Slocum at Dead Dog Page 14

  “If we wanted your money,” said Milam, “we could just kill you and take it all.”

  Totum stopped talking. He was getting nowhere. He would have to try the other way. Slowly, he eased his horse over toward Bobby. He eyed the gun at Bobby’s side. He should be able to reach over and grab it, then shoot them both. He reached out and clutched the handle of the gun with his left hand. Bobby reacted quickly and grabbed Totum’s wrist. Totum struggled to free his wrist and to pull the six-gun loose. Milam saw them struggling and rode around to Totum’s right side. Slipping the rifle from his saddle boot, he swung it over his head and whopped Totum hard on the head with its barrel. Totum slumped and dropped from the saddle. Bobby looked down at Totum lying and squirming in the dirt. He looked at Milam.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  “No harm done,” said Milam. He looked down at Totum. “Get to your feet,” he said.

  Totum whined and blubbered, but he struggled to his feet. He stood wobbling. His head hurt like hell. He was dizzy from the blow. Milam dismounted and took the lariat from his saddle. Shoving Totum around, he pulled his prisoner’s hands behind his back and tied them tight.

  “Get back in the saddle,” he said.

  “I can’t,” said Totum. “Not like this.”

  “You’ll mount up and ride or I’ll drag you all the way to the jail.”

  Totum hopped on one foot getting the other into the stirrup. Milam shoved him up into the saddle. Milam then mounted his horse, still holding the lariat in his hands. He lapped the rope around his saddle horn and started riding. Totum had no choice. He had to keep up or be dragged from the saddle and the rest of the way into Dead Dog.

  18

  The stagecoach rolled into its stop in New Mexico, and Carl Benton was the first to get out. He turned and helped a lady out. She thanked him kindly, smiling and feeling good about being given a hand by the hero of their trip. Benton was carrying his saddlebags. The driver tossed him down his bedroll. Benton turned to look over the town. The structures around told its history. There were a few adobe dwellings and business places, one of them a fairly substantial hotel. It had been a small one-horse town not long ago. But there were large and small tents of white canvas pitched all around, making the place seem to deserve its name, Blanco. Blanco had become a thriving city in a short time when the railroad had come through. It had grown faster than it could keep up with itself. Some plank buildings were going up, and there was heavy traffic of wagons and men on horseback. The sidewalks, or where they should be, were crowded with pedestrians coming and going. He found the depot, one of the few recent more or less permanent buildings, and he walked over to it, dodging the horses and wagons in the street.

  Inside, he found out that the next train north would not leave until morning. It was late in the evening, so Benton would have to spend the night here. That didn’t worry him. He felt safe and secure. He figured that Slocum and the others had wiped out the Totum gang. No one knew that he had been a part of it. No one knew that he had killed Vance Kirk except Totum. Totum might possibly have survived the fight, but even if he told of Benton’s involvement, no one knew where he had gone. He had ridden to the county seat on a strange horse. Then he had gotten rid of the horse and caught a stage into New Mexico. How could anyone have followed him? He bought his ticket and stashed his gear in the depot. He had nothing to do but kill some time.

  He went back out onto the street and walked to the old hotel. Inside, he rented a room for the night. Downstairs, just off the lobby, he found a saloon, and he went in there. Never in his life had he felt so plush. He had money almost to burn. The saloon was fairly busy, but he managed to get served at the bar in short order. He bought a bottle and asked for a glass. Then he turned and looked the place over. He selected a table that was both empty and out of the way, and he walked over to it and sat down. He poured himself a drink and took a sip. It was good whiskey. He did not know anyone in Blanco, and he had about decided to take the glass and bottle to his room, when a woman in a skimpy dress came walking up to his table. A saloon gal, he thought, but she was not bad-looking. Her long legs were sticking out from under the flimsy dress she wore, and her ample bosoms were revealed up above. She had a friendly smile, white teeth, and big blue eyes. Her blond hair was tousled, but it only helped her seductive look.

  “Buy a girl a drink, stranger?” she said.

  Benton smiled. “Sit down,” he said.

  The girl turned toward the bar and waved. The bartender soon brought her a glass, and Benton poured it full.

  “You just come in on the stage?” she asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Where from?”

  “Texas.”

  “I thought you looked like a Texan.”

  “Is that good or bad?”

  “I’ve always had a soft spot for Texans.” She lifted the glass and took a sip. “Thanks for the drink,” she said.

  “You’re welcome,” he said. “What else do I look like to you?”

  “Well,” she said, “you’re no cowhand. I can tell that. You don’t look like a businessman to me either. A gambler maybe? No.”

  “You’re right on with all the things I’m not,” Benton said. “But you ain’t hit on what I am.”

  “A lawman,” she said. “I’d say you were a lawman.”

  “Retired,” said Benton, “but that was pretty good.”

  “What’s your name, retired lawman?”

  “Carl. What’s yours?”

  “They call me Bitsy.”

  Benton lifted his glass. “Well, Bitsy,” he said, “here’s to you.”

  Slocum rode slowly down the main street of the county seat, checking all the horses at the hitching rails. He did not see any that matched the description the cowboy had given of his stolen horse. He continued until he came to the nearest livery stable. A man came out to greet him.

  “Anything I can do for you?” he said.

  Slocum said, “I’m looking for a horse.”

  The man eyed Slocum’s horse. “You looking to trade, are you?”

  “No. Have you bought any horses recently?”

  “Follow me,” the man said. Slocum dismounted and followed the man, who led the way to a stall inside. He pointed to the horse in the stall, and Slocum took a good look. It fit the description of the cowboy’s horse.

  “Who’d you buy it from?” he said.

  “Well, now,” said the man, “he never said his name.”

  “What’d he look like?”

  “Now, I never finished what I was about to say. He never said his name, but I knowed him anyhow.”

  “Who was he?”

  “The sheriff over to Dead Dog.”

  “Carl Benton?”

  “That’s the name.”

  “Did he buy another horse?”

  “Nossir.”

  Slocum tossed the man a quarter and left. He rode back out into the street thinking. So Benton had sold the horse. Had he bought another? If so, from whom? Then he noticed the sign out front of the stage station. He stopped there, dismounted, tied his horse to the rail, and went inside. The clerk was busy selling tickets, so Slocum had to wait. As soon as the clerk was free, Slocum stepped up to the counter.

  “I’m looking for a man named Carl Benton,” he said. “Do you know him?”

  “I’ve heard of him,” said the clerk. “Can’t say I’ve ever seen him, though.”

  “He’d’ve been wearing a black suit, likely carrying saddlebags, maybe a blanket roll, and a rifle. He’s a good-sized fellow, wears a flat-brimmed black hat and a handlebar mustache.”

  “Someone kind of like that did come through here. Took the stage over to Blanco.”

  “New Mexico?”

  “That’s where it was last I heard.”

  “I rode through there once a few years ago,” Slocum said. “It ain’t much of a town, is it?”

  “It is now. Railroad went through.”

  “Damn,” said Slocum. “Do you know its schedule
?”

  “Nope.”

  Slocum went back to his horse and mounted up. He knew that he would have to ride through the night. He might already be too late. Benton might be on a train to somewhere. But he had to catch the son of a bitch.

  Booker Milam and Bobby Hooper rode up in front of the sheriff’s office in Dead Dog. Milam tried the door, but found it locked. He stepped back and kicked it in. Bobby pushed Totum inside and guided him to the nearest cell. Milam rifled the desk drawers and found the keys. He walked over and locked the cell door. Then he took the keys back to the desk and tossed them on top.

  “Hey,” said Totum. “My hands are still tied.”

  “I guess they’ll stay that way,” said Milam. “Let’s get on out to the ranch, Bobby.”

  “Hey, wait. I ain’t had nothing to eat. I need some food, and I need a doc to look at my ear.”

  “That’s all the sheriff’s job,” Milam said, “and I guess we ain’t got no sheriff around here no more.”

  As Milam and Bobby left the office, Totum sat down heavily on the cot. He looked through the bars of the cell to where his saddlbags lay on the floor in a far corner. They were still full of all that money. Bobby Hooper had tossed them there when he shoved Totum through the door. No one had ever even bothered to open them up and look inside. He longed to get out of the cell. He longed to get his hands on the money. He longed for something to eat. His stomach was making all kinds of horrible noises.

  Benton unlocked the door to his hotel room and swung it wide open. He stepped aside to allow Bitsy to go in first. She walked to the bed and turned to look at Benton seductively. He stepped in and shut the door. Then he took a chair and jammed it up under the doorknob. He took off his hat and hung it on a peg on the wall. He started to take off his coat, but Bitsy walked up to him and helped him off with it. She hung it on another peg. Benton reached out and took her in his arms. He pressed her to him and kissed her long on the lips. When he at last released her, she was gasping for breath. She took off his vest and hung it up.

  There was a small table beside the bed, and Benton walked to it and started unbuckling his gun belt. He laid the rig on the table. While he was shucking his shirt, Bitsy was wriggling out of her tiny outfit. He watched as she uncovered every bit of her luscious body. She was well ahead of him. He sat on the edge of the bed to pull off his boots, but Bitsy, stark naked, knelt in front of him. She pulled off his boots and tossed them aside. Then she reached up to unfasten his trousers. He stood to allow them to fall to the floor. Bitsy reached out and took hold of his cock. It rose to the occasion. Looking up into his face, she smiled and stroked the rigid tool. Then all of a sudden, she slurped its entire length into her mouth. Benton gasped.

  She bobbed her head a few times, then crawled into bed. Benton turned and followed her. She was lying on her back, her long legs wide spread. Benton fondled her pussy and found it wet and ready. He crawled on top of her, and with her help, rammed his cock into her waiting love channel. “Oh, that’s good,” she said. “Fuck me, Carl. Fuck me hard.” Benton drove into her as hard and fast as he could. “Oh, oh, oh,” she cried. After a bit of that, she shoved him off, turned over, and thrust her ass up at him. He entered her again, this time from behind. “Oh, yes,” she said “Do it. Do it.” His pelvis slammed again and again into her buttocks, shaking her whole body with each loud smack. Then he exploded sending spurt after spurt deep into her warm and wet hole.

  In Dead Dog, some cowboys were drinking in the Range Boss Saloon. One of them said, “Did you see those boys bring in ole Kansas?”

  “No,” said another. “Who done it?”

  “It was Bobby Hooper and some other fellow. They throwed him in jail and rode out of town.”

  “Well, where’s the sheriff?”

  “Someone said he went to the county seat.”

  “I heard it was Kansas that killed old Riley.”

  “Vance Kirk too. I worked for Vance one time. He was a good man. A real fair boss.”

  “Riley was a friend of mine.”

  “I guess they’re going to have a trial. If they put him in jail.”

  “He might hire a good lawyer and get off. Ride away free as a bird.”

  One who had not spoken yet said, “I don’t believe we’d ought let that happen.”

  They all grew quiet and looked at one another. Then one said, “Let’s take care of it.”

  They walked out of the saloon, and one stopped by his horse, taking the lariat off the saddle. He waved it in the air and said, “Come on.” They walked on down to the sheriff’s office and found the door already kicked in. They went inside. Kansas Totum stood up quickly to see what was happening. He saw the rope, and he saw the looks on their faces.

  “Hey, boys,” he said. “Let me out of here and untie me. I’ll pay you.”

  One of the men found the keys on the desk and he unlocked the door. The others crowded into the cell and took hold of Totum.

  “Hey,” he said. “You can’t do this. It’s against the law.”

  “You’re a good one to talk about the law,” said one of the men. They dragged him out of the cell and headed toward the door.

  “I’ve got a lot of money,” Totum said. “You can have it. A thousand dollars each.”

  One of the men thumped Totum on the head. “Shut up,” he said.

  They dragged him outside.

  “Don’t do this,” Totum shouted. Men began to gather on the sidewalks to see what was happening. A few of them ran to join the mob. Some threw rocks at Totum as he was dragged by them kicking and screaming. Some spat on him. At one point he stumbled and fell, and men kicked him, stomped him, and beat on him. At last, he was pulled back up on his feet and dragged along the street again. Then they stopped. Totum looked up. He saw that they had taken him to the livery stable. The gate at the corral had a tall pole on each side and a crossbar over the top. The cowboy with the rope had already fashioned a knot. He tossed it over the crossbar.

  “No. No,” shouted Totum.

  Someone grabbed the knot and slipped it over Totum’s head.

  “Let me go,” he screamed. “Let me go.”

  Then the voice was choked out of him as someone hauled on the other end of the rope. He choked and gagged. He slobbered. He tried to suck in air, but he could not. He tried to yell at them to tell them to stop, but he could not. He felt the rope grow tighter and tighter around his neck. He felt his eyeballs begin to bulge. He felt his feet rise up off the ground, and he made horrible involuntary gasping noises. He kicked his feet, but that only made it worse. He felt his bowels loosen and he shit his pants. He felt his cock get hard and poke out straight. He growled. He kicked. His bulging eyeballs rolled in his head, and he looked at the faces in the crowd. All were grim. The world suddenly went dark. He thought of all the money in his saddlebags. Then he knew no more.

  Slocum was no horse killer. He rode as hard and fast as he could, but he slowed down at intervals to walk the creature. Now and then he stopped for a brief rest and to let the horse graze, or to drink if there was water nearby. There was no traffic at night on the road. It was dangerous riding. There could be a hole in the road or a rock that a horse could stumble on. He watched as closely as he could, but it was a dark night. He and the horse both would be tired and hungry by the time they reached Blanco. But it couldn’t be helped. He had to keep going. He could not allow the killer of Vance Kirk to get away. He owed it to Vance. He owed it to Tex. He owed it to himself.

  19

  When Benton woke up the next morning, Bitsy was still in bed beside him. He found his pocket watch and checked the time. There was time for breakfast before the train would pull out. He turned and looked at Bitsy. She had given him a hell of a night. She was good-looking too. He liked her. He thought he could do a hell of a lot worse. He knew he would never meet a woman in church. Didn’t want to. He couldn’t get along with a woman like that. But Bitsy, he could live with Bitsy. He sat down on the bed and leaned over to give her a kiss on
the cheek. She stirred and moaned, a pretty-sounding little moan. He kissed her again, and she opened her eyes.

  “Good morning,” he said.

  “Oh,” she said. “Good morning.”

  “I have time for breakfast before catching my train,” he said.

  “Do you have to go?”

  “I have to,” he said. “Why don’t you go with me?”

  “What?”

  “You heard me right. Why don’t you go with me? We could get married, if that’s what you want. I’ve got plenty of money. I’m headed for Denver. We could stay there or head on for San Francisco. Whatever you like.”

  “But I’m a—”

  “You’re a damn fine woman. That’s all I know and all I care about. What do you say?”

  “But it’s so fast. I haven’t had time to think about it. I—”

  “I don’t have time,” said Benton. “You’ll have to make up your mind right now. You’d have time to get some clothes together, have breakfast with me, and then we’d catch the train. That’s about it.”

  “Oh, Carl,” she said. “I can’t believe—I, yes. Yes. I’ll go with you, but listen. I won’t go to eat with you. I never eat this early in the day. Let me go get some things together and I’ll meet you at the station.”

  “You promise?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  Daylight was coming on. Slocum was tired and hungry. He could tell that his horse was not in much better shape than he was. He could not afford to slow down, though. He wasn’t sure at all how much farther he had to ride to get to Blanco. He kept pushing on. Up ahead, he saw a small house beside the road. A man was out beside the house working on a wagon tongue. Slocum stopped in front of the house.

  “Howdy,” he called out.

  The man looked up from his work.

  “Howdy,” he said.

  “Can you tell me how far it is to Blanco?”

  “The way that horse looks,” the man said, “it’ll take you another two hours to get there.”

  “Thanks,” Slocum said, and he kicked his horse in the sides.

  * * *