Slocum's Revenge Trail

by Jake Logan

  “Good day, gentlemen,” he said in careful English. “My name is Viviano Garcia. You are strangers here in Portales.”

  “Sí,” said Valenzuela.

  “Oh, mister,” said Garcia. “Talk English for the sake of your gringo friend. I am talking English. It’s only polite. May I ask what is your business in Portales?”

  Slocum had a smart-ass remark in his head, but he decided to hold it back. He recalled his own earlier statement about not wanting to get involved with a gang of bandidos. He had one purpose, and one purpose only. That was to get Cash. He did not want to allow anything to get in the way of that purpose.

  “My name’s Slocum,” he said. “My friend here is Gregorio Valenzuela. We came here on the trail of a man.”

  “Are you bounty hunters then?” Garcia interrupted. “Maybe you know about the price on my head. Are you thinking about trying to collect it?”

  “No,” said Slocum. “We don’t know anything about that, and we’re not interested in you or in bounty.”

  “In who then, and for why?”

  “The man’s name is Cash,” Slocum said. “We believe he’s somewhere in Portales.”

  “Cash. Cash. Hey, compadres,” Garcia said, raising his voice, “do we know someone named Cash?”

  The other five bandidos all talked at once, saying noncommittal things and repeating the name Cash. Finally, they quieted down again.

  “Is there a price on the head of this Cash?”

  “Not that we know of,” said Valenzuela.

  “No? Then why are you looking for him? Perhaps he’s a friend of yours? Perhaps you’re thinking of putting together a gang of pistoleros to compete with Garcia. I don’t care for anyone else operating in my territory. You want to settle it now?”

  “There’s nothing to settle,” said Slocum. “We don’t mean to put anything together. We’re just after Cash. That’s all.”

  “For what?”

  “He killed my son,” said Valenzuela.

  The look on Garcia’s face became serious. “Oh,” he said. “I see. You mean to kill him for that. I don’t blame you. But why is this gringo riding along with you?”

  “I want Cash for my own reasons,” said Slocum.

  “We are both on the same trail,” said Valenzuela. “We decided to ride along together.”

  “I see. Well, perhaps I will find out something for you. Perhaps I will let you know. Are you staying here in Portales?”

  “For now,” said Slocum.

  “You’ll be hearing from me,” said Garcia, and he walked back toward the table where his compadres were still seated. His voice very low, Valenzuela said, “He knows where Cash is. There is no doubt about it.”

  “I figured that,” said Slocum.

  Back at the corner table, Garcia leaned over toward one of the other five men. “Pedro,” he said, “go find Señor Cash. Come back and let me know where he is.”

  “Sí, Viviano.”

  The man called Pedro got up and walked out of the saloon. Slocum took note of that, but made no move. He and Valenzuela had one more glass of whiskey each. Soon after that, Pedro returned and went back to the Garcia table. He whispered to Garcia, “Cash is with fat Rosita. He has been there for a while. He should be coming out soon.”

  The other men at the table laughed. When the laughter died down, Pedro said, “There’s more, Viviano.”

  “More?”

  “Sí. The horses of Pablo and Chico have just come into town. They have no riders and no saddles.”

  “You’re sure they are the horses that Pablo and Chico were riding?”

  “Sí. I’m sure.”

  “Then someone has killed them. Go to the stable and check on Señor Cash’s horse. Hurry.”

  Pedro left the saloon again.

  “I wonder what’s going on with them,” Slocum said.

  When Pedro returned again, he was puffing for breath. “Cash’s horse has not moved for two days,” he said.

  “Then it was someone else,” said Garcia. “Did you see the caballos come into town?”

  “Sí.”

  “Which direction did they come in from?”

  “They came in from the north.”

  Garcia got up and walked back over to the table where Valenzuela and Slocum were sitting.

  “Will you buy me a drink?” he asked.

  The bartender put a glass on the bar, and Garcia reached over to pick it up.

  “Sit down,” said Slocum.

  Garcia sat, and Slocum poured his glass full of whiskey.

  “Where did you ride in from?” Garcia said.

  “From Gorky’s at Broken Leg,” said Valenzuela.

  “Ah, from up north.”

  “That’s right,” said Slocum. “What difference does it make?”

  “Two of my compadres were riding up north,” Garcia said. “Just now, it seems, their horses have come home alone. These two were very good horsemen. I think someone has killed them along the trail—to the north.”

  “That’s too bad,” Slocum said. “Do you think we did it?”

  “I was thinking maybe you killed them. I don’t know why, but there is really no one else. None of the people who live around here would dare to kill any of my pistoleros. It had to be strangers. I thought about your compadre. Cash. But I checked on him. He hasn’t been out of town.”

  “Maybe there’s someone else out on that trail that hasn’t come into town yet,” said Slocum.

  “Perhaps,” said Garcia. He drank down his whiskey and stood up. “Perhaps.”

  “Anything could have happened out on that trail,” Valenzuela said. “You haven’t even seen any bodies.”

  “You are right about that, amigo,” Garcia said. “Maybe they found some whores and were careless and let their horses get away. Maybe their cinch straps broke, both of them at the same time, and they fell off their horses with their saddles. I doubt those things, but maybe it could have been like that. I’ll send some men out to look for the bodies, but before I do that, Señor Slocum, I think I will kill you.”

  Slocum glanced over his shoulder.

  “Oh, don’t worry about them, Mr. Slocum,” said Garcia. “They know I need no help. They won’t move a muscle to help me. Of course, if you should be so lucky as to kill me, then I won’t be able to stop them. I think they would kill you then, because they love me so.”

  “I got no reason to kill you,” said Slocum. “Cash’s the man I want.”

  “I don’t think you’ll live to see him.”

  Slocum shoved back his chair. Slowly, he stood up and moved away from the table. He managed to move just enough that he could see the other bandidos out of the corner of his eye. If he should have to kill Garcia, he knew that he would also have to start shooting at once at the others. He meant to be ready, and he hoped that Valenzuela was as well.

  “Well?” said Garcia. “Go for your gun.”

  “I told you,” said Slocum, “I got no reason to kill you.”

  “Then I will give you one.”

  Garcia’s hand went for his gun, but Slocum was in good form. His own hand flashed, and his Colt was out and cocked and leveled at Garcia’s chest by the time Garcia cleared leather. The bandido chief stopped short. He stood in a crouch, his revolver out of the holster but pointed at the floor in front of his feet. He smiled. Then he laughed.

  “You have beat me, Mr. Slocum,” he said. “No one else has ever beat me.”

  He lowered his gun hand, and then he raised it carefully to drop the gun back into the holster. Slocum, cautious, still held his ready. Garcia raised his hands and walked to the table. He pulled out a chair.

  “May I?”

  Slocum holstered his Colt. “Go ahead,” he said. He waited until Garcia was seated, and then he sat down again.

  “May I have another drink?” Garcia asked.

  “Help yourself,” Slocum said, and Garcia reached for the bottle and poured himself a drink. He took a long swig.

  “You know,” he sa
id, “I no longer believe that you killed my two pistoleros. Or if you did, they must have provoked you. You made me look death in the eyes just now, but I’m still alive. Tell me, Slocum, am I alive because you knew that if you killed me, my pistoleros over there would have killed you?”

  “Maybe,” Slocum said, “but I could have gotten at least two of them before you hit the floor.”

  “I would have killed the rest,” said Valenzuela.

  Garcia looked from Slocum to Valenzuela with disbelief in his eyes. Then he started to laugh again. When he stopped laughing, he said, “You know, if you instead of that Cash had come to me, and if you had done me the way you did just now, you would already be my segundo.”

  “Cash came to you?” asked Slocum.

  “Oh, yes,” said Garcia. “I neglected to tell you. He came to me, wanting to join up with me, but I am cautious with gringos.” He looked at Slocum. “Pardon me, Señor,” he said. “No offense intended.”

  “None taken,” said Slocum.

  “I told him I would think about it. He’s been hanging around town ever since, I suppose, waiting for me to make up my mind.”

  “Where is he?” asked Valenzuela.

  “Be patient,” said Garcia. “I will see that you get together with him. But will he face both of you?”

  “Only one at a time,” said Valenzuela. “If he survives the first one.”

  “And who will be first?”

  “I will,” Slocum said.

  “No,” said Valenzuela. “I will try him first.”

  Slocum started to protest, but Garcia interrupted, putting an end to the argument. “I think, Mr. Slocum,” he said, “that you are much too fast for Cash. I think if you face him first, Mr. Valenzuela will never have a chance at his revenge for his poor son. I think I will send for him to meet you, but only if Valenzuela goes first.”

  18

  Slocum and Valenzuela checked their weapons in anticipation of the meeting with Cash, as Pedro once again was launched on an errand. In a short while, Pedro returned. Garcia stopped him beside the table where he sat with Slocum and Valenzuela. “Did you find Cash?” he asked.

  “Sí.”

  “And did you give him the message?”

  “Sí.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He say that he will be in the street in front of this saloon at four o’clock. He say that he is not afraid to meet anyone.”

  “He will only have to meet me,” said Valenzuela. “After that, he will meet the devil.”

  In his room at the hotel, Cash dressed. He slicked his hair and put on his hat. He took up his gun belt and strapped it around his waist. Then he took out the revolver and checked it over carefully. It was fully loaded, and it was working perfectly. He took the watch out of his pocket and checked the time. It was 2:30. At last, he rolled up his belongings in a blanket, picked up the blanket and his saddlebags, and went out of the room. He did not go to the stairs that would lead him down to the lobby of the hotel. Instead, he walked to the far end of the hall, where he opened a door that led out to a small landing and a set of outdoor stairs. These took him down to the alley behind the building. He walked through the alley to the stable and went in through the back door.

  He stepped up behind the unsuspecting stableman and, taking out his revolver, banged him over the head, knocking him silly. Moving quickly but cautiously, he located his horse and got him saddled and ready to ride. Then he threw a loop over the neck of Slocum’s big Appaloosa. The horse protested, but there wasn’t much he could do. Cash did not know the horse of the other man, that Valenzuela. In fact, he did not know the man. All he knew was that Pedro had told him that Slocum and a man named Valenzuela were waiting for him. That was all.

  Cash looked over all the stalls very quickly and discovered that there were only four more horses in there. He put ropes on them all. Mounted up, he rode past each stall, opening the gate and holding the lead rope, then rode out through the back door while leading all the horses with him. This would slow his pursuers considerably. After he had gone a few miles away from Portales, he would turn the animals loose. They would slow him down and get in his way. But at first, he needed them, or actually, he needed to be sure that Slocum and Valenzuela did not have them.

  Cash rode out of Portales through the alley, and he rode in a direction that would not take him past the saloon where the two men waited along with the Garcia gang. He rode slowly, making as little noise and calling as little attention to himself as possible. Once out of town, he rode hard for a few miles. Then he slowed again and went on for a few more miles. At last, he turned loose all the horses except the Appaloosa. That one he tied to a tree beside the road. Then he rode on his way.

  Four o’clock came and went, and although Valenzuela waited patiently and alone in the street, there was no sign of Cash. Slocum was inside, looking out the window. At 4:15, he looked back at Garcia.

  “The son of a bitch ain’t coming,” he said.

  “He told my man that he would be here,” Garcia said.

  “It’s not the first time he’s lied,” said Slocum.

  He walked to the front door and on out onto the sidewalk. Valenzuela looked over his shoulder to see him. “He’s not coming, Valenzuela,” said Slocum. He kept walking. Garcia and all his men came out of the saloon and followed Slocum. Valenzuela fell in step. Slocum went straight to the stable and inside. There, he found the man that Cash had clobbered on the head. The poor wretch was still out cold. He also saw at once that all the stalls were empty.

  “Damn it,” he shouted.

  “Our horses are gone,” said Valenzuela.

  Garcia turned on Pedro. “What’s the meaning of this?” he said.

  Pedro backed off a couple of steps, shrugging as he backed. “I don’t know,” he said. “The man told me he would be in the street.”

  Slocum stood up from where he had knelt beside the stable man. “Someone had better get a doctor for this man,” he said, but he did not stop to see if anyone had paid any attention to what he had said. He walked to the back door of the stable, which was still standing wide open, and checked the tracks. They had all gone out that way, and then they’d continued out of town. His Appaloosa was among them.

  “All bets are off,” he said. “I’ll kill that son of a bitch the next time I see him.”

  “You still have to beat me to him,” said Valenzuela.

  “And now you have to beat me as well,” said Garcia. “Let’s get going.”

  “On what?” asked Valenzuela.

  “Pedro and Pancho will stay behind,” Garcia said. “You and Slocum can take their horses. They are all tied back at the saloon. Come on.”

  Soon Slocum, Valenzuela, Garcia, and three of Garcia’s pistoleros were riding the trail after Cash. For a few miles out of Portales, the road was tree-lined. Then the trees grew more scarce, and the terrain began to roll with low gradual hills. The hills then grew steeper, and on the sides of the road, large rocks rose up. They had not gone far into the rocky hills before they spotted the horses that Cash had turned loose. Garcia ordered one of his men to take them back to Portales. That left Slocum, Valenzuela, Garcia, and two men following Cash. In another couple of miles, they found the Appaloosa tied to a tree beside the road. Slocum switched the saddle from the horse he was riding to the Appaloosa’s back and climbed aboard.

  “It ain’t your own saddle, ole pard,” he said, “but it’ll have to do for now.”

  Soon it was too dark to continue safely. The road was unfamiliar even to Garcia. They decided to stop for the night. As they sat around a small fire, wishing they had some coffee and beans at least, Garcia said to Slocum, “This Cash is one no-good coward. I am fortunate that I did not accept him into my ranks.”

  “Don’t let him fool you,” said Slocum. “I’ve seen him stand up to a man and gun him. He’s not a coward. He’s just practical. That’s all.”

  “Practical,” said Garcia, musing to himself.

  “This time
we must not let him slip through our fingers,” said Valenzuela. “We made that mistake at Portales. This time we must stop him.”

  “We’ll get the son of a bitch,” said Slocum.

  They bedded down for the night and slept hungry as best they could. In the morning, they rose and got an early start. In a couple of hours, they came to a small wayside inn, and they stopped and had breakfast and eggs. They learned that Cash had gone through the night before. They did not linger over coffee. They were in a hurry to catch Cash. Somewhat refreshed, they were back on the road in a short time.

  As the road narrowed, climbing higher into mountains, one of Garcia’s men spoke to him. “I think it’s not so safe for you here,” the man said. “There’s a reward for you, and there are posters out. I myself have seen them. The sheriffs over here are looking for you.”

  “They won’t expect me to come riding through,” Garcia said. “Don’t worry.”

  At the top of the next rise, a rifle shot rang out, then two more followed in quick succession. Valenzuela fell out of his saddle. Slocum jumped for cover, and so did Garcia, but Garcia’s two pistoleros fell, both hit. Slocum was behind a rock on one side of the road, Garcia on the other. Each man had his six-gun out. The rifles were still in the saddle boots.

  “You see anything, Garcia?” Slocum called out.

  “Not a thing,” Garcia answered. “Damn it to hell. The gringo son of a bitch has killed three good men.”

  “I’m not killed,” said Valenzuela, lying still in the middle of the road. “I’m hurt, but not killed.”

  Slocum was scouring the mountainside. “Where is that bastard?”

  “I still don’t see no sign of him,” said Garcia.

  “Be still out there, Valenzuela,” Slocum said. “We can’t make a move for you right now, and if he sees you move, he’ll likely shoot again.”

  “Don’t worry for me,” said Valenzuela. “I won’t move.”

  They stayed there under cover for a long time—it seemed to Slocum at least an hour—with poor Valenzuela lying there in the road bleeding. Slocum had no idea how badly Valenzuela was hurt. No more shots were fired. That could be because Cash had no target. He could be waiting the same as they were. At last, Slocum decided that it was time to do something.