Slocum and the High-Country Manhunt

by Jake Logan

  Slocum’s breath rose up in plumes, and as he toed the dirty snow out of the way, he found nothing. He widened the search area into the snow where she’d fallen, but still found nothing. He was about to head up the steps to the saloon, see if maybe it was wedged in a gap in the boards. He stopped to tug on his leather gloves and noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. It came from down the street toward the livery, where he would have spent the night with his horse, the Appaloosa, had Miss Garfield not tried her hand at gambling.

  He almost ignored it, wanting to inspect the walk up to the saloon door, lest someone else get there ahead of him, but something made him look twice. And he was glad he did.

  Several buildings down, walking toward him along his side of the street, were the two men who had assaulted Ginny Garfield the night before. The short blond man in the rough cap strode along beside the tall, rat-faced man. But they hadn’t yet seen him. They were staring hard at something the blond was holding. They were also murmuring low, the still, morning street affording Slocum little chance to move without being seen.

  He backed close to the edge of the saloon front, ducking down, the elevated walk nearly chest high, and waited for them to approach. He would have a talk with these ruffians. And maybe a little more, now that they were on equal footing.

  He risked a glance up and back toward them. They had stopped and were admiring whatever it was the man held in his hands. The object of their attention glinted, caught a ray of light, and shone for a fraction of a moment, reflecting into a dozen brilliant colors at once. The diamond earring! Had to be. But they still weren’t moving, just standing there, admiring the thing. He had to do something, had to get it back. They were still too far away for him to bolt after—there was enough distance between them that they might well outrun him.

  He looked behind him, saw the alley, and another just behind them. Perfect. He would have to cross about six feet of open ground before he’d be hidden by the near alley. He shucked a pistol, just in case he was seen and had to draw on them instead. And he went for it—straight into the mouth of the alley, one eye on them the entire time. They never looked up, not even when his boot heel caught on the edge of the sidewalk as he stepped off.

  He staggered a bit in the alley, righted himself, and cat-footed around the building they were in front of, then up the alley behind them. Just before he eased to the mouth of the alley, he raised the pistol up chest height, and just as he was about to step out onto the boardwalk, he heard them resume walking—drawing closer. Their murmuring, though still unintelligible to him, sounded excited and even giddy. He’d soon put a stop to that.

  At the last second, he holstered his Colt and raised his arms. Just as they slow-walked before the mouth of the alley, he reached out and grabbed each of them by the coat collar and dragged them backward

  “Aaah!” said the blond man, but the rat-faced man went down like a dropped plank, and immediately curled up into a ball. Slocum planted a boot on his chest and set to work on the smaller man while he still had the element of surprise in his favor.

  “What the hell?” The blond thrashed on his back, looking around the still-dark alley, wondering just what had happened to him, when Slocum planted the first punch on the kid’s jaw. It didn’t knock him cold, but it did daze him and shut him up.

  Slocum leaned low over the kid’s face. “Remember me, you little jackass?”

  The kid blinked hard, shook his head, then his eyes grew wide in recognition. “Oh God, mister, I . . .”

  “Save it for the marshal.” He lifted his boot off Rat Face’s chest and smacked the man with a short, sharp backhand to the temple. “You stay put.” Then he turned his attention back to the smaller man. “Now, what’s that in your hand?”

  The kid balled his hands tight at the question.

  “No, no, no. That’s no way to answer me, fella. See, I asked you a question, and you had better answer by showing me what you have there, or I’m liable to really make your life . . . painful.” With that Slocum slid his big Bowie knife free of its hip sheath.

  “Oh God!” said the kid again.

  “I don’t think he much cares about you right now, kid.” Slocum dragged the needle-like tip of the blade across the kid’s swallowing throat. “Now, about that hand.”

  “You promise not to hurt me?”

  “Hey . . .” Rat Face said.

  “Us, I mean. You promise?”

  “I make no promises to scum like you. But I will take it into consideration. That’s the best you’ll get from me. Take it or leave it.”

  The blond swallowed again, then nodded, his eyes wide in fear. But there was still something there that Slocum recognized from the countless times he’d had to deal with scum like him. It was the glimmer of anger, the recklessness of a youth thinking he could come out on top in any situation. Not a bad trait to have, but not a good one in this instance.

  Slocum sighed and backhanded the kid across the chops. “Don’t,” he said, pointing a long, straight finger right at the kid’s nose.

  “Don’t what? What was that for?”

  “For thinking what you were thinking. Just don’t do it.”

  “You’re crazy, mister.”

  “Yep.” Beside Slocum, Rat Face shifted on the ground. Slocum drove his boot against the man again to settle him. “And I’m the one with the knife, two guns, and I also didn’t attack a woman just last night either. So what’s it going to be from you?”

  The kid seemed to tense solid for a few moments, eyes sparking, but then he sagged, the fire of anger having dulled in him.

  “The hand.”

  The kid raised his hand and opened it—and there in the faint but growing light in the alleyway, Slocum saw the twin earring to Ginny’s. He took it, dropped it into his coat pocket, and said, “I’m about to make a young woman very happy. And you two men are about to become very sad.”

  “What? Why?” said the blond kid.

  “Because you both are going to visit the marshal, which should come as no surprise to you.”

  “Aw, no, don’t do that,” said Rat Face.

  “Why shouldn’t I? You assaulted an innocent young woman with the intention of robbing her—and you succeeded in doing just that.” He patted his pocket. “And there’s the proof.”

  “Yeah, but she ain’t what she lets on she is. You know?”

  Slocum played it as if he were not unaware of what the man was saying. “Might be I do. Fill me in with what you know and I’ll consider your options.”

  Rat Face started to speak, but the blond kid cut him off. “Shut your mouth, dammit. We ain’t gotta tell him anything.”

  Slocum grabbed the blond’s shirtfront and raised him up until they were staring at each other but an inch apart.

  “Yeah,” he said through clenched teeth. “You do.” He tuned to Rat Face. “Now speak.”

  Rat Face swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “That rich girl, she was here looking for a fella. Sure as shootin’.”

  “How do you know that?” said Slocum.

  “Because . . .”

  But the blond made another sound and Slocum tightened his grip on the young man’s collar. “You were saying?”

  Rat Face continued, “The man she’s after was here in Bismarck, a few days back. He told us to keep an eye out for her. Told us what she looked like. Said that we should keep her from following him somehow, and if we did, then he would pay us a lot of money.”

  The blond chimed in. “And that he was on special orders from the government.”

  “And you both believed him?”

  The two hoodlums exchanged glances. “Well, of course,” said Rat Face, as if Slocum had just asked him if it was winter in North Dakota.

  Slocum sighed, relaxed his grip on the blond’s shirtfront. “Did this man say why she would be looking for him?”

 
“Naw, just that she needed to be stopped, any way we saw fit. But he made it pretty plain that we should . . . you know . . . kill her.”

  “Kill her? Is that what you two were going to do last night if I hadn’t come along?”

  “No!” They both said it at the same time. “We knew it was her when she come to town on the train. Then we saw all that money and thought that if we just took her money, she wouldn’t have no way to follow him on account of her being broke and all.”

  He said it in such a way that Slocum felt pretty sure they weren’t killers. Not yet anyway. He’d seen small-time crooks become murderers as they grew older and more desperate.

  “This man, did he have a name?”

  They both shook their heads. “Not that we ever heard,” said Rat Face.

  “What did he look like?”

  “Oh, he was tall as you, but had light-colored hair, like his,” said Rat Face, pointing to his cohort, who sneered at him. “And a big waxy mustache. He dressed like a dandy, too. Nice clothes and all, you know?”

  “Except dandies don’t just light a shuck on out of town in winter on horseback for no reason, now do they?” The blond sneered, staring his friend down, as if he’d trumped him at something.

  “Do you know where he was headed?” said Slocum.

  “I’d say he was headed north.” Rat Face said it with conviction.

  “West,” said the blond kid, shaking his head.

  “Which is it?” said Slocum, narrowing his eyes at them.

  “Both, really,” said Rat Face.

  “And how do you know that?”

  “Because we watched him ride on out of town with his horse sort of loaded down with supplies.”

  Slocum thought about all this for a moment, then said, “Tell you both what I’m going to do. I’m not going to turn you in to the marshal . . . yet. But if I ever hear tell of either of you—and I never forget a face—causing havoc or molesting anyone, especially a woman again, I will track you down and gut you, skin you, then tack your hides to the nearest barn wall to dry. You got my meaning?”

  Rat Face nodded, his Adam’s apple working hard as he swallowed.

  “Both of you?”

  The blond had conjured up his spiteful demeanor again. “You don’t scare me none.”

  “I was you, I’d reconsider what you’re saying.” Slocum bent low again, but spoke loud enough for them both to hear. “To a government operative. You’ll only ever get the one chance from me. Then you are done and cooked.”

  He stood up, slid the knife back into its sheath. “Do we understand each other, gentlemen? One more slipup and you had better pray the marshal gets to you before I do. Of course, there isn’t a cell made that I can’t get into or out of.”

  They both swallowed then, and began scooching away from him. He touched his hat brim. “Good day, gentlemen.” He stepped out of the alley and headed to the hotel, resisting the urge to smile until he was well out of sight of the two hellions.

  Now he needed some answers from Miss Ginny Garfield.

  3

  Slocum knocked, then entered her rooms, peeling off his coat. “Ginny? You here?”

  She had spiffed up the room, aired it out, for the air felt fresh and bracing, and the little stove was working overtime to raise the temperature again to a comfortable level. On the table in the sitting room, a fresh silver tray sat covered in gleaming dishes, with a coffee urn in the midst of it. He’d smelled it as he’d walked up the stairs and hoped she’d ordered some. His head was still throbbing like cannonfire, but he was happy.

  “John, I . . . Did you find it? Did you find my grandmother’s earring?”

  He retrieved it from his pocket and held it toward her. “Yep,” he said, not bothering to tone down his smile.

  She was so happy that she hugged him. “Oh, thank you, John. This is incredible. Where was it?”

  “Oh, out on the sidewalk.”

  He sipped the coffee. It was strong and had a slightly bitter edge to it, just the way he liked it. Hell, who was he kidding? He liked anything resembling coffee. “So, who is this handsome blond man you’re following?”

  Her face immediately lost its color, and for a second he thought she was going to faint again.

  “Ginny? You okay?”

  She looked at him. “Is he here? In town?”

  “Is who here, Ginny? Tell me what’s going on.”

  She grabbed Slocum’s arms. “Is he here? I have to know.”

  Slocum regarded her eyes a moment. There was plenty of fire there, and desperation, too. “He left days ago, was seen headed sort of northwest out of town.”

  Her face fell.

  “Ginny, what’s this all about? Maybe I can help.”

  She looked at the earring in her hand, wiped away a tear sliding down her cheek, and said, “No, you’ve done enough already.”

  He sipped his coffee. “I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s going on. Why are you here in Bismarck of all places, and in midwinter? A more unforgiving place you’ll not find. I know,” he chuckled. “I’ve been trying to leave for months now.”

  She turned to him, her face suddenly hopeful. “You have?”

  “Well, yeah. I’ve been waiting for the weather to break, then I’m heading south and I’m not going to stop until I begin to sweat.” He smiled, but her face lost its glow.

  “Oh, yes, a good plan. It is cold here.” And then she began to sob.

  He took her in his arms and, after a few moments, said, “Look, Ginny. I have no idea what’s going on with you, but I do know it can’t hurt to tell me. Hell, it might just help.”

  She nodded and sat down across the table from him, drying her eyes on a handkerchief. Slocum uncovered the breakfast dishes and served them each a big plateful of eggs, toasted bread, sliced apples and cream, butter, bacon, sausage, and more coffee. The food seemed to help get her talking, and she kept right on talking even in between bites, not worrying about appearing ladylike in the least.

  “The man I’m looking for is named Delbert Calkins. He’s the worst of the worst. A scoundrel and a rogue and a cheat, and a liar and . . .”

  “Bad man, huh?” said Slocum, smiling.

  But she didn’t match his smile, just looked at him. “John, he killed my brother.”

  “Oh, I am truly sorry, Ginny.”

  “It takes a while to get over.”

  “How long has it been?”

  “Less than a year, but I’ve only been looking for him for a couple of months.”

  He leaned back. “Why don’t you start at the beginning, as they say. Tell me about it. Maybe I can help.”

  “Is that what you do, John? Funny but I never thought to ask much about you.” She smiled. “I just assumed the worst and stabbed you.”

  “I’ve been treated worse. Now, about this Delbert fellow.”

  “Well, let’s see. The beginning . . . My father is Gilbert G. Garfield.” She regarded him a moment as if to let that tidbit of information sink in.

  “I gather I’m supposed to be impressed,” he said. “But I am going to disappoint you.”

  She looked a little annoyed and he supposed that was the spoiled rich girl in her coming out. “We’re the Garfields of Garfield Coal, Trains . . . Shipping.”

  “What a coincidence. I’m a Slocum of . . . me and my horse and saddle.”

  “Okay, I understand I may have come across as boorish. I can’t help it if my family has a little money.”

  He raised his eyebrows.

  “We’re wealthy. Very wealthy,” she said.

  “So . . . Bismarck?”

  She exhaled deeply and said, “Delbert was or rather is an unsavory sort. Not the type my father would approve of. But maybe because of that fact, I became attracted to Delbert. I don’t really want to admit it, but he is handsome.”


  “In a roguish sort of way,” said Slocum.

  “You should know, sir.” She smiled, lost it quickly, and resumed. “Anyway, we met one day when I was down near the docks, sketching for an art class I was taking at the University. Oh, we’re from Chicago. And he just came up behind me, carrying a couple of bags of seed in burlap sacks on his shoulders, and told me that although it was obvious I had talent, I was too heavy-handed with my use of umber. And do you know? He was right. I started going down there more frequently, under the pretense of sketching, but I always managed to bump into Delbert Calkins, oddly enough.”

  “Imagine that,” said Slocum. “And then one thing led to another.”

  “Yes, it was a bit of a whirlwind courtship.”

  “I can see where this is headed,” he said. “And it ain’t pretty, I’ll bet.”

  “How right you are. I invited Delbert to our house.”

  “Mansion?”

  “Yes, mansion. May I finish my story?” She sipped her coffee and Slocum followed suit, said nothing, but waved his hand for her to continue.

  “Daddy was most displeased that Delbert should even be allowed into the house, let alone court his daughter . . .” She fell silent a moment, then said, “I won’t bore you with the sordid details, but I can assure you that I am as headstrong as he is. And more than my brother, too. He is, was, Gilbert G. Garfield the Second, though we always called him Jamie. He was younger than me by two years, and was forever trying to make Daddy proud of him, doing things that would get Daddy’s attention. But I’m afraid Daddy just ignored his attempts and considered Jamie a silly little boy, even though he was really quite gifted with figures. I daresay he would have filled in for Daddy quite well. But all that’s too late now. Such speculation is fruitless.”

  Slocum didn’t say a word, just let her gather her thoughts and continue.

  “I persisted in seeing much more of Delbert Calkins, and though he was a bit rough on the outside, he was a kind young man. Or so I thought. Unbeknownst to me, my brother had been following him, spying on him, and for once he did something that pleased my father. Jamie found out that Delbert was part of a gang of criminals that preyed on the wealthy by endearing themselves to them, getting invited into their homes. Sometimes even becoming members of their families.”