Slocum and the Bixby Battle Page 16
“Digging up the yard. Must be looking for the gold.”
“Wonder what in the hell he did with it.” She rolled over on her side and propped her head up with her arm.
“Guess they never asked him before they hauled him off, or he never told them.”
“It sounds like what they did to him was torture.”
“Nothing that he didn’t deserve.”
“Oh,” she said, and tossed away the stem. “What do we need to do?”
“Start eliminating McKlein’s men.”
“They won’t run easy.”
Slocum narrowed his eyes. “No quarter given. They won’t give us any.”
“The way they did my Montez. When do we start?”
“When the moon comes up.”
“Guess we better have dry jerky for supper tonight. A fire might warn them.”
He agreed.
When the quarter moon began to rise, they moved in. She had shed the cartridge belts, and handgun in one fist, she held a knife in her teeth. They came through the pungent-smelling, low-growing greasewood until they were at the corrals. There, someone was busy tending to the horses. He poured whole corn from a sack into the trough. The horses squealed and stomped around, deciding who would eat where.
With Slocum’s knife stuck deep in his back, the man gave a strangled groan and his knees buckled. Slocum wiped the blood off the blade on his pants and nodded to Donna. She pointed to the roof of the shed and he acknowledged seeing the sentry. A guard armed with a rifle stood silhouetted against the sky, his back to them. She took her knife by the blade and drew her arm back. The knife made a soft swishing noise like an owl on wing, until the blade’s impact struck the guard and pitched him off the roof in a clatter.
Shocked by all the noise of his fall, Slocum rushed to be certain the guard wasn’t simply wounded. He finished him off, taking the rifle and his pistol.
“Two for my Montez,” Donna whispered.
He nodded in agreement. The guard’s revolver in his waistband, he studied the house. Some light still shone in the windows, and they had the number down by two. If Miguel was right, there were four left.
Slocum moved toward the casa. When he peered in the window—there was only McKlein and Sutter sitting at a table playing cards.
“You hear something out there?” McKlein asked.
“Naw,” Sutter said. “But I’ll go check.”
The rifle in his hand, Slocum slipped along the wall. He would have one chance to bust in the man’s skull. Sutter came out the door, looked around and called out, “Stern?”
The Winchester raised high, Slocum delivered a battering-ram blow to Sutter’s skull with the butt plate. Sound of the impact was loud, and a chair scraped the floor inside. Donna pointed her pistol at the opening.
When McKlein’s frame filled the casing, her Colt spoke three times and the slugs hit him hard. His own handgun went off in the dirt and he staggered back inside.
She was standing over him before Slocum could get there.
McKlein held his gut and made pain-filled faces at them. It was obvious from the blood filling his hands that he wouldn’t last long.
“Where’s the money?” Slocum demanded.
“Sumbitch wouldn’t tell us.” He made a face and grasped for his side. “How’d you find us?”
“Followed our noses.” Slocum wondered where the other two were. “Where’s the rest of your men?”
“Sent ’em to town looking for that bitch. That whore he had might know where it is.”
“What’s her name?” Donna asked.
McKlein shook his head, then his eyes went blank and his body limp.
“What now?” she asked.
Slocum scrubbed his mouth with his hand. “Guess we start all over. We don’t know for sure that Bixby is dead. We don’t know her name and we don’t know where the money is.”
Donna nodded.
They rode into the village, and Slocum noticed something white draped over the back of a mule. As they came closer, he realized it was a naked body, dirty and covered in sun blisters. Slocum booted his horse around and recognized the ashen, bloated face of Bixby on the other side of the animal.
“You know this gringo?” the policía asked, coming out of his doorway.
Slocum shook his head. “What is his name?”
“Bis-bee. A rich Americano. He bought a ranch recently.”
“Who killed him?” Slocum asked.
“I don’t know, hombre. They found him yesterday. No bullet holes, but someone sure reamed out his asshole.”
“He’s been out in the sun for a couple of days. He’s all sunburnt.”
“Ah, sí, he was left to die, I think, too.”
“Did he have any friends here? A woman?”
“A puta, Loe Linda Chavez.”
Slocum leaned on his saddle horn, looking about at the crumbling stucco and need for repair on the buildings. “She still here?”
“No, she took the stage for Mexico City yesterday.”
Slocum nodded. “She have some luggage?”
“Sí, two heavy trunks. Why?”
Slocum smiled at Donna then turned back to the man. “No reason. We have to be going on. Nice talking to you.”
The policía took off his billed cap and scratched his head as they rode away down the stone-paved street.
“Where now?” she asked once they were out of the law’s hearing range.
“Someplace to get a bath, a bottle or two of wine, some good food and—”
“A bed?”
He smiled at her and nodded. “Yes, my lovely pistolero, a bed, too.”
Watch for
SLOCUM AND THE RUNAWAY BRIDE
313th novel in the exciting SLOCUM series from Jove
Coming in March!