Slocum and the Devil's Rope Read online

  He rode down the road a piece and set off across country to cut several miles from the trip. If Christine had gone with her pa, they’d have taken a buggy. Riding fast enough, he might head them off before they reached the Norton house. Slocum should have asked Jonesy how long they’d been gone, but it hadn’t entered his mind until this moment.

  Crossing the broad meadow where the square dance had been held, he rode straight to the Norton ranch house and saw the buggy parked out back. He dropped to the ground and went to the door. Before he could knock, the door opened and the elder Norton stepped out.

  “You get off my property. I don’t want your like here,” Norton said.

  “Is Mr. Magnuson here? We have to talk.”

  “I’ll get my hands here and throw you off, Slocum. Mordecai told me what you did. I don’t know why he didn’t get the marshal to throw you in jail, but I’m not as kindhearted.”

  The man was thirty years older than Slocum. Pushing him out of the way to find Magnuson would have been easy, but Slocum held back.

  “I don’t want trouble. Ask Mr. Magnuson to come out and—”

  “And nothing. I warned you. If you’re not on your horse and riding in ten seconds, you’ll regret it!” Norton balled his hands into bony fists.

  Slocum had no quarrel with the senior Norton. He backed off and mounted. Joshua Norton glared at him from the doorway. Not knowing what else to do, Slocum started for the road leading off the property, then slowed and felt his guts tumble over and over.

  The buggy out back was gone.

  While he and Norton had exchanged words, the Magnusons had sneaked away.

  Slocum started for the road, then cut across country when he was out of sight of the ranch house. He put his heels to his horse’s flanks and galloped to catch up with the buggy. To his surprise, he found it within minutes abandoned at the edge of a wooded area.

  He started to call out, then bit back his words when he heard laughter coming from deeper in the copse. The trees provided a wooden screen that blocked direct vision. The thick undergrowth was cleared out along one path.

  Slocum tethered his horse and took the trail deeper into the woods, then slowed and finally stopped when he heard the voices. Josh Norton Junior and Christine.

  “Oh, Josh, you know just the right things to say. I love you so!”

  Slocum tasted bile in his mouth. He took a few more steps so he could see into a clearing where a blanket had been laid on the ground. A picnic basket, untouched, had been placed to one side.

  But on the blanket Christine leaned back, her knees up and her skirt teasingly slipping back down to expose her bare thighs—and more.

  The younger Norton stood above her. His arousal was obvious.

  “I’m so happy we’ll be married soon, my dear,” he said.

  “There’s no reason not to practice for the honeymoon,” she said, pulling her skirt back even farther.

  Norton dropped to his knees and moved forward into her inviting arms.

  Slocum caught himself with his Colt half drawn. He slammed it all the way into his holster, not knowing who he would have shot. Turning, he left them to their lovemaking while his anger churned his gut and made him shake all over.

  17

  “Another?” the barkeep asked. The mustachioed man stood a ways back, as if Slocum would snap at him.

  Slocum didn’t blame him. For the past hour he had been trying to drown his sorrow and had done nothing but get madder and drunker. Mostly madder. Somehow everything he had seen that afternoon burned off the numbing effect whiskey usually had on him. Even the various cuts and bruises ached again, not dulled by the liquor.

  “Why not? I need to drink faster maybe.”

  “You’re doin’ a good job of knockin’ ’em back,” the bartender said skeptically. “Five or six an hour will put you way ahead of the cowboys when they start pouring in.”

  “When’s that?”

  “Couple hours. It’s four o’clock now.”

  Slocum stared into the shot glass and the drop of amber fluid remaining in its curved bottom. A few more would do him well before he got on the trail. There was nothing keeping him here now that he had found out that Jed Blassingame had been right about Christine. If the foreman had told him that earlier, Slocum might have beaten him to a bloody pulp, but seeing with his own eyes how she had dropped him in favor of Josh Norton rankled. Festered. Turned his guts to some ugly, evil swamp.

  “One more and I’m out of town for good,” Slocum said.

  The barkeep poured at arm’s length. His hand shook just enough to knock loose the solitary drop at the mouth of the bottle. When the drop splashed into the pool of whiskey in the glass, the man jumped back.

  “Don’t have a quarrel with you,” Slocum said.

  “Not you, Slocum,” the barkeep said, going to the far end of the bar.

  Slocum looked up and caught sight of the mirror behind the bar. His hand started for his six-shooter, but a strong hand on his shoulder stopped him from drawing.

  “Wondered when you’d be around, Slocum,” Pendergast said. His henchman, Herman, and another member of the gang positioned themselves behind Slocum. Trying to shoot it out now was out of the question.

  “Didn’t know you were looking for me.”

  “Of course I am. Why, we’re good buddies, trail partners. No reason I shouldn’t look for you to discuss our business.” Pendergast looked up and caught the barkeep’s eye. He motioned for another round.

  “I don’t want any more,” Slocum said.

  “Of course you do, Slocum,” Pendergast said, his voice colder now. He took the drinks while his henchmen steered Slocum to a table. The outlaw put the liquor in front of Slocum. “Drink up.”

  Slocum knocked it back. This time it didn’t soothe him but instead tore at his gut as if he had downed pure nitric acid.

  “Now we got things to talk over, now that all the ranchers have their money in that cracker box of a bank. You ready to set a few sticks of dynamite on that wall so we can mosey on in tonight?”

  Slocum remembered how he had been treated by Magnuson and Christine. He owed them nothing. If anything, getting even would set real pretty with him right now, but the other ranchers didn’t deserve to have their year’s earnings snatched from under them.

  “I know what you’re thinkin’, Slocum. You’re one of the decent types. A bit jagged around the edges, I do admit, but you’re thinkin’ how that money won’t get into the right hands.” Pendergast tipped back in his chair, leaning against the wall. “Isn’t that so?”

  Slocum said nothing.

  “All the cowboys been paid. The men who actually do the work have money jinglin’ in their pockets. Like you. In spite of what Magnuson did to you, you got paid. Right?”

  “He paid me,” Slocum said carefully. “It wasn’t what he owed me.”

  “Exactly! He owed you a powerful lot more. He owed you for the danger out there on the drive, and for you ramroddin’ the herd through for him. Instead, he came damned near to tarrin’ and featherin’ you. Don’t tell me that’s not so.”

  “It’s true.”

  “And he gave the foreman’s job to a cowboy who’s still wet behind the ears. Let’s say Magnuson kept his money and that boy ran his ranch next year. What do you think would happen? Well, sir, I’ll tell you. Magnuson would lose his entire investment because his foreman didn’t know one end of a gun from the other.”

  “You heard?”

  “Heard? Every damned soul in town’s heard how Garvin upped and shot himself. You tried to show him what’s right, and he betrayed you. He turned on you like a rabid dog. A man who’s so dumb he’d shoot himself betrayed you and took the job that by rights should have gone to you.”

  “You ought to have been a lawyer. You’re making a mighty fi
ne case for me helping you.”

  “This won’t be anything you haven’t done before,” Pendergast said. “Now my boys, they’re the tenderfoots when it comes to bank robbin’. A better bunch you couldn’t pick for rustling cattle, but this is a new profession for them. You’re the expert. You’re the one we have to rely on.”

  “You’ve robbed a bank or two yourself,” Slocum said. “Probably stagecoaches, too.”

  “And, I do admit, a train. Just one, mind you, but it was an experience that would have been made better if someone skilled in the art had been there to help me.”

  “Like you want me to be to rob the bank.”

  “Four a.m. strikes me as a good time. We’ll all gather by that wall. My boys’ll have sacks ready for the money.”

  “And the explosive?”

  “I got that. Blasting caps and fuse, too.”

  Slocum hesitated. It was more than Magnuson’s money in that bank. More than Norton’s. At least three other ranchers had their yearly profit sitting there, waiting to be used over the winter to buy supplies and in the spring to get new herds together.

  “How long?”

  “What?” Slocum stared at Pendergast and the sly look on his face.

  “How long should the fuse be?”

  “A foot or two. Burns a foot a minute if you got the right miner’s fuse.”

  “Then we’re in business. You’re the one we need, Slocum, and by sunup we’re all gonna be filthy rich. Where you thinkin’ on runnin’? After we get ourselves rich?”

  Slocum hadn’t considered that he’d have the law on his trail. Simply riding from town was a lot different from having a determined marshal and furious ranchers coming after him.

  “Hadn’t thought on the matter,” he said.

  “You can ride with us. We make a good team, Slocum, you and me and Herman and Abe and all the rest. You know Herman. Abe’s the one with the perpetual scowl on his face and the scars on both cheeks. He was prisoner of the Ute longer ’n he’d’ve liked. Since it’s goin’ to be winter soon enough, maybe we ought to ride south to Mexico and find ourselves purty señoritas to set on our knees while we’re swillin’ tequila and pulque. Me, I prefer pulque. How about you?”

  Slocum realized how cleverly Pendergast kept pulling him into the robbery by holding out fantasies about Mexico and lovely, willing women far from the pursuing law. Never give him time to think about saying no and always keep him focused on what to do with the easy money from the robbery.

  “We shouldn’t be seen together anymore,” Slocum said.

  “You are a cautious one, Slocum. That’s another thing I like about you.” Pendergast stood and looked down at him. He touched the brim of his hat with the rattlesnake hide band. It buzzed just a little like a rattler. Slocum saw the tail that had been chopped off the snake once sporting the skin. It was eight or nine rattles long.

  Slocum reminded himself of the difference between the rattler and Pendergast. The snake gave warning before striking.

  “You like the addition to my hatband? Found a six-foot snake all curled up next to me the other morning. Killed it with my bare hands and took its rattles. Bit ’em off, I did. Didn’t even use a knife.” Pendergast laughed. Slocum wasn’t sure if any of it was true, but it made a good story. And it again diverted him from finding reasons to walk away from robbing the Central City Bank.

  Pendergast slapped him on the shoulder, then he and his men left Slocum sitting at the table, staring after them. He had considered simply riding on and to hell with Magnuson—and Christine—but Pendergast and his silver tongue had swayed him. The best way he could punish the rancher was to steal his money.

  Such thievery as bank robbing didn’t worry Slocum unduly. When the need had arisen, he had done worse in the past. But that wasn’t really how he wanted to punish Mordecai Magnuson.

  And having any dealings with Pendergast would be deadly. The man had trailed him for the better part of a year to get even with him. Why was he so willing to welcome Slocum into his gang after such a chase?

  “Sidewinders don’t have rattles,” he said.

  “How’s that, Slocum?” The barkeep came to the end of the bar and leaned over. “You wantin’ somethin’?”

  “I’m done,” Slocum said. He stepped outside and let the cool air wash over him and give added purpose to what he knew he had to do.

  Wary of any of the gang spying on him, he wandered about town awhile, slowed, and went to the wall he had chosen to blow down to reach the vault, then sat for a spell and waited. If Pendergast or any of his henchmen trailed him, they were doing a fine job. Slocum saw a few citizens milling about, then disappear as they went home for dinner. The sun dipped low and the temperature dropped fast with it.

  Only when he was sure no one watched him did he go toward the marshal’s office. If the lawman had a half-dozen deputies lying in wait, he could snare Pendergast and his entire gang when they showed up for the robbery. He’d have to do some convincing of his own to make the marshal believe the bank was going to be robbed, but that wasn’t too hard since the marshal kept his job by staying in the surrounding ranchers’ good graces. Anything threatening their livelihood was bad for him keeping his job.

  He circled the block and came up to the jailhouse from behind. A single light shone through the barred window high on one adobe wall. Whether the marshal had a prisoner or this was just a lamp left burning hardly mattered. It would take a few minutes to lay out Pendergast’s plan and then—

  Something moved to Slocum’s right. He turned and his hand flashed to the Colt in its cross-draw holster. The six-shooter came all the way out and then slipped from his fingers. The distraction to his right had been a decoy and nothing more. The real attack came from behind. A heavy weight descended on his head and drove him to his knees. He fumbled to grab his six-gun, now on the ground in front of him.

  A second blow put him out like a light.

  * * *

  Pain woke him. Slocum thought he had been out for only a few seconds, but the town had gone away and was replaced by a barn. He caught the deep scent of horses and heard chickens stirring, making him think it was close to dawn.

  A moment of panic seized him when he definitely heard a cock crow. Pendergast would have already robbed the bank and would be riding away. He had threatened to make life hell for Slocum if he didn’t set the charges for the gang. What might he have done if Slocum was nowhere to be seen?

  The pain doubled as Slocum began to struggle. He looked up and saw his hands were securely bound to a beam. Pulled up so his toes barely touched the floor, he felt muscles begin to protest. His belly and legs and across his shoulders—all burned as if he had been set on fire.

  “He’s awake.” The words came from a long way off. Slocum heard footsteps approaching. The men had been outside the barn.

  He tried to swing around to see who had come into the barn but was stopped with a short, hard punch to the kidneys that caused his world to turn black again for a moment. Gasping, he forced himself to focus his eyes. He expected to see Pendergast. To his surprise, Josh Norton and a cowboy he had never seen before stood in front of him. The young rancher balled his hand and held it up under Slocum’s nose.

  “You keep quiet, or I’ll hit you again.”

  “Want me to gag him, Josh?”

  “This is all right,” Norton said. He walked behind Slocum and punched him again.

  This time Slocum was ready for the blow, but it still hurt like hell.

  “That the best you can do? Beat on a man you’ve got tied up?”

  Norton hit him again, this time too high to smash into the kidneys. Slocum winced because his ribs were still bruised from Magnuson kicking the hell out of him, but this blow was endurable.

  “You want to say something or just walk around punching a helpless man?” Slocum asked
.

  “I told you to shut up!” Norton’s voice cracked and broke. Slocum couldn’t tell if it came from strain or simple adolescent growth. He doubted Josh Junior shaved more than a couple times a week.

  “Josh, we can’t keep him here forever,” the cowboy said uneasily. “You know why.”

  “We shoulda tied him up out in the woods.” He slugged Slocum again, but he also grunted, as if the punch hurt his fist more than it did his target.

  Norton walked back around and stepped truculently close to Slocum.

  “You got fired over on the Bar M. You’re still around. I want you to get out of the county. I don’t ever want to see your ugly face here again.”

  “How’s Christine?” Slocum’s jibe caused Norton to turn red in the face.

  “I want you to leave her alone, and I swear, I’ll kill you if you don’t get out of here!”

  “Wouldn’t be hard to kill me right now,” Slocum said, “and it’s hard for me to leave when you got me strung up like a side of beef.”

  Norton cocked his fist back to hit Slocum again, but he checked himself at the last instant.

  “I didn’t bring you here to bandy words, Slocum. This is a warning. A friendly warning compared to what I’ll do if you don’t leave.”

  “You got the balls to kill a man?”

  “Yes!”

  Slocum looked past Norton and his henchman to a side door. The elder Norton stepped through and paused, taking in what he saw.

  “You don’t have the gumption. You going to have your old man kill me for you?”

  “He’s an old fool! He doesn’t understand. I’ll kill you, Slocum, I will!”

  “Junior.” The single word came low and cold. It froze the younger Norton.

  Slocum didn’t even try to keep from laughing at the way Junior blanched.

  “What’s going on?” The older Norton came over.

  “Sir, I—”

  “Get out of here, Ashe. This is a family matter.”

  The cowboy mumbled an apology and disappeared behind Slocum, leaving the two Nortons and Slocum alone with the horses.