and Buck’s skill as a tracker, they found the beast’s den in relatively short order. It was a large hole in the ground wedged between two tall pines and mostly covered by bushes that had been shredded almost as much as the last hunting party.
From a distance, the hole looked to be large enough for a wolf to use as a home. When Slocum got closer, he uncovered even more of it to reveal an opening that was twice as large as he’d first guessed. The beast’s familiar stench was overpowering, and that, coupled with the pungent odor of dead meat, told him that he’d found the spot they’d been looking for. He ventured inside with rifle in hand, picking his way slowly forward until his eyes adjusted to the shadows within.
The cave was large enough for him to step inside while hunkered down. Bones were scattered on the floor among carcasses that still had meat on them. A bed of leaves and twigs lay in one corner. Having seen that, he walked back outside again.
“Is that the place?” Buck asked.
Keeping his weapon at the ready, Slocum replied, “Looks like it and I’d say it’s still being used. There’s some pretty fresh kills in there.”
“And some fresh scat right here,” Buck added. “Has all the markings of an animal’s den if I’ve ever seen one, and I’ve seen plenty.”
“Let’s get started putting those traps out. This thing is supposed to be lightning fast so it could be back here at any moment.” Slocum went to the burlap sack that had been found and removed one of the traps. Until he’d pulled one completely from the bag, he didn’t realize why they were much different than any other trap of its kind. This one was actually two traps connected by a chain. One set of jaws was slightly larger than the other and had a modified spring mechanism.
There were four traps in the bag. Buck and Slocum placed them near the front of the cave and pounded stakes into the ground which were connected to the middle of each trap’s chain. “Near as I can figure,” Buck said as he pushed one set of iron jaws apart, “the larger trap is the same as any bear trap. These smaller ones connected to them, though,” he added while opening that set and gently priming the spring, “are something else.”
“What do you mean?”
“It seems it would take a bit more to set them off, is all. Why anyone would want that is beyond me, but I guess this Abner fellow had something in mind when he made them.”
“All I know is these were made for the beast we’re after,” Slocum said. “It’s not like we can ask Abner what’s what.”
Buck stood up and looked down at their handiwork. All four traps were placed so that anything larger than a coyote would have to cross at least one of them in order to get into the cave. They were staked to the ground and the third one had just been prepared. Buck walked over to the fourth as a stench wafted through the air.
Crouching and bringing his rifle to his shoulder, Slocum warned, “Don’t move.”
“That thing is closing in,” Buck said. “I can smell it.”
“And I can see it . . . I think.”
Keeping his eyes on the trap near his feet, Buck worked as quickly as he dared without putting his fingers at risk. “Where?”
Slocum’s voice dropped to a cautious whisper. “Behind you. Just . . . don’t move.”
Buck’s shoulders tensed, and he slowly stretched his arms out to try and set the smaller set of jaws. His back was to the tree line, which meant that if the beast was there, the bounty hunter would have to cross the ground littered with traps to get away from it.
Although Slocum saw some bushes moving and heard some leaves rustling, he couldn’t quite make out what was causing the disturbance. Instincts born into every animal that had walked or crawled told him the predator was closing in, but he kept from doing anything that might tip his hand.
“Slocum?” Buck called out in a low, steady voice.
“I don’t have a shot yet.”
“It’s moving away from me.”
Slocum blinked. In the time it took for his eyelids to fall and rise, the rustling in the bushes had stopped. “It’s circling,” he said.
Buck finished with the trap he’d been setting and reached for his gun.
Something to Slocum�
�s left made just enough of a sound to catch his attention. By the time he’d turned to get a look at what it was, the beast was already on its way. All he saw was a thick, dark body rushing at him like a shadow that had been spit up from the bowels of hell. Claws slashed through the air, and narrowed eyes glinted with reflected sunlight.
Slocum fired a shot just to try and divert it, but the beast wasn’t afraid of the weapon. It slashed at him with the same claws that had gutted countless men, and only Slocum’s quick reflexes kept him from being next in line. He twisted the rifle around to block an incoming slash. Although he kept those claws from raking through his skin, the rifle was knocked from his hands to fly into the surrounding bushes.
Falling backward just to buy himself some space, Slocum drew his Remington with all the urgency he would use if he was facing another gunman in an empty street. As soon as he cleared leather, he fired. Slocum couldn’t be certain where he’d hit the thing, but his aim had been good enough to cause it to yelp and bolt in another direction.
Slocum waited until he could hear where the thing had gone or see some bit of movement to let him know where to put his next bullet. When he did hear something, it came from two directions at once.
Branches rustled somewhere to his right.
Behind him, heavy steps pounded against the dirt.
As he turned to the right to see the dark brown shape of an animal pouncing at him, Slocum felt a tightening around his throat as his next breath became trapped in his lungs.
Slocum’s ears filled with a hellish snarl accompanied by the clatter of metal slamming against metal.
He lost track of which way was up since the ground and sky were tilting crazily around him.
All of this confusion lasted for no more than a second or two, but it dragged on for damn near a lifetime.
Slocum’s backside hit the ground, driving even more wind from his chest. The beast had sailed over his head to land in the clearing outside the mouth of its den. Twisting around, he found Buck behind him lying on his stomach with one arm still stretching toward him. It was only then that Slocum realized the bounty hunter had grabbed him by the back of the collar to pull him down as the beast had been about to lop his head off. To do so, Buck had charged through the traps he’d set. Along the way, one of the large sets of jaws had clamped around his left ankle.
The beast was definitely a cat of some kind. Possibly a strange breed of mountain lion or oversized wildcat. It touched down upon nimble paws, skidding in some loose leaves and setting off two of the remaining traps while roaring loudly and clawing at the ground. As soon as its eyes found the two men, it lunged at them. Thickly muscled legs easily pulled stakes from the ground and the chains connecting the pairs of traps rattled noisily. Saliva flowed from its mouth and it slashed with both front claws to bring down its next meal.
In that moment, Slocum was sure he was going to die. Somewhere within his racing thoughts was the hope that it wouldn’t hurt too badly when he was eaten alive. His finger squeezed the Remington’s trigger, sending round after round into the beast without slowing it down. When the trap at the other end of a chain flipped over behind the beast’s leg, its jaws snapped shut to grab hold of the ground. It was the first time the beast didn’t seem like deadly poetry in motion. Even though it was only tripped up for one step, Slocum was granted enough time to send his final bullet straight through the animal’s head.
It took one last step, one heavy paw thumping against the ground as if trying to punish the dirt below its dying body, and shuddered. Expelling one long breath, the Beast of Fall Pass dropped onto its chest before crumpling into a heap.
Slocum remained still for several seconds, watching the animal over the smoking barrel of his gun. Not wanting to be caught defenseless if the hulking cat found a second wind, he replaced the spent bullets within the Remington’s cylinder.
“I . . . think it’s dead,” Buck groaned.
“Doesn’t hurt to be sure.” Taking careful aim, Slocum burned two more holes through the beast’s skull. “There!” he said. “That wasn’t so bad after all.”
“Easy for you . . . to say. You ain’t the one . . . who stepped in a goddamn bear trap.”
Slocum holstered the Remington and moved around to the trap that was chewing into Buck’s leg. He grabbed its iron jaws in both hands and started to pull them apart. “Might be better to leave this be,” he said while straining against the cruel mechanism.
“Take it off or your head will get blown off next!”
“You could lose a whole lot of blood.”
“And if we leave it where it is, it’ll saw off my damn foot and I’ll still lose that blood. Keep working!”
Slocum tried to separate the jaws as cleanly as possible by lifting them straight from the wounds they’d created instead of pulling and sawing the iron teeth within Buck’s flesh. “You saved my life,” Slocum said.
“Yeah. I know.”
“Quite a change of heart.”
“I . . . didn’t truly believe what those deputies and gunmen said about who killed my father,” Buck admitted.
“Then why track me down?”
“Because I had to be sure.” Although Buck’s voice was somewhat weaker, he was clinging to consciousness with more tenacity than the trap clinging to his leg. “There . . . were some men who set my father . . . up to be killed.”
“Crooked deputies? Deke’s boys?”
“I found the ones I was sure about. They’re dead. Now . . . I’m sure about you. That’s all that matters.” When the iron teeth were finally lifted completely out, Buck’s entire body went limp as if the pain had been the last string keeping him up.
“That better?” Slocum asked.
“Still hurts, but yeah. Much better.”
“I’m going to wrap that leg and help you up so we can get to the horses. I’d bring them here, but the woods are too thick.”
“I know,” Buck said. “I walked through them, too, but I won’t be able to walk back now.”
“I can help so you won’t have to put weight on that wounded leg.”
Buck nodded. He was pale, but still hanging on and willing to do what he could to climb to his feet as Slocum lifted him off the ground. “I found all the men I was certain had a hand in my father’s death,” Buck explained as he struggled to stand. “You were the last one. I wanted to talk to you before . . . question you face-to-face so I could see your eyes when you defended yourself, but you’d already gone.”
“I’d already answered those questions. Several times, in fact,” Slocum said.
“I wasn’t ready to listen then. Now . . . I can see you’re not a man who would gun down a U.S. marshal.”
“Depends on the marshal,” Slocum said. “As for your father . . . no. I would’ve killed the bastards that gunned him down if they weren’t already on their way to the gallows when I left.”
“I owe you . . . an apology.” Now that he was upright, Buck tried to support his weight on his other leg and grimaced in pain. “Damn it all to hell! I was afraid of that.”
“Afraid of what?”
“Twisted my goddamn ankle when the other got caught in the goddamn trap! Hurts like a bastard.”
Slocum leaned into the bounty hunter a bit more and grabbed Buck’s arm tighter so he could lift some more of the man’s weight off his feet.
“Sorry for all of this, John.”
“You don’t owe me an apology for any of it,” Slocum replied. “I would have come out here whether you showed up or not, and I doubt anyone else would have had the speed or the sand to get me out of the way when that monster pounced. I’m much obliged.”
“We’re even,” Buck said in a voice that was quickly fading.
Slocum grunted with the effort of setting Buck down. He tied his and Buck’s bandannas together, wrapped them around Buck’s leg, and cinched them tight. Then,
he pulled the bounty hunter up again to bear as much of his weight as possible on his back.
“What are you doing?” Buck asked.
“What I said I’d do. Getting you to the horses. You can’t walk, so I’m carrying you.”
“Just . . . you don’t . . .”
“Shut up already,” Slocum growled as he began tromping through the woods dragging the bounty hunter along with him. “We’ve got a lot of ground to cover. Once we get back to town . . . then we’re even.”
Slocum fell into a steady pace, which was interrupted by him knocking his foot against a log and nearly falling over. After steadying himself and moving on, he said, “On second thought . . . when we get back to town . . . we’re each having a bottle of whiskey and you’re buying them. Then we’ll be even.”
Watch for
SLOCUM AND THE KANSAS SLAUGHTER
421st novel in the exciting SLOCUM series from Jove
Coming in March!