Slocum and the Warm Reception Read online

  After another sip, Slocum took a slow walk around the office, taking particular notice of the windows and the view of the street below.

  “Aw hell!” Dawson said in a way that shattered his previous pretenses. “I just realized! I never properly introduced myself. You must think I’ve got rocks in my head. I’m Abel Dawson, the mayor of this good town. It was awfully vain of me to assume my reputation would precede me, but I must say yours has laid quite a lot of groundwork here. It’s good to finally meet you.”

  “Yeah. Must be nice to enjoy a cup of tea with a man you want to see dead.”

  Dawson actually had the gall to look surprised when he heard that. He even glanced about the room as if someone would be there to explain the situation to him. Finally, he raised his eyebrows and said, “Oh! The reward notice! Of course. That must be what you’re referring to.”

  “It sure as hell is.”

  Waving that off with a swatting gesture, he circled around to sit behind his desk. After another sip of tea, he set it down so he could open a drawer and remove a single piece of paper. Holding it in front of him like an actor with a script, he mused, “I reckon this was just my way of nipping any trouble in the bud.”

  “You mean nipping me in the bud,” Slocum pointed out.

  “Mere theatrics. For dramatic effect,” he said as he tossed the paper onto the desk and turned it around so Slocum could read it properly.

  It looked like most other reward notices Slocum had seen in his day. At the top was a bold-faced declaration to catch the eye stating there was a reward being offered. The rest was several lines of colorful description describing how dangerous the subject was, followed by the amount being offered for his capture. Although Slocum couldn’t easily count how many such notices he’d seen before, it never sat well when he was the subject being described in such a manner.

  “Don’t know if I like this kind of dramatic effect,” Slocum said as he shoved the paper back toward Dawson.

  “But I assure you that’s all it was.” Leaning back caused Dawson’s chair to creak beneath his weight. He reached out to flip open a wooden box and remove a cigarette, which he placed between his teeth. When he spoke from then on, it sounded more like a snarl. “After you left, things were in chaos. I’m not blaming it on you, though. While I wasn’t here for the whole Jeremiah Hartley situation, I heard it was pretty damn bad and you did a hell of a job in cleaning it up. You didn’t want to stay behind and look after these folks . . . again,” he added quickly, “I ain’t casting any blame. But someone did need to look after them. If Jeremiah Hartley proved anything, it’s that these people can’t exactly look after themselves.”

  “They did just fine before Hartley,” Slocum pointed out.

  “That’s when this place was just a bump in the road. A road, mind you, that nobody in their right mind was interested in traveling. Now there’s a railroad station not too far from here in Davis Junction and there’s thieves preying on them who are on their way to catch a train to places a whole lot better than this. My point is that this country is growing and even towns like Mescaline are gonna feel the pains from all that expansion. You see what I’m saying here, John?”

  “I understand about expansion,” Slocum replied. “But I still don’t see what that has to do with offering money for my corpse.”

  “These folks needed someone to look out for them, but certain members of the community weren’t seeing it that way. They still had their heads stuck back in the days when the occasional meeting and a few helpful souls could keep a town running. Those days are over, better or worse, like it or not.”

  Slocum sipped his tea and enjoyed the refreshing flavor as it washed down his throat. He didn’t let any of that satisfaction show when he said, “I still don’t see how this relates to that notice.”

  “I offered these people a solid foundation and good leadership,” Dawson said as he pounded the tip of his finger against his desk with enough force to make a solid thump. “They repaid me by threatening to run me out of town. Since the show you put on was still fresh in their minds, many of them talked about finding you or taking your example by picking up a gun and ending their troubles with hot lead instead of civilized talk and good ideas.”

  “Sometimes hot lead is what’s needed.”

  “You’re right about that,” Dawson replied in a tone that was as smooth and unwavering as a dagger’s blade. “Some of them took a run at me when I proposed we change things around here. They tried to kill me just like the mad dog that was put into the ground back in the bloody days.”

  “I heard you did some damage of your own,” Slocum pointed out.

  “I did what was necessary to protect myself and my interests.”

  “And what interests would a man like yourself have in a sleepy little town like this? Would they have anything to do with a railroad line meant to be split off from Davis Junction?”

  Dawson was obviously not accustomed to being blindsided. He flinched and narrowed his eyes as if he was looking at Slocum in a whole new way. “What the hell do you know about that?”

  “I didn’t know anything for certain . . . not until this moment.”

  Without taking his eyes away from Slocum, Dawson pointed at the armed man who’d followed them inside to stand by the door and barked, “Get out. Now.”

  The gunman nodded and backed out as quickly as he could. The door was shut quietly in his wake.

  “Tell me what you know about the railroad,” Dawson demanded.

  “I know plenty, Abel. That is, if you don’t mind us being on a first-name basis.”

  Dawson didn’t give his consent, but was too wound up at the moment to protest.

  Moving along now that he had the reins firmly in hand, Slocum said, “I have a lot of friends in a lot of places. Many of them owe me a lot, but there are some things a man can just piece together for himself. Assets like those are what have kept me alive for so long in this hard, changing world.” Subtly tossing Dawson’s words back at him was a minor indulgence, but Slocum simply couldn’t help himself.

  “Those notices,” Dawson said as he pointed to the one on his desk, “were just to make a point. To send a message that I wasn’t about to be intimidated by anyone. Not even the great John Slocum. What you did where Jeremiah Hartley was concerned was a hell of a deed. But folks here were threatening to have me gunned down like a dog in the street if I didn’t step aside and let them have their way.”

  “And your only concern was the well-being of this town,” Slocum said. “Or was it to use the town and everyone in it to put a whole lot of railroad money into your pockets? Let me guess. You just need to keep folks quiet and controlled until the railroad companies come knocking?”

  “I want to be prosperous,” Dawson said. “Isn’t that what every man wants? I also want to forge a legacy for myself and my family. That’s what caused this town to grow, my friend, and that’s what keeps people coming out West when there are plenty of warm beds back East. We all want to make something of ourselves. When certain folks around here started trying to force me out, I could either have given in or fought back. When I decided to fight, I could either have done it with words or with guns. I chose words. Once they saw I wasn’t afraid of you, things quieted down considerably.” He put on a humorless grin and settled back into his chair. “Truth be told, I never thought you’d see any of those notices. Now that you have, I’ll gladly offer my apologies.”

  “What about the reward?” Slocum asked.

  Dawson looked at him silently for a few moments before striking a match against his desk and lighting the cigarette he’d been chomping on. “What do you mean?”

  “You posted this notice,” Slocum said as he picked up the paper and studied it as if he were admiring a work of art. “It’s in writing. Legally, you’re bound to pay up if someone brings John Slocum to you. Now some of your men may have escorted me up t
hose stairs, but I’d say it’s fairly certain I’m the one that brought myself all the way back to Mescaline and into this office without the fuss you were obviously expecting.”

  “Those men outside? They’re just there for protection.”

  “From who?” Slocum asked. “A town full of shopkeepers and old folks? Remember, I spent a good amount of time here not too long ago. Unless a bunch of dangerous killers have taken residence here since the last time I visited, I don’t exactly see what a man like you would need with all this firepower.”

  “I told you. Folks around here want to be rid of me. They don’t know what’s good for them.”

  “And you do, huh?”

  Dawson sat up a little straighter and replied, “I’d like to think so.”

  “But what am I saying? We both know there are people apart from the ones that live here who have a bone to pick with you.” Slocum let that settle in for a moment, but knew better than to think Dawson would snap at the bait he was dangling without a bit more coaxing. “You must know about the assassin in Davis Junction.”

  “No,” Dawson said. “I don’t know of any assassin.”

  “There was a killing there. Someone who spoke up on your behalf wound up dead for mentioning your name. The next day after he made his loyalties clear, he was found cut up in a stable. Someone tried blaming me, but I don’t know what that was about. All I know is that when he was going on about you and that railroad, it was the last time anyone saw him alive. My guess is someone doesn’t like you or anything any of your supporters might have to say.”

  “What was this man’s name?”

  Slocum shrugged. “Derrick . . . something or other. He worked in a stable. Wasn’t my concern. I was headed back here to conduct some business of my own, so I left before I was dragged into that mess. Didn’t really try to figure it out. Now that I’ve met you and seen what’s going on here, a lot of it is making much more sense.”

  Although Dawson’s face wasn’t easy to read, Slocum didn’t have to look very hard to find the telltale signs of confusion and anger. No man who was as full of himself as Dawson liked to be in the dark about anything. “This is the first I’ve heard of any of this,” he said.

  “Doesn’t surprise me,” Slocum replied. “It was all coming to a boil when I left. I came straight here, so I didn’t bother looking into it. I wouldn’t mind doing just that, however.”

  “You wouldn’t?” Dawson asked through a suspicious scowl.

  Slocum shook his head. “Of course not. There’d be one condition, though.”

  “What’s that?”

  Slocum took one last sip of tea before gently placing the cup down. “I’d have to be cut in on some of the profits.”

  “You mean be on my payroll?” Dawson asked with a shark-like smile.

  “No,” Slocum replied. “I won’t be just another hired gun. You’ve already got more than enough of those. I’m talking about getting a cut of the profits with this railroad deal.”

  Dawson still looked like a hungry predator when he said, “So you want to be a partner.”

  “I wouldn’t stretch it that far,” Slocum said. “I doubt a man like yourself wants too many partners. I’ll provide a valuable service and my payment will be a percentage of the profit from the deal. A deal,” he added while getting to his feet, “that you wouldn’t have at all unless you either got my help or if you somehow found enough gunmen to take me out. From what I’ve seen so far, none of these men look half as mean as Jeremiah Hartley and we both know what happened to him.”

  “I’d be more than happy to have you aboard, John.” With that, Dawson extended a hand, which Slocum shook. “You can start with—”

  “I’ll start later,” Slocum said sharply.

  Abel Dawson was obviously not a man who was accustomed to being brushed off like that. John Slocum, on the other hand, was a man who enjoyed turning the tables on blowhards who thought they were above such treatment. His only regret was that he couldn’t see the look on Dawson’s face when he turned his back to him and walked out of that office.

  14

  When Slocum left Dawson’s office, he walked in a crisp stride, but not as if he was in a rush. Despite the calm expression he wore, every one of his senses was working to its limit to pick up any hint that things were about to go from bad to worse.

  The gunmen in the hallway seemed to be doing the same thing. They watched him carefully, but didn’t make any sudden moves. Every hand that had been poised above a holstered pistol was still in the same spot, although some of the tension had somehow vanished. Slocum attributed that to the heavy footsteps that had sounded behind him when he first left Dawson’s office. Undoubtedly, the big man himself was watching him go and told his men what to do through silent gestures or nods.

  Slocum went down to the second floor, straight to his room, and opened the door. As he turned to step inside, he caught sight of a few men standing farther down the hall. He’d only spotted them from the corner of his eye, but knew they were sent to watch him and would be there when he came back. Just to be certain nobody intended on getting any closer, Slocum closed his door and locked it. As an added precaution, he wedged a chair beneath the knob before rummaging through his saddlebags.

  In the back of his mind, he cursed himself for leaving such valuable goods behind. Of course, if he had known that he would be separated from the bags for so long, he would have taken the little pouch with him. As it stood, he gave himself terrible odds that the gold would still be there at all. Surely, Dawson had sent someone to this room to sift through his belongings. Slocum was surprised that the furnishings weren’t overturned and all of his things scattered on the floor. He was even more surprised when his probing hand found the pouch right where he’d left it at the bottom of the bag.

  Slocum removed the bag and felt its weight in his hand. Seemed about right.

  He opened it and took a look inside. “Will wonders never cease?” he muttered as he got a look at the gold nuggets inside. He had no way of knowing if some of the ore had been taken, but the fact that it was still there at all meant the saddlebags had most likely not been disturbed. Even if Dawson hadn’t given the order to rob Slocum, the men who’d been eyeing him in that hotel were definitely the sorts who would help themselves if such an opportunity presented itself.

  With his gold tucked away in his pocket, Slocum set about leaving his room. He wasn’t about to go the way he’d come in, however. Instead, he went to his window, peeled back the curtain, and took a look outside. There was a balcony that was just wide enough to be seen without leaning outside. It sloped downward toward the street and wouldn’t be much of a drop for him to get to ground level. He knew as much because the last time he’d been in town, he’d made a similar escape from a different room on the same floor of that very hotel. His window opened quietly enough, allowing Slocum to climb outside and place a foot gingerly upon the balcony.

  The balcony may have been more of an awning with a flat overhang, but it was strong enough to support Slocum’s weight for the second or two he needed to shimmy out to the edge and swing down. As quiet as his landing was, it would have been noticed immediately if there had been any folks on the street. Slocum turned toward the front window, which was only a few paces away from where his boots had slapped down against the dirt. The people inside were still going about their business, talking loudly and having their breakfasts without making a fuss about the man who had just dropped from overhead.

  Slocum dusted himself off, straightened his hat, and walked down the street. Even after rounding the corner, he was uneasy. If Dawson had anyone posted to keep watch on the street, they couldn’t miss him. Slocum was the only man walking out there, and when he spotted movement across the street, he snapped his head in that direction while dropping a hand to his holstered .44.

  “Howdy,” said a fellow in a butcher’s apron.

  Slo
cum nodded to him. Farther along the street, more folks emerged from various doorways, alleys, or any number of routes that brought them to Mescaline’s merchant district. Most of the locals knew each other and exchanged pleasant greetings as they unlocked their doors, propped signs in their windows, and otherwise made preparations for the day to begin. For the first time since he’d been back in town, Slocum felt like he was in familiar surroundings. That taste of normalcy made it much easier to keep his head up and sort through the tangled web that he’d just created where Abel Dawson was concerned.

  Navigating the streets became easier as memories rushed to fill in the gaps that had formed over time. It helped that Mescaline wasn’t a large town in the first place. With all those factors coming into play, Slocum was able to make his way to the Leigensheim Brokerage Company without a single bad turn.

  As far as businesses went, the brokerage company wasn’t a large one. In fact, the sign with that name on it was almost wider than the office’s front wall. Slocum stepped inside and found a stick of a man with straw-like hair fidgeting with one of several sets of scales.

  “Making sure they’re all balanced in your favor, Ed?” Slocum said good-naturedly.

  The skinny fellow swiped a hand over his scalp to press down a clump of hair that promptly popped back up again. Small, dark eyes squinted toward the door, where sunlight poured through to nearly blind him. “I do not fix my scales, sir! You can examine any of them yourself if you do not believe me!”

  Slocum walked up to the counter, which was far enough inside to shade it as well as him from the brilliant rays of light coming in through the window. “Take a breath, Ed, I was only joshing.”

  Now that his customer was more clearly visible, Ed took a closer look. “John Slocum? Is that you?”

  “Sure enough. How’s business?”

  “It would be better if folks didn’t spread vicious rumors about my business ethics or the quality of my scales.”

  “Comes with the territory,” Slocum said as he hefted the weight of the pouch he’d brought from his room. “No way around it. You still get customers?”