Slocum and the Forgetful Felon

by Jake Logan

  The waiter allowed that they did. “Vegetable? We have carrot casserole, three-bean salad, fresh garden peas, white corn on the cob—”

  “Corn. And green salad, with vinegar and oil dressing.”

  The waiter made a final note on his pad, then turned toward Teddy, who had been studying the menu. He handed it over. “I’ll take what he’s havin’.” After the waiter left, Teddy added, “It’s easier than goin’ through that whole dang thing again.”

  Slocum nodded. “You’re a wise man, Teddy. Now, just you wait. You’re in for a treat!”

  Dinner was served, and while Slocum wasted no time digging into his crab, Teddy just sat there, staring at his.

  Slocum noted his lack of enthusiasm, and said, “You gotta crack the shell.” He held up his crab cracker, and Teddy reluctantly picked up his. Slocum demonstrated how to work it, then showed Teddy how to dip the meat in the clarified butter the waiter had brought.

  Once Teddy actually had his first mouthful of crab, his whole face lit up like Christmas. “By Christ!” he said, once he was capable of speech. “This is the best dang stuff I ever ate. And when I say ever, I mean in all my born days!”

  He dove in, and didn’t speak another word for the rest of the meal. Slocum was glad. Not only for the silence, but for the reprieve—he wasn’t in the mood to answer any more uncomfortable questions, or to discuss their next quarry. This one was going to take a lot longer than Wash Trumble—what didn’t?—and he was in no mood to explain his reasoning to Teddy.

  At least, when they were out on the trail, he wouldn’t run into any fool kid bounty hunters. Maybe, with his attention diverted by the struggles of the trail, Teddy would forget about the one he’d met today.

  After they’d finished their dinner—and a dessert of chocolate cake—they repaired to the hotel. Teddy stopped at Slocum’s door and shifted from foot to foot.

  “All right, Teddy,” Slocum said. “C’mon in.” The kid did, and shut the door behind him. “What’s on your mind?”

  Teddy sat down in the stuffed chair opposite the bed, then sat forward, elbows on knees. “Been thinkin’, Slocum.”

  “Always a bad sign,” Slocum muttered beneath his breath before he looked over at Teddy. “What ’bout?”

  “I remembered some stuff.”

  Slocum tried like hell to keep the frown off his face, but had little luck. “What kind’a stuff?”

  Teddy shook his head. “It’s all kind’a . . . disjointed, y’know? Little bits an’ pieces’a things, things you’d see in some play.”

  Slocum arched a brow. “You remembered goin’ to a play?”

  “No, damn it. It’s like it’s my life, but it isn’t. It’s . . . Aw, hell. I’m not ’splainin’ myself too good.” He put his head in his hands and held it, rocking slowly back and forth.

  Slocum, against his wiser leanings, took a little pity on the boy. He walked over and put his hand on Teddy’s shoulder. “One reason Marshal Pete chained us together like this? It’s because you had a little trouble with your memory down to Phoenix. You remember that?”

  Muffled, Teddy said, “Yeah.”

  “Good. You were having trouble rememberin’ stuff from some time back, too. It was kinda like somebody took hold’a your brain and wiped it clean.”

  Teddy looked up. “For how long?”

  “We don’t know. Seems you got a little of it leakin’ through now, though.” He patted Teddy’s shoulder before he moved away. “You’ll be all right, kid.”

  Quietly, Teddy stood up and opened the door. “Thanks, Slocum,” he muttered before he went out into the hall. “See you in the mornin’.”

  Slocum was alone before he said, “Night, kid,” and went back out again, this time on the hunt for some female companionship.

  9

  The next morning, Slocum shook Teddy out of bed at around eight, and they made off after Homer Crabbe’s trail. Or at least, the sheriff’s best guess at it, a path that would take them into the mountains to the west.

  Slocum didn’t know Crabbe, didn’t know anything about him, other than what was printed on the poster: He was wanted for horse theft, arson, and two incidental murders, so Slocum made a mental note to watch out for this one. He was purported to carry a Sharps carbine rifle and double rigged Colts—those, Slocum wore himself—and was reported to travel with an Arkansas toothpick in his right boot.

  He was obviously a man you didn’t want to meddle with unless you had a damn good reason. Slocum figured that the six grand on Homer’s head was reason enough. But as he and Teddy rode along through the pine forest, ducking limbs and looking for the trail, he wondered if the boy was ready for it. Teddy was cocky enough, but that was based on their luck with Wash Trumble. They weren’t going to be that lucky again.

  He was about to open his mouth and start a conversation about it, but Teddy, riding ahead, beat him to the punch. “Slocum?” he called back, reining in his horse, “I just can’t figure it out. ’Bout that kid knowin’ my name and all. How you ’spose he did that anyways?”

  Slocum rode up next to him and stopped, too. He ran a cuff over his brow and said, “Teddy, I don’t know. I told you and told you. How many more times I gotta keep tellin’ you?”

  Teddy colored a little, but managed to say, “Don’t you even think it’s kind’a funny? I mean, how many times does a feller come up to you and say, ‘You’re Slocum and I’m takin’ you in!’ ”

  This inadvertently caused Slocum to smile a little. “Quite a few, actually.”

  Teddy pounded his knee with his fist. “Aw, that’s a rotten example. I never done anything to make me a wanted man, but I seen paper on you when I was a kid. For thievin’ somethin’.”

  Slocum chuckled. “Remember what it was?”

  “No. But I’m makin’ the point that I ain’t never done nothin’ to make me wanted. By anybody!” Teddy was adamant.

  “Don’t go yellin’ at me,” Slocum said. “I didn’t have nothin’ to do with it.” He looked past Teddy’s left shoulder, then pointed a finger along his line of sight. “There’s the trail over there.”

  Teddy twisted to look, then twisted back. “Well,” he said, reining his horse around, “I just don’t get it.”

  “That’s life,” Slocum said. “Get used to it. And I wanted to talk to you about somethin’ else. This man we’re goin’ after, this Homer Crabbe.”

  “Six thousand!” Teddy said happily, then made a sound something like a cash register’s clang. “We’re gonna be so rich, Slocum!”

  “You say that like it’s a done deal,” Slocum replied. They were on the trail now, and it had been beaten down enough that they could ride side by side. “It ain’t. The sheriff back in Flag gave me quite a rundown on Homer Crabbe, and he’s one dangerous sonofabitch. I think mayhap we should go after one’a the others first, maybe two or three. Y’know, just to kind’a get you broke in. What’d’ya say?”

  Teddy looked surprised, and a little angry that Slocum would have to even think such a thing! He said, “We already done that. Broke me in, I mean. On Wash Trumble.”

  Slocum’s head shook. “Not even halfway. Ol’ Wash was a sack’a sugar candy, compared to Homer. Hell, compared to your average six-year-old!”

  “Nope, no way. Nobody else in that file you got pays as good as Homer. So long as you gotta take me along, I figure I should get a say in who we go after.” He stopped talking for a moment to duck beneath an overhanging pine branch. “And you already had your say. You’re the one that picked him out in the first place!”

  Slocum was silent. The kid did have a point. He was just afraid that if he let Teddy have his way, he was going to wind up dead. Hell, maybe they’d both get killed.

  But for now, he held his peace. The kid was stirred up right now. He’d let Teddy simmer in his own juices for a bit.

  Come nightfall, they bedded down in a clearing that had once been a beaver pond. Slocum staked the horses out in the center so they could graze to their hearts’ content, wh
ile he and Teddy bedded down nearer the trees and built a fire.

  Slocum brought out some of the grub he’d bought while they were in Flag, and began to put together a stew for their dinner while Teddy made coffee. Teddy made good coffee. Slocum had left that part to him from the first time he’d made it after they left Phoenix.

  He was cutting up an onion for the stew when, out of the blue, Teddy said, “How long you figure? I mean, till we find him.”

  Slocum gave a shrug. “Could be tomorrow, could be three or four months. He’s a cagy one.”

  “Three or four months?” Teddy looked like he’d been struck by lightning. “You joshin’ me?”

  “Could be longer. Nobody knows where he is.” Slocum finished with the onion and tossed it in the pot with the beef he’d bought. He picked up a potato and began slicing.

  Teddy muttered, “Three or four months. Months!” and flopped back on his bedroll. Louder, he said, “I wish he’d ride in here tonight, and we could jus’ shoot him! I mean, he’s wanted dead or alive, ain’t he? God damn it anyhow!”

  Slocum dumped the spud in the pot, then picked up another to slice. Quietly, he said, “Well, I don’t think that’s gonna happen. I ain’t got that kind’a luck. And apparently neither do you.”

  Teddy grunted out something that escaped Slocum, but it was obvious that Teddy had been thinking again: usually a bad sign, but in this case, it might actually be to both their benefits.

  Slocum kept his mouth shut, and kept on slicing potatoes. Quiet was the best way to deal with Teddy. For now. Later on, if he didn’t change his mind about their quarry, he might have to slap the kid around a little.

  But after a while, long after Slocum had taken the cooked stew off the fire, after they’d finished the meal in silence and sat, drinking coffee, Teddy finally said, “Aw, I s’pose we could go after one’a them cheaper guys. Maybe two or three of ’em. What’d you think?”

  Slocum looked over the rim of his coffee cup at Teddy. The kid seemed sincere enough. The silent treatment had worked, all right. He took a long drink of coffee before he answered, just to keep the amusement out of his voice.

  “Think you’re makin’ a good point, Teddy. Go for the smaller ticket boys. They’d add up to six thousand bucks soon enough. And if we just happen to cross paths with ol’ Homer . . .” He stopped to shrug. “Well, we’ll just consider it the hand of fate. I’m okay with that if you are.”

  Teddy nodded, his face brightening somewhat. Actually, he looked relieved. “That’s settled, then. Now, who do we go after next?”

  This time, Slocum let the chuckle out, and Teddy, although he looked a little puzzled at first, joined in.

  The next morning brought them a later start than the last. There were posters to go through and argue over, breakfast to be made and eaten, and Teddy’s mare had found the stream’s leftover mudhole during the night and rolled in it.

  They didn’t leave the clearing until their quarry was picked, their bellies were full, and Teddy’s mare was groomed into her original condition.

  The man they had chosen to look for was one Jorge Ruiz, wanted for murder, assault, and horse theft. The poster said he was worth $1500, alive only. Slocum kept on repeating that last bit to Teddy—all he needed was for Teddy to kill somebody else right now, when he had a path to freedom. Chances like that came along once in a blue moon, and Slocum was going to do his damnedest to make certain Teddy didn’t blow it.

  Young Jorge had murdered a prostitute (Jorge said she was, her family said she wasn’t) down around Tucson, then beat up the deputy sheriff who’d taken him into custody, and stolen a horse—which just happened to be the mayor’s—on the way out of town. The last time anybody had seen him was on the date of the crime, last June fourteenth. Three months ago. Which meant he could be just about anywhere.

  But Slocum was happy with the odds. Jorge had headed out of town, going north, in a big hurry. Chances were that he’d turned west to follow the old Mormon Trail. Slocum doubted he’d go up to Phoenix, especially now that things were booming up there.

  But he felt that a trip through Phoenix was excusable. The little Mexican whore he’d picked up the other night hadn’t been any too talented, and he had a hankering for somebody with more . . . spice to her lovemaking. So in his mind, they were headed for Katie’s.

  Now, what was on Teddy’s mind was anybody’s guess. He’d been uncharacteristically quiet all morning—except for the time he discovered his mare had rolled in the mud, of course. When that happened, all manner of cuss words came from him that you wouldn’t expect a preacher’s kid to know. But after that, not a word.

  By afternoon, they were down into the foothills and leaving the tall pines behind. They’d gnawed on jerky and hardtack for lunch, so that they could keep moving south, but by a little before nightfall, Slocum had shot a couple of jackrabbits, planning on rabbit stew for supper.

  They stopped and made camp in the open, in a place where the green fields went rolling on forever, frequently punctuated by stands of prickly pear and jumping cholla. It must have rained pretty damn good up here, thought Slocum, and recently, for the grasses to have got so thick and green.

  As usual, Teddy made a fire and started making coffee while Slocum cut up the rabbits and began slicing and dicing the vegetables. They ate their dinner in silence—normal for Slocum, but not for Teddy—and finally, when their plates were empty and they were both sitting, sipping coffee, Slocum paused to take a draw on his cigarette.

  The smoke rolled out as fast as it had been taken in, and he asked, “What you plannin’ on doin’ in Phoenix?”

  Teddy looked up. “That where we’re headed?”

  “I’m thinkin’ Monkey Springs to start with, but Phoenix is on the way.”

  Teddy slowly shook his head. “No it ain’t, if we go like the crow flies.”

  Slocum smiled a little. “Crows don’t need to be stoppin’ in at no whorehouses, kid.”

  “Oh,” Teddy said, nodding. “Miss Katie?”

  “Yeah. And you can have your pick of the others. That be okay with you?”

  Teddy wasn’t shy with his smiles. “You betcha! But we ain’t stoppin’ long, right?”

  “Right. But why’re you in such a hurry?”

  “I wanna get Jorge!”

  Slocum chuckled. The kid was still bound to him by the promise of bounty money, and wasn’t likely to take off in the middle of the night. Or the middle of the day, for that matter.

  10

  After two more days on the trail, they entered Phoenix again. The place was undergoing a lot of change, and new folks were moving into town all the time.

  “We’d best be checkin’ in with the marshal, first thing,” Slocum said after they’d forded one of the old irrigation canals that ran between them and the capital’s downtown.

  “How come?” asked Teddy. “And why don’t they build themselves some’a those dang bridges?”

  “Because I feel like it’s what I should do. And they are.” Slocum pointed down the long canal a ways, where men were at work spanning the water. “You wanna go see?” Actually, Slocum wouldn’t have to be talked into it at all. He liked watching men build things, especially when there was no chance he’d be asked to lend a hand.

  Teddy nodded, and they set off down the bank toward the crew.

  “You know the story?” Slocum asked. “I mean, you know how the canals got here and everything?”

  Teddy shrugged. “Somebody dug ’em, I reckon.”

  “Yup. A real long time ago, before anybody out here had heard of white people. Before the white people even knew that this continent existed.”

  “Aw, you’re joshin’ me!”

  Slocum shook his head. “Nope, no josh. There was a tribe of Indians that lived here. Called the Hohokam. Well, I don’t know what they was called exactly, ’cause they was named by one of the other tribes. ‘Hohokam’ means the ‘Lost Ones,’ or the ‘Vanished Ones,’ somethin’ like that. Anyhow, they dug the valley full�
��a irrigation canals.”

  “Wait a second,” Teddy interjected. “How come they took off after they done all that work?”

  “Nobody knows,” Slocum said with a shrug. “And nobody knows where they went either. Let’s stop here, and we can watch ’em from the shade.” They stopped beneath a huge cottonwood, dismounted, and sat on the ground. Slocum took a swig from his canteen, then began to roll himself a quirlie. That was another reason to be stopping in Phoenix—he had a hankering for a couple packs of ready-mades.

  “Well, if no white man seen ’em, maybe they didn’t exist in the first place,” Teddy said offhand.

  “You think white men are the only ones to trust with history? Hell, I knew a colored man who could tell you all the names of his ancestors, back ten generations’ worth. Met a few Chinese who could do it, too. Could you do that?”

  Teddy stared at his lap. “Well, no. I guess you gotta point.”

  “Damn right, I do.” Slocum finally lit his quirlie. It was good enough for a quirlie, but he wanted ready-mades something crazy! “Anyhow, there’s places where men dug up a whole lot of old pottery and stuff. They even found an old ball court somewhere outside’a town.”

  “A what?”

  “You know, where they had organized ball games and such. No,” he responded to Teddy’s scowl, “not like baseball. Hell, nobody knows for sure. But I heard from a feller that there’s old Indian ruins down in southern Mexico where they got the same thing. The old ball courts, I mean.”

  Teddy looked him square in the eyes. “You’re as goonie as a mustang on loco weed!”

  Slocum blurted out a laugh. “Believe me or not, it’s the truth. Your choice.”

  Teddy just shook his head, obviously thinking that he’d been riding with a lunatic for the last week and a half.

  Slocum rolled himself another quirlie, and they sat in silence, watching the workers build the bridge. They were building one wide enough to support a good-sized buck-board, and they weren’t going to finish today, so once he put out his quirlie, he stood up and stretched. “Better get goin’, Teddy,” he said. “Gonna be dark pretty soon.”