by Jake Logan
“Keep this for me,” he said idly, “and get me some coffee. Is Dawson waiting for me upstairs?”
“Yes,” one of the other men said. Although he’d just seen his partner handled so efficiently, he was now holding an extra shotgun and didn’t seem to have anything to fear from the man who’d humiliated his friend. Besides, Slocum had now reached the staircase and was already out of his sight.
The first shotgunner had collected himself by this point and stormed out to grab his weapon. “Glad you were along,” he sneered to the other guard. All that one could do was shrug.
* * *
Slocum dashed up the stairs with a spry step that brought him to the third floor before his presence could be announced. Dawson was on his way back to his office carrying a cup of tea in his hands while wearing a surprised expression on his face. “Where have you been, John?” he asked.
“Getting some more sleep,” Slocum replied. “I had a feeling I’d need to be rested up.”
“You were right on that account. Come into my office so I can have a word with you.”
Slocum followed him to his office, but didn’t go all the way inside. Instead, he stood in the doorway, where he could watch Dawson as well as the other men on the third floor. At the moment, there were only a trio of guards walking idly between rooms.
“Come on in,” Dawson urged. “All the way in and shut the door.”
Slocum did as he was asked, but kept the door open a crack so he could hear what was going on outside and get out quickly if the need arose.
Already behind his desk, Dawson said, “You still serious about working for me?”
“I’m still here, ain’t I?”
“Yes, indeed. Someone’s come along to back up your claim about that grisly business in Davis Junction. I want you to accompany a couple of my men down there to find out why that man was killed. You say it was just for speaking up on my behalf?”
“That’s what I said,” Slocum replied.
“Then I want you to find out what he said to spark such a reaction.”
“Anything else you’d like me to do for you while I’m there?” Slocum asked. “Maybe I could bring you back something to eat?”
“You want to work for me? You’ll do the work I give you.”
“I believe I wanted to work with you,” Slocum pointed out.
Wearing the same crooked smile that had been plastered onto his face most of the time that Slocum had seen him, Dawson said, “Then work with me . . . and go to Davis Junction to see what happened with that killing. I’d appreciate it.”
“See, now that’s all I needed. Just a little courtesy.” Slocum tipped his hat. “I’ll have a look at your men to see which ones I want to take with me.”
“Already have ’em picked out. They’re waiting for you in the lobby.”
Standing just outside the office, Slocum turned to look back in as he asked, “Does the work get any better than this?”
“Most definitely! I just need to see what kind of a worker you are. After that, I promise I’ll give you so much rewarding work to do that you’ll be glad those little notices I drew up brought you here.”
“Yeah. I’m sure.” Slocum walked down the stairs, ignoring all the men who watched him from various doorways. When he started counting them, he realized there weren’t as many as he’d originally thought. The simple fact was that those men were always watching from the confined quarters of the narrow hallway, which made their numbers seem greater. It was similar to how a toy soldier could look like a giant if it was held close enough to the eye. Now that he had some proper perspective, Slocum decided Ed’s figures probably weren’t far off. He shook his head and silently scolded himself for doubting the broker’s numbers. More than likely, any figure that man tossed out had already been checked and double-checked.
Ever since he’d climbed back in through his window, Slocum had been trying to gauge whether or not any of Dawson’s men knew he’d been gone. Judging from his limited conversations with Dawson, Slocum had no trouble at all believing the man was so overly confident that he might not consider the possibility he’d been duped. Men like that always figured they had eyes in the back of their head and enough brains to figure out whatever they couldn’t see. On the other hand, it could be just as likely that Slocum’s little walk to Ed’s place hadn’t fooled anyone and the others were merely playing along. All that mattered was that Slocum knew where he stood and didn’t get overconfident himself.
When he saw the men waiting in the lobby for him, he could tell it was going to be a long ride to Davis Junction.
The first man Slocum spotted was Mikey. His face actually looked worse than it had earlier that day. The bruises had taken on the color of muddy swamp water flowing just beneath his skin. His eyes narrowed into angry slits and he placed his hand squarely upon the grip of his holstered pistol when he saw Slocum coming. “Well now,” he said. “Look who decided to join us after his little catnap.”
“If you boys don’t mind waiting awhile, I could sure use a bit more sleep,” Slocum said.
“Get your ass onto a horse before I—”
In an instant, Slocum surged forward to stand so close to Mikey that he could bump his forehead with the brim of his hat. “You’ll what?” he snarled. All of the glibness that had been in his voice a second ago had now been replaced with the steely chill of a cold blade.
“Easy, now,” one of the other men said. He was a bony kid who couldn’t have seen more than twenty-one birthdays. The grip he applied to Slocum’s shoulder was strong enough to ease him away from Mike, but not more than half a step. Slocum shifted his glare to him and found little fear in the younger man’s smooth features.
All Slocum needed to do to get the kid’s hand to move away was to look at it as if he meant to cut it off. After that, he met the kid’s pale green eyes and asked, “You leading this ride, Slim?”
“Don’t know if there’s a proper leader. We’re all just headed down to Davis Junction to look into that matter you told Mr. Dawson about.”
“What matter would that be?” Slocum asked.
Slim shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another before the third man spoke up. He was a stocky Mexican with a bushy mustache that was long enough to cover most of his mouth as he said, “We’re looking into the death of one of Mr. Dawson’s supporters.”
Slocum nodded, comfortable in the knowledge that he’d just found the group’s leader. “Any idea how we do that, or do we just ride into town and start knocking on doors?”
“We know plenty of men to ask, but you’re coming along on this to point us in the right direction.”
“I suppose we can talk about strategy when we make camp tonight,” Slocum said.
“Camp? What camp?”
“Davis Junction isn’t far from here, but it’s a bit late to get there in less than a day’s ride.”
“Not if we ride at night,” Mike said. “Seems like maybe you don’t know as much as you thought.”
“Shut up,” the Mexican snapped. “Both of you.”
“You think you can make the ride without stopping?” Slocum said. “Go right ahead. I’ll just get some supplies in the event it takes longer.”
“I’ve made the ride more times than I can count,” the large, dark-skinned man replied. “I know how long it will take. We’ll be making the last part of the ride at night, but that don’t matter either. We’ll get to work as soon as we arrive.”
Slocum nodded slowly. “Yeah, I’ve heard you men do your best work at night.”
“Don’t forget that,” Mike said. When he saw the glare he got from the Mexican, he added, “And don’t shove me around, Sanchez! I know what I’m doing.”
“Then do it!” Sanchez bellowed. “The horses are outside. We’ve wasted enough time already.”
Sanchez led the way out of the hotel and the other
two men fell into step in front of and behind Slocum. They filed through the front door, marching straight to the horses tethered to the closest post. Slocum’s gelding was saddled and had a canteen hanging by a strap, but little else. “Where’s the rest of my gear?” he asked.
“You’ve got what you need,” Sanchez replied. “We’ve got the rest. Are you coming or not?”
Slocum knew that question was as loaded as the guns all three men were carrying. More than likely, some men inside the hotel were watching from other spots, waiting for a reason to open fire. His muscles drew taut beneath his skin, aching to make a move of his own, but Slocum forced himself to climb into his saddle as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
The other three mounted their horses and, within seconds, were trotting down the street toward the edge of town. Once the desert was spread in front of them, Sanchez snapped his reins. Slocum followed with the other two on either side of him.
16
They rode like the wind for the rest of the day. Several times, Slocum thought it was more fitting to say they rode like a wind being pushed in front of a storm with an even bigger wind behind it. The ground they covered was familiar at first, but Sanchez quickly veered off onto a trail that Slocum had never seen before. It seemed to be broken in several places, but when any other rider might have turned back to look for a safer route, Sanchez pressed on.
Just when it seemed the horses would collapse from lack of water, Sanchez brought them to a stop near a watering hole that was so small it could have gone unnoticed by anyone who didn’t already know it was there. They let the horses drink, refilled their canteens, and pressed on.
Sunlight baked the desert without the slightest bit of pity or remorse for those who rode beneath it. As the evening approached, Slocum felt the air grow cooler and somewhat more bearable. When the skies became filled with orange and purple hues, the wind soothed his sweating face instead of raking it with hot iron claws. Not long after that, the air grew icy teeth and the entire desert became colder. Overhead, stars were spread like diamond flecks drifting on a sea of inky water. Slocum became increasingly nervous as the ground in front of him became harder and harder to see. And despite the fact that the terrain itself had become a danger, they pressed on.
The first thing Slocum spotted was the train depot. It sat at the edge of Davis Junction like a sleeping beast illuminated by rows of lanterns situated along the tracks leading into town. Soon, his eyes picked out the smaller beacons of windows illuminated from the inside by cooking fires, candles, or lanterns within homes and saloons. Slocum’s eyes quickly became adjusted to the darkness surrounding him, allowing him to make out the shape of a cabin directly ahead. Sanchez and the others reined their horses to a stop outside that cabin and quickly dismounted.
“Is there any food inside?” Slocum asked. “I’m about ready to eat one of you if I don’t get something in my stomach.”
“There’s food inside,” Slim told him. “It ain’t much, but it’s better than nothing.”
Slocum followed them into the cabin while Sanchez lit a single lantern hanging from a hook on the wall. The sputtering light cast twitching shadows upon several crates stacked in a corner, a few barrels, some sacks of oats, and a pile of smaller boxes beneath a thick blanket. Mike was the one who peeled away the blanket and tore into one of the boxes. He whooped in glee when he found a bundle of jerked meat and canned beans, which he divvied out among Sanchez and Slim.
“What about me?” Slocum asked.
“You got two hands,” Mike grunted. “Help yerself.”
Once the others had moved aside, Slocum rummaged in the opened box and found more of the same. The jerked meat tasted like salty rabbit, but it sated him as he gnawed on it before helping himself to a can of beans. When he turned away from the boxes, Sanchez tossed something at him from the doorway. At first the metal thing coming at him looked like a blade, so Slocum leaned over to clear a path for it. The thing clanged against another stack of boxes and rattled to the floor near his boot. Slocum bent down, picked it up, and examined it. The can opener was innocent enough, so he nodded to the Mexican and said, “Much obliged.”
“Who’s this man that was supposed to have been killed?” Sanchez asked.
“Oh, he was killed all right. He worked at one of the stables in town. I believe his name was Derrick.”
“And he was killed for speaking on Mr. Dawson’s behalf?”
“That’s what I heard.”
“What did he say that got him killed? Plenty of folks around here know Mr. Dawson and they don’t have a problem with him.”
“I don’t know what he said,” Slocum replied. “I wasn’t there when the poor bastard was killed. I know where it happened, though, and I know who to talk to for a few answers.”
“Don’t worry about talking to anyone unless I ask you to talk,” Sanchez said.
It was all Slocum could do to keep from knocking the Mexican onto his ass right then and there. Instead of following through with such an appealing idea, he said, “I’m just here to lend a hand. If you want my opinion, though, it might be best if nobody knew I was with you.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I asked a few questions myself before I left and the answers I got were nothing but a pile of bullshit.”
“What were you told?”
“I asked what happened,” Slocum said, “and the sheriff just told me it was some sort of drunken fight that went from bad to worse. I know that’s not the case. If I go in there again, we might get that same load of manure thrown at us. I’d rather not waste any time with that.”
“You’re coming with us, Slocum,” Sanchez insisted. “That’s not a matter of discussion.”
Slocum held up his hands as if he were being robbed. Then he reached around his neck to untie the bandanna he’d been wearing for the entire ride. He wrapped the bandanna over his nose and mouth, tied it in the back, and then lowered his hands. “This should be enough to let me ride with you men without causing any unnecessary commotion with the local law.”
“Fine,” Sanchez grunted. “If you need to eat, do it quickly. We’re heading into town as soon as we can.”
When Slocum pulled down the bandanna, he was smiling agreeably. That lasted until Sanchez left the cabin. His first order of business was to open that can as quickly as possible so he could shovel as many beans into his mouth before the ride continued.
* * *
They rode through Davis Junction like a band of outlaws. Nobody looked shiftier than Slocum since he kept a tight grip on his reins, his head down, and his eyes darting back and forth above the mask he wore.
“Where should we start?” Sanchez asked him.
Pointing toward the stable situated farthest away from the sheriff’s office, Slocum replied, “Right there. But let me go in first.”
“I thought you wanted to lay low.”
“I will. I just need to take a quick look around to see if there’s anyone in there we need to worry about.”
“Who do you mean?”
“I don’t know their names!” Slocum snapped. “I only know them on sight. If you don’t want to let me do anything, then just cut me loose and I can get a comfortable bed for the night.”
Mike started to react, but was held back by Sanchez’s raised hand. “Fine,” the Mexican said. “You go in first, but we’ll be right behind you. Come back out right away and let me know what you saw.”
“Fair enough.” With that, Slocum snapped his reins and rode to the stable. He listened for any horses riding directly behind him, but it seemed Sanchez was as good as his word and hanging back for now.
There was a hint of light from inside the stable. As Slocum got closer, he could see the light bobbing and swaying as its source within the structure kept moving. He swung down from his saddle and hurried toward the front door. Before he could get close enough t
o try its handle, the door was opened by the stable’s solitary keeper.
“What do you want?” Vivienne asked. Once she got a better look at the masked figure coming toward her, she said, “We’re full up. Go somewhere else.”
Slocum reached out for her, which caused her to retreat even faster. Before she could scream, he pressed his hand flat against her mouth and pushed her inside. Once he’d kicked the door shut, Slocum pulled the bandanna away from his face and told her, “It’s me. Don’t scream.”
She still seemed ready to scream, but stopped herself after the sight of him sank in. “John! What are you doing here?”
“There are men coming and they’re hot on my heels. What’s happened in regard to the man that was killed?”
Vivienne wrapped her arms around him and squeezed. “They’re saying you did it.”
“On what grounds?”
“I don’t know,” she replied while vehemently shaking her head. “Maybe because you rode off when you were supposed to stay and answer for what happened.”
“Who was he?”
“Just some stable hand.”
Slocum grabbed her by both arms and held her in front of him so he could look her in the eyes when he asked, “Who was he, Vivienne?”
“Why would I know?”
“Because you know plenty of men who stumble into some very unfortunate circumstances.”
“I . . . like dangerous men,” she said with a shrug. “Always have. When you came in here just now, looking the way you did . . . could you put that mask back on?”
Even with everything that was going on, Slocum found it hard to resist the hungry look in her eyes. It was even harder for him to say, “If you like dangerous men so much, then you’ll love the ones that are behind me. I need you to do something.”