Slocum and the Sonoran Fugitive

by Jake Logan

  He quickly checked his guns, put on his hat, and left the room. He was halfway down the stairs when a voice from behind him called out, “Hey, buddy, wait up!”

  It was Will, probably hoping for company for a beer or three.

  “Hey, Will,” Slocum said. “I’ll join you for a beer after a while. Runnin’ up the the marshal’s right now to give a statement.”

  But Will followed him down the stairs anyway. “Statement?” he said. “ ’ Bout bringin’ in Dugan?”

  “No, somethin’ else.” Slocum stepped off the stairs and into the bar.

  “What?” Will was still right behind him.

  “About this afternoon.” Slocum kept walking, and waved at Wyatt as he passed the faro table. Wyatt nodded back.

  “Nice job, Slocum,” he said as Slocum passed.

  Slocum adjusted his direction to take him out to the street, and found Will standing directly in his path.

  “Nice job on what?”

  Slocum sighed. “On the bank deal,” he said.

  “Oh. That,” said Will.

  Slocum didn’t like Will’s blasé attitude even more than he didn’t like his enthusiasm. But he brushed past him and said, “Gotta go up to see Virgil for a minute, that’s all. No need for you to trouble yourself. I’ll be back for that beer in two shakes.”

  Will grunted, and Slocum left him behind. His shoulder was bothering him less and less, he noticed, the more he moved. Maybe he’d live through this deal, after all!

  He crossed the street and opened the door to Virgil’s office.

  It wasn’t so bad, after all.

  He just talked, and Virgil wrote it down, and when they were finished, Slocum read it over, then signed his name at the bottom of the page. No trouble at all. And he learned that the boy was a young cousin of the notorious Clanton outfit, and he’d just ridden into town about a week ago.

  But when Slocum got up to leave, Virgil said, “Hang on a minute, Slocum. Me and my brothers been talkin’. And, well, I just talked to the territorial marshal’s office.”

  Slocum cocked a brow. “How could you just talk to ’em? Takes two, three days to send a letter up there!”

  Virgil poked his thumb at a contraption on the wall behind him. “They call it a Bell Telephone. They just put it in this mornin’. Don’t rightly understand it myself, but it lets you talk to folks anywhere, long as they’ve got one, too.”

  Slocum nodded. He said, “I believe I seen one a’ these things before, up to Denver not too long ago. Tombstone’s gettin’ real civilized these days, ain’t she?”

  Virgil shook his head, as if he were sad to see it come. “That she is, Slocum, that she is. But I’m gettin’ off track. We discussed it, the whole of us, and we think you’d make a good deputy. One who can think for himself and act accordingly. Sorry to say it don’t pay much, but we’d appreciate it if you signed on.”

  Slocum was taken aback, quite literally, to the point where he thumped his spine against the wall. He shook his head. “Appreciate the offer, Virgil, but I don’t think so.”

  “Why not?”

  Slocum shrugged. “Got too many places to go, too many people to see. You know.”

  Virgil sighed. “And you got too many lady friends dotted all over the countryside.” He shook his head, then opened the top drawer of his desk and pulled out an envelope. “I s’pose I understand. Don’t you wanna think it over?”

  “ ’ Fraid not, but still, thanks. Hell, it’s an honor just to be asked.”

  Virgil handed him the envelope, which was sealed.

  “What’s this?”

  “Reward. No, rewards, plural. For foilin’ the bank job, and also for going out with Wyatt after Dugan. Your doctor bill’s on the county, by the way.”

  Slocum started to hand the envelope back, saying, “Now, Virgil . . .”

  But Virgil folded his arms and backed away. “Go buy yourself a bottle a’ champagne and a gal for the night,” he said with a grin. “And if you change your mind about the other . . .”

  Slocum nodded his thanks and went out the door. One thing about Virgil: he was more than fair. Not much of a sense of humor, but fair right down to his bones.

  Slocum walked back down to the Oriental and had gone inside before he remembered the envelope. And even then, he first sat at a table and ordered a bottle of champagne—taking Virgil’s advice, or at least part of it—before he pulled the envelope from his pocket. He was about to open it when Will suddenly sat down at his table.

  “Greetin’s!” he said. He leaned back in his chair and thumbed his hat back, too. “All finished up with the legalities?”

  “All done.” Slocum slit the envelope with his nail and peered inside. Shit. Virgil wasn’t fair. Virgil was generous, right down to his goddamn toenails! There were two crisp, new one-hundred-dollar bills inside.

  He quickly tucked the envelope back in his pocket and instead brought out a new pack of ready-mades. If he was going to have to share with Will, he’d rather it be a smoke and some wine, not more cash money.

  The champagne arrived in an iced silver bucket, and Will didn’t need an invitation to grab the first glass. Slocum smiled to himself. He guessed he didn’t need a whole bottle all to himself, after all.

  “Well, you were right. That was sure quick,” Will said as he poured himself a second glass.

  “You know,” said Slocum, “if you don’t watch out, you’re gonna develop a taste for the finer things.” He flicked a sulfur-tip and lit a smoke, then offered the pack to Will.

  Will waved a hand. “Just ’cause I don’t roll my own quirleys, don’t mean I’m smokin’ only the store-bought kind.” He emptied his glass again. “Just never got the habit, I reckon.” He poured out a third glass for himself.

  Well, hell. Slocum supposed that he’d created a monster, and that Will was just a sponge for champagne.

  “Glad to find the two of you so handy!” Mandy said from behind Slocum’s back. Grinning, he turned and took her in from head to toe—and she was a sight to see, all right! She wore a brand-new, store-bought dress—pale blue and very simple. Nothing to even suggest her former line of work.

  He said, “Mandy, you’re a vision in that dress!”

  She curtsied. “Why, thank you, Slocum! You mind if I sit down?”

  He pulled out the chair next to him. Meanwhile, Will was just staring with his mouth open. Probably in shock, Slocum thought. But at least it gave Slocum the time to signal the bartender for another glass.

  Mandy turned to Will. “Mister . . . I don’t believe I caught your last name the last time we met.”

  Will stuttered, “H-Hutchins. Will Hutchins, ma’am.” Even he regarded her as a lady and not some nameless whore, up from the cribs. Mandy would do just fine, Slocum thought. Just fine.

  She then launched into a long list of questions about Prescott, which Will answered—at first, with a hitch in his throat, but later he relaxed and waxed poetic about his hometown. And at great length.

  Slocum was tired again. And he’d be damned if he’d buy another flagon of champagne so that Mandy could nurse one measly glass while Will drank the rest like it was soda pop.

  He got to his feet. “Sorry, folks, but this ol’ boy needs some shut-eye,” he said, and putting his hands on Mandy’s shoulders, he gave her a little squeeze. He bent to her ear. “You look damn classy, Mandy,” he whispered. “Like the goddamn Queen of England.”

  She blushed, the color rising up her neck, and giggled a little. “Why, thank you, Mr. Slocum,” she said. She caught his hand before he could pull away. “I’ll be up later to tuck you in.”

  He smiled and lifted her hand to his lips. “My pleasure, Miss Mandy,” he said before he kissed it.

  “Now, ain’t we gettin’ hoity-toity!” laughed Will, breaking the concentration of both of them, and their locked eyes.

  “Aw, buy your own champagne,” Slocum growled before he winked at Mandy, then turned toward the stairs.

  He hadn’t been in his
room five minutes when Mandy rapped lightly on the door.

  “It ain’t locked,” he called out.

  The door opened, and in she walked. She looked like a rancher’s daughter, or a girl from New York City, or, well, just a beautiful girl. She closed the door behind her, then turned the latch. “It is now,” she said.

  Slocum didn’t say a word. He just held out his arms and she rushed into them.

  Later, she joined him in a ready-made, and they both lay back on the sheets, naked and glistening with sweat. “There’s nobody like you, Slocum. Nobody in the whole wide world.”

  He planted a kiss on the milky skin of her breast before he said, “Oh, there must be. Maybe over in Paris, France. Or Russia.”

  She giggled like a little girl. “I never been to those places, but I can just about guarantee they ain’t got nothin’ like you.”

  He smiled. “Have to take your word for it, then, Miss Mandy.” He took the last drag off his smoke and ground out the butt in the ashtray. “At this point, I’d take your word for just about anythin’.”

  He let his hand lightly touch down on the tender flesh where her ribs met, then slowly laze down her soft, pale belly. She parted her legs slightly so that he could cup her in his palm.

  She asked, “Again?”

  He slipped a finger just inside her and began to rub, very gently. He was hard again, too, and he figured he might as well share the joy. He looked deep into her eyes. “If the lady wouldn’t mind?”

  She smiled back at him. “Oh, the lady wouldn’t mind. She wouldn’t mind one little ol’ bit.”

  23

  When Slocum woke the next day, she was gone, but there was a note. She was leaving on the morning stage for Prescott, it said. She’d be forever grateful, and she loved him very much.

  He read the note over several times, even though it refused to change messages, but he finally put it down without a curse passing his lips. He had very much wanted to see Mandy this morning, but now he’d have to go all the way up to Prescott to do that. He hadn’t planned on Prescott again until sometime next year. Maybe the next.

  He sat down, sighing deeply. After feeling sorry for himself for a whole five minutes, he snapped himself out of it. “She’s better off outta here anyway,” he muttered as he started to dress. “And I gotta deliver those thieved horses to Monkey Springs. Mandy’ll wait. I need to go over to Dallas anyhow. Then Fort Smith, over in Arkansas.”

  He’d “anyhow’d” himself completely out of her within another ten minutes, when he realized that he hadn’t had so much as an ache from his wound all morning long. “Now, that’s a pure-dee miracle!” he said aloud, then laughed.

  Even laughter didn’t hurt, and he only laughed harder.

  There was a knock at the door. “Come on in,” he called, expecting to see Doc Goodnight, or Will, or maybe Wyatt.

  He didn’t, but he was close. It was Morgan. “Sorry to disturb you, Slocum,” he said.

  Slocum was tempted to ask him what had possessed him to do it then, but he held his tongue. He raised his brow, by way of inquiry.

  “It’s, well . . .” Morgan mumbled. It seemed that now he was here, he couldn’t get the words out.

  “What, Morgan?” Slocum demanded, in a tone meant to spook the words out of him.

  It worked. “Your horses are gone,” he said, all in a rush.

  “What! Both of ’em?”

  Morgan nodded slowly.

  Slocum grabbed his hat and bolted for the stairs. It was ten-thirty now. Just how long had those horses been missing? He ought to tie a bell to Apache’s saddle, he thought. No, he oughta tie Apache to his foot at night, that’s what he ought to do. Why on earth, with all the horses at the O.K. to pick from, would anybody grab his two? Both of them!

  He stepped off the bottom riser, half-running. He bumped straight into Wyatt and bounced back into the side of the bar.

  But Wyatt only laughed. “Hey, Slocum! You okay, buddy?”

  “Yeah, fine. Sorry ’bout that.”

  “No problem. And now . . .”

  “Surprise!” the bar crowd shouted in unison.

  Slocum blinked rapidly. What the hell was everybody yelling about when they should be out finding his horses?

  Morgan Earp stepped up behind him. “Half the town wanted to thank you for savin’ the bank yesterday, Slocum. And you can stop frettin’ about your horses. They’re fine.”

  Slocum didn’t know whether to slug him or kiss him, but he didn’t have time to mull it over. Wyatt turned him around again and guided him to a table where Will was already seated—and already working on a bottle of champagne. So far, he’d drunk about half of it.

  Slocum sat down to a round of cheers. “Good wine?” he asked Will, and then nodded to the crowd. When they settled into drinking, he asked him, “You got any extra for me?”

  “Sure!” Will crowed, oblivious to the sarcasm. “Got another bottle comin’!”

  Wyatt and Morgan joined them, and Slocum ordered a ham sandwich. It didn’t exactly go with the champagne, but it gave him some cushion for it to sit on.

  By the time that Virgil came in to join them, Will had passed out, but other than that, it was a good time. Slocum had never had anybody throw a party for him, except when he was a little kid and his mother invited a few of the kids from school over. He remembered that during a game of pin the tail on the donkey, Joey Turn-stall had thrown up on everybody—including the donkey. Well, maybe they’d twirled him too hard.

  But that had been the last party anybody’d thrown for Slocum, and he couldn’t say that he was too fond of them. Although this one was proving to be better—at least, no one had retched yet—because most of the attendees were already happily hammered.

  At about noon, Slocum left the party and wandered out to the sidewalk, where he pulled up a bench and settled back. That was real nice of the Earps, he thought. Real nice for them to throw me a soiree. He glanced down the street, and saw Apache’s handsome head, munching hay and poking out through a stall window.

  “I think I’ll leave,” he muttered to no one in particular. Of course, he had to deliver those horses back to Monkey Springs. Those folks couldn’t live without their horses forever. He’d thought it over and decided to take Red to them, too, to replace the horse that Will had shot. Red was undoubtedly a far better mount than the one that had been originally stolen, but Slocum couldn’t see replacing somebody’s saddle horse with something from the knacker’s yard.

  “Thinkin’ about leavin’?” said Wyatt’s voice. He had come out and was standing next to Slocum’s bench, smoking.

  “I must be slippin’,” Slocum said. “Didn’t even hear you come out.”

  “Ain’t you heard?” Wyatt said as he motioned for Slocum to scoot over, then sat down next to him. “I can be quiet as a cat when I wanna be.”

  Slocum smiled. “Seems to me I did hear somethin’ like that.”

  “Well, there you go.”

  They sat in silence for a few minutes while Slocum lit one of his ready-mades.

  He had it half-smoked before Wyatt said, “So, you goin’ or not?”

  “Sounds like you’re tryin’ to get rid’a me,” Slocum said, a hint of a smile on his lips.

  Wyatt, his expression mirroring Slocum’s, said, “Might wanna take it that way.”

  “Monkey Springs wants their horses back, don’t they?”

  “Reckon so.”

  Slocum turned to face Wyatt. “You don’t mean to tell me they’ve got themselves a telephone machine out there, too!”

  Wyatt laughed. “No, not hardly. Drifter came into town this mornin’, just been through there. Said folks were gettin’ antsy.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Yeah, you agree with ’em, or yeah, you’re takin’ the horses back?”

  Slocum took a last drag on his smoke. “Both. Figure to leave in the mornin’.”

  They were silent for a moment as they watched a man fall head-first through the Oriental’s batwing doors
and tumble down in the street.

  Wyatt nodded his head. “Sounds like a deal. Suppose you heard that Mandy left on the mornin’ stage?”

  “Yeah. She left me a letter.”

  “You two didn’t have a fallin’ out, did you?”

  “Nope.”

  Wyatt nodded again. “Glad to hear it.” He stood up and made his way over to the door. “See you later,” he said with a tip of his hat.

  “Back atcha, Wyatt.” Slocum touched the brim of his hat, too.

  The next morning, Slocum rolled out of bed at about seven, then went straight to the doc’s and had his bandages changed. He figured it might be a while until he got to a place where there was a decent medical man, and after what had happened with this wound the first time, he wasn’t about to take a chance on it.

  Doc Goodnight pronounced him in great shape, changed his bandage, and told him that he wouldn’t need any more. He was just supposed to “air it out,” the doc had said, once he’d let the current dressing sit for a few days.

  Relieved, Slocum set out for the livery, where he saddled all of the extra horses—including Red—that he was supposed to deliver, and Apache. He bought new halters for those that didn’t have them, and clipped a lead rope to each, then tied the free end to the next horse’s saddle horn. Horses trailing him in a string, he crossed the street and went into the marshal’s office.

  “Howdy, Virgil,” he said. “Just wanted to say g’bye.”

  Virgil looked up from his paperwork. “Mornin’, Slocum! You leavin’ us so soon?” He grinned. “And without even takin’ the deputy job?”

  Slocum smiled back. “Now, Virgil. You boys knew I wouldn’t take that job before you even asked me.”

  “Well, the offer’s open just the same. Anytime you want.”

  “I’ll make me a note a’ that. You tell Wyatt and Morgan bye for me, too, would ya?”

  Virgil nodded. “Will do. You take care a’ yourself now, Slocum.”

  He’d said good-bye to Will last night. But now, as he led the string of horses out of town, puffing on a ready-made, he wondered if Will had been sober enough to remember it this morning. Well, he’d said it in front of the bartender, so he had a witness. He grinned.