by Jake Logan
“Help me, please.” The woman’s plaintive cry was too much for Slocum to ignore. He dismounted and made his way past a mountain of dead horses and saw a woman kneeling down, a man’s head in her lap. She looked up at him, eyes filled with tears. “He’s hurt. I don’t know how to help him.”
Pink froth boiled from the man’s mouth, warning Slocum that a bullet had pierced a lung and caused air to rush in through the wound. He ripped open the man’s shirt and saw he was right. Not much blood marked the entry wound and after rolling the man onto his side, he didn’t see any exit wound. That would be bad, having the slug stay inside, but there’d be no time for a doctor to operate if the sucking chest wound wasn’t fixed in a hurry.
Slocum rolled the man over.
“Keep his head in your lap so he doesn’t drown in his own blood.” This set the woman to sobbing hysterically. “You listen up or he’ll die in your arms.” Slocum fished through his pockets and found a silver dollar. He hated to part with it, but a man’s life hung in the balance. Slocum wasn’t sure it was worth a dollar but quieting the woman would be. He pressed the coin down hard over the bullet wound.
The man gasped, spewed out more pink froth, and began breathing more normally.
“He’s hurt bad but if you keep the coin pressed into his side as hard as you can, he won’t die right away. He needs a doctor pronto.”
“D-Down the street. Go fetch him. H-He’s the only one in town.”
“He’s not going to come out here to operate,” Slocum said, looking around. He saw an overturned cart, righted it, and heaved the man into it. “Keep the coin pressed in tight. Don’t worry about bruising him. He’s got more to worry about than sore ribs.” The woman sniffled but was getting herself under control. “He your husband?”
She nodded. That was as good as Slocum wanted from her. He grabbed his horse’s reins and lashed them to the cart, then lifted the handles and began pushing. The man in the cart groaned and his eyelids fluttered open. Slocum doubted he saw much, but the woman took it as a sign that he was going to survive.
About when Slocum’s back was starting to hurt from bending over to shove the cart along, he saw the doctor’s sign. He dropped the cart outside the door and told the woman, “I’ve got to go. Get the doctor. I’ll keep your husband breathing until you get the sawbones.”
The man’s eyes opened again and he rasped out, “Thanks.”
Then the doctor came out and began barking orders. He went back into his office and returned with tape and a heavy bandage, which he shoved down on the wound. Slocum took his bloody silver dollar back.
He stepped away, then he mounted and rode while the doctor and woman wrestled to get the wounded man inside. Slocum didn’t hold out much hope. He had seen too many wounds like that during the war. The lucky ones were shot so that the bullet went clean through them. The doctor was likely to kill his patient trying to get the slug out, but Slocum had other fish to fry. Staying alive was high on his list of things to do.
Seeing the woman had sparked his memory of telling Audrey to return to town and wait for him. The only place he knew where she might be was at the boardinghouse. The edge of town was likely to be safer than anywhere else, but Slocum wanted to get her out of danger. He made his way through the burning town. Gunshots were more sporadic now, telling him that Jesse had won the battle and now cleaned up small pockets of resistance. With the company of soldiers at his back, he could hold control, regroup his gang, and then move on to their next conquest.
With the merchant from Santa Fe likely working to subvert authority in that town, Slocum knew the next town to fall. If Fort Union was under his control, Jesse had only a few small towns to subdue. Raton might be next since he could control access through the mountain pass. Slocum shook his head as he rode, marveling that an outlaw like Jesse James was succeeding so quickly and easily.
Dozens were dead and half of Las Vegas was in flames, but adobe didn’t burn and roofs could be replaced easily enough. The wood and frame buildings would be destroyed but along the main street were enough businesses constructed using brick that most would remain after the shooting died down.
The Knights of the Golden Circle might actually succeed. Slocum was glad there hadn’t been anyone to take his bet against that happening. Eventually Washington would bring enough might against the breakaway territory to draw it back into the fold, but by then Jesse’s dream of Mexico, Central America, and some of the Caribbean islands joining his new slave-holding country might make that retaking extremely expensive.
The president might not want to risk a second war and let Jesse and those in cahoots with him keep their own country. For all he knew, there might be senators who would argue this in exchange for a governorship or other juicy political plum position offered by the Knights of the Golden Circle.
Slocum finally got past the worst of the smoke and coughed a few times to clear his lungs. He rode straight for the boardinghouse but caught his breath when he saw several horses outside. The front door stood open and a commotion came from inside.
A single shot sent Slocum galloping forward but good sense finally prevailed. He couldn’t take on four of Jesse’s gang. One horse he recognized as belonging to Charlie Dennison. He would fight Dennison anywhere and anytime using any weapon, but right now wasn’t likely to give him any chance of winning. Dennison would have his henchmen join in the fight. Slocum could take him. He knew that. But not Dennison and three others.
Riding around to the rear of the house, Slocum hit the ground and ran to a window. He peered into the kitchen and saw Señora Gonzales sprawled on the floor. He knew where the single shot had been directed. A huge red splotch on her breast showed someone’s accuracy. She had been shot straight through the heart.
Slocum opened the kitchen door and slipped inside. He stepped over the dead woman, being careful not to slip in her blood.
“This the one, Charlie?”
“She’s the one. Bring her along.”
Audrey’s voice cut through him like a knife.
“You won’t get away with this. My friend’ll stop you. He’ll kill you!”
“Yeah, your friend,” Dennison sneered. “I might just save you as bait to lure him into a trap.”
“He’s too smart for that!”
Dennison’s cold laugh was all the answer Audrey got. Slocum heard scuffling and then silence.
He spun around, six-shooter leveled and ready to fire. The narrow corridor was empty. Tables had been overturned and a picture on the wall had been knocked to the floor. He raced forward, glanced into Audrey’s room, and saw it was empty.
By the time he got to the front door, all that remained was a billowing dust cloud kicked up by galloping horses. Dennison had taken her. Slocum started for the back of the house where he’d left his mare, then stopped. There was something he had to take care of first. Something important.
16
Slocum knew he ought to get after Dennison as quickly as possible since he held Audrey prisoner. What Dennison and the men with him could do to her wasn’t to be borne by any woman, living or dead. But there was time. A little. He had to see something for himself first. Slocum went to her bedroom and rummaged about under the bed until he found her case.
He pulled it up and dropped it onto the bed. He stared at the closed lid, wondering if he wanted to know what he would find there. After a few seconds, he knew he did. If he discovered a wanted poster with his picture on it, that meant Audrey had tried to sell him to Sheriff Narvaiz—and he would leave her with Dennison and the rest of the James Gang, in spite of what that would mean to her.
But if he didn’t find the wanted poster . . .
He flipped open the top of the case and saw an inch thick sheaf of posters. Staring at him from the top was a poor likeness of Charlie Dennison. Slocum quickly riffled through the remaining posters and not a one had his face on it. That didn’t mean she hadn’t turned the wanted poster over to the sheriff, but when he had spied on her, he hadn’t
seen anything like that happen. Audrey had obviously kept the posters as befitting a bounty hunter. Or a woman who fancied herself a bounty hunter.
But did she have a wanted poster on him? The way she had spoken to the sheriff fit Slocum to a T. Then he laughed harshly when he realized it also described Charlie Dennison. Audrey didn’t know his past well enough to be able to understand how much alike he and the man who fancied himself Jesse James’s top gunman were.
Slocum closed the lid and stashed the case back under the bed. He hadn’t satisfied his need to know what kind of a deal Audrey had with the sheriff, but he hadn’t seen anything that told him she wanted a bounty on his head either.
Running out the back way, vaulting over the dead woman, and avoiding the pool of her blood, he got to his horse and hit the trail after Dennison and the others. He saw no reason for the kidnappers to leave town when it was solidly under Jesse’s thumb now. But where would they take a lovely woman?
There was only one place. The Eagle Hotel was a three-story brick building and reputedly the most top-notch hotel this side of Taos. If Dennison wanted to have his way with Audrey, he’d do it in the finest surroundings possible.
He trotted through the smoke and debris as a couple of Jesse’s gang waved to him. He acknowledged them but didn’t stop to get sucked into a long conversation or selfcongratulation on such a quick victory. In the plaza the soldiers rounded up the last of the townspeople fighting against Jesse. Slocum ignored them and saw four horses tethered outside the hotel.
That was the right number for Dennison, his two henchmen, and their captive.
Slocum hit the ground, lashed his reins around an iron ring set at the side of the hotel, and clomped up onto the boardwalk. The fancy etched glass door had been smashed, leaving shards on the floor that crunched under his boots. The faint smell of something burned made his nose twitch, but he ignored all this as he went to the room clerk, who cowered behind the desk.
“Where did they take her?”
The clerk turned even whiter and stammered out an answer Slocum couldn’t understand. He reached across the counter and grabbed the front of the man’s shirt and twisted, choking him. This produced the answer he needed.
“Th-Third floor. Presidential suite. They took a couple bottles of champagne, too.”
Slocum released him, then drew his six-shooter. The clerk sobbed for mercy, but Slocum only wanted to be sure he carried six loaded chambers. Firing as he had during his meandering trip through Las Vegas, he had lost count. It was the work of a minute to be sure he was ready to face Dennison and his cronies. Taking the steps two at a time, he was on the third landing before he knew it.
One of the men stood outside the door, his ear pressed to the panel. He heard Slocum come up but didn’t turn to see who joined him.
“Come on over and listen. This is just getting good.”
He half turned when Slocum didn’t immediately join him eavesdropping on the trio inside the room. The man’s eyes widened and he went for his six-gun. Slocum swung his Colt and smashed the side of the man’s head. From the way bone crunched and the man’s head flopped about like a rag doll’s, he wasn’t going to be getting up ever again. Slocum picked up the outlaw’s six-shooter. He had learned to never leave behind a weapon if he could use it—and he would be facing two armed and dangerous men inside.
Two of his guns against theirs. It seemed a good match.
Slocum kicked in the door so hard it slammed back against the wall and then rebounded, trying to close itself. In the instant it was open, but before it swung back, Slocum emptied the six-shooter he had taken from the fallen outlaw at the bare-assed man on the bed holding down Audrey Underwood.
The man shrieked in pain and flopped about. Slocum saw at least two bullet holes in the man’s rear end that would slow him down. In the room confusion reigned supreme. The wounded outlaw screamed, Audrey screamed, and Dennison barked out orders that did nothing but give away his location.
When Slocum kicked open the door the second time, he aimed his trusty Colt Navy at the corner where he’d heard Dennison. He fired twice and both rounds hit home. Charlie Dennison gasped and bent double.
On the bed Audrey struggled to pull up her torn clothing. Slocum ignored her and sought the man who had been ready to rape her. A bit of the man’s bald head poked up over the far side of the bed. Two more quick shots ended the man’s life. The first grazed his head and caused him to react by straightening, giving Slocum the target for a killing shot. The second slug hit the man in the middle of the forehead, killing him instantly.
“John, thank God. You—”
Slocum turned back to Dennison, who didn’t have the good grace to die. He clutched his belly but was far from dead. He got off a round that forced Slocum to dodge. Slocum’s boot tangled in the rug and sent him crashing to the floor, giving Dennison a second chance to kill him.
Slocum fired and his hammer fell on an empty chamber. He was out of ammo.
“I told Jesse he oughtta kill you, but he has some harebrained idea him and you rode together in the war, so you’re one of us.” Dennison took two steps forward. Sweat dripped from his pale face but there was a look of utter madness there that told Slocum his life was about ready to end. “I told him to kill you but he wouldn’t. So I will. My pleasure to.” Dennison lifted his gun to fire and found himself knocked back by a scratching, biting wildcat.
Slocum rolled around, got his feet under him, and dived into the pile, ripping Dennison’s six-gun from his hand, then pushing Audrey back.
“I’ll finish this.”
Slocum swung a hard fist and knocked back Dennison’s head, but the outlaw wasn’t done yet. He stumbled to his feet and squared off. As Slocum came at him, he got in a punch. The hard blow to Slocum’s belly slowed him, but he once had fought a hundred rounds in a bare-knuckle fight and won. A hundred knockdowns and all of them hadn’t been his opponent—only the last one had left his opponent unable to rise for another round.
“I’m going to get real pleasure out of this,” Slocum said, then he swung and missed. Dennison moved faster than a man with two slugs in his gut had any right to. As Slocum prepared to land another blow, a sharp report next to his ear momentarily deafened him. Then Dennison fell forward into his arms.
Slocum let him drop facedown to the floor and turned to a half-naked Audrey. She held Dennison’s pistol in her hand.
“My bounty, not yours,” she said in a quavering voice. He took the gun from her grip and tossed it onto the bed. She came into his arms and shivered, then finally pushed back and said, “I must get decent if I’m going to take his body to the sheriff and claim my reward.”
“You don’t know what’s gone on in town, do you?” He explained how Jesse had finally launched his revolt and the outcome so far.
“He’ll get himself killed, and I’ll lose the reward,” Audrey said. She pulled up her blouse and tried to straighten her skirt. The cloth was torn and the best she could do was tuck in parts to keep from being too exposed.
“I’ll be sure the gang’s still out riding around town,” Slocum said sarcastically, “so you can go round them up for the sheriff.”
“Do that, John. I’ll be there in a minute. Oh!” She threw her hands up in exasperation as her blouse fell open in the front.
Slocum grinned.
“Nice view from here.”
“Go, go. Hurry.” He stepped out into the hall, then remembered he had wanted to tell her to bring along Dennison’s pistol. He opened the door and stopped, intrigued by the way she rummaged through the dead outlaw’s pockets. She found a scrap of paper and unfolded it. She held it up to get a better look at it, then refolded and tucked it away into the folds of her skirt. Only then did she go about making herself presentable in public.
Slocum waited a few seconds then made a big show of coming into the room. Audrey looked innocent as she sat on the bed, her blouse tied in the places where it had been ripped.
“Don’t forget to bring hi
s gun,” he said, pointing to Dennison. “All the ammo you can find, too. We might have to shoot our way out of town.”
“We can’t leave,” she said. “This is where everything is happening. Jesse isn’t going to run. He’ll stay and—”
“Forget the reward on his head. Keeping your pretty head attached to your shoulders is more important. Write a newspaper article about it. You’ll get paid for that.”
“Five dollars,” she said glumly. “The reward is ever so much bigger for Jesse James.”
“What about him? Dennison ought to be worth something.”
“A hundred dollars,” she said without hesitation. “I have a wanted poster on him, but it wasn’t dead or alive. Just alive.”
“Thanks,” Slocum said. She looked up at him, startled. “Thanks for deciding I was worth more than a hundred dollars.”
“I wasn’t aiming to kill him,” she said, and Slocum couldn’t tell if Audrey was joking. She hefted the gun, got to her feet, and motioned for him to get out into the hall.
Slocum ducked back into the corridor and ran to the landing. He motioned her back when he heard voices below. Angry voices. One might have been Frank James but he couldn’t tell.
“That way,” he said. He took her by the arm and hurried her along to a door leading out to stairs going to the alley behind the hotel.
“Where are we going?” Audrey tried to stop on the stairs but Slocum kept her moving. When the others in the gang found Charlie Dennison and the other two dead, all hell would be out for recess. Slocum wanted to be as far away as possible when that happened.
“You’re returning to the boardinghouse, going to saddle your horse, and get out of Las Vegas. This is one dangerous place now.” To underscore that, a bullet spanged against the wall and ricocheted when it hit a nail.