by Jake Logan
“Thanks,” he said, reaching out and putting his hand over hers. She didn’t react. All she did was stare at the hacienda as if she could see inside.
Slocum had to admit Amy most likely could penetrate the adobe with her gaze. Killian had become far too predictable in his madness, allowing Amy to know his every movement.
Slocum ran around to the rear of the house. The door was exactly where she had said. He approached cautiously, pressed his ear against the wood panel, and heard nothing. Slocum tried the latch, but it was secured. He doubted he could kick in the door, but a little finesse might work better. Taking a splinter from the door, he poked it through the latch hole and began fiddling. It seemed to take forever, but Slocum finally lifted the locking bar and opened the door. It swung inward on silent hinges.
A quick look around the kitchen showed that no one had prepared any food in the past few days. He began exploring, and found the museum with all the trinkets of Jeter’s life carefully displayed. Standing on a pedestal in the middle of the room was a mummified corpse. Slocum held down his gorge.
“Jeter,” he muttered. “Whatever you deserved, I don’t think this was it.”
He spun, Peacemaker leveled and ready. Slocum’s finger relaxed on the trigger.
“You could have gotten yourself killed,” he said to Amy. “I told you to wait outside.”
“He’s made Jeter into a statue, an object. He can’t do this—”
Slocum swung away from Amy and faced the other door leading into this grisly museum in time to see Killian. The man ducked back as Slocum fired.
“Stay here,” Slocum barked to Amy as he lit out after Killian, but the man had disappeared. He might have gone into the courtyard or the adjoining room. If Killian got a gun, Slocum knew he would be in for a shoot-out that might end badly for him. Killian knew every nook and cranny and could turn that knowledge to his advantage unless Slocum got to him before he could make a decent plan.
Slocum had started into the courtyard when he heard a muffled cry from the next room. Slocum hesitated, then went to the door leading into the room.
“Help!” More muffled noises put Slocum on guard. He peeked fast into the room and ducked back. Then he went into the room and hurried to Ruth Jeter. She was bound and tied to a bed. The woman had worked the gag partially from her mouth, but still couldn’t speak clearly. Slocum swept it away.
“Oh, John, he’s a monster!”
“Where is he?” Slocum worked furiously on the woman’s rope and got her free.
“He has an arsenal on the other side of the house. He’ll go for it.”
Slocum jumped when a single shot echoed through the house.
“Stay here,” he said, but this wasn’t his day for getting women to obey him. Ruth pressed close. He didn’t have time to do anything about it, and rushed into the courtyard and followed the smell of gun smoke to a room where the door stood open.
“Amy?” he called. “Are you all right?”
Slocum moved closer and saw Killian’s body sprawled on the floor. Amy Gerardo stood over him, smoke still curling from the barrel of Les Jeter’s six-shooter taken from the museum room.
“I’ll take care of you now, Ambrose. Like I always have, like I’ve always wanted to,” she said in a soft voice.
Slocum backed away and wrapped Ruth in his arms to keep her from going into the room. He whispered urgently in the woman’s ear, “We’ve got to get the hell out of here now. There’s nothing we can do for any of them.”
“My bags,” Ruth said. “I need my bags. Killian left them in the wagon.”
“Come on.” Slocum threaded his way back through the house, making sure he avoided the museum with Jeter’s body on display. They stepped out into the hot Texas sun behind the house.
“That way,” she said. “There’s a stable around to the far side of the house.”
Slocum let Ruth lead the way, preferring to hang back and guard their retreat. When lead began to fly, anyone might catch some of it. Ruth worked to harness the team, doing a fair job. Slocum helped and finished in a few minutes.
“Where are we going?” Ruth asked as Slocum drove the team away from the hacienda. “Far away, I hope.”
“I was going to El Paso. You ever been there?”
Ruth shook her head, then said, “But it must be a good place.”
“Only because it’s not here,” Slocum said.
“Because you’ll be there too,” Ruth said, smiling wanly. “Careful, don’t drive so fast. My bags’ll fall out.”
“You can get new things,” Slocum said. “I’ve got a few dollars, and you must still have the money Killian gave you.”
“No, that’s back at his house. I don’t know where.”
“Doesn’t matter. We got away.”
“Money always matters,” Ruth said. “That’s what Les said. Wait a minute.” She flopped around and grabbed the larger of the bags in the rear and dragged it forward to hold in her lap. She opened it wide enough for Slocum to get a look inside.
He whistled long and low.
“Is that what I think it is?” Slocum asked.
“All the money Les stole. I found where he hid it.”
“You’re a rich woman,” Slocum said.
“Help me spend it, John.”
That didn’t sound like a bad idea at all to Slocum.