Slocum and the Killers Page 3

  “I ain’t in the mood for guessing games,” Sluice said. “What is it?”

  “That horse herd we run off.”

  “Hey,” said Hardy, “we could take them and sell them for a pretty penny.”

  “Don’t be stupid,” said Sluice. “We don’t know how many cowpokes ole Brady had with him. They might be trailing that herd.”

  “Besides,” said Jigs, “that sounds like too much work.”

  “Yeah,” said Sluice, “but they can help us out.”

  “What are you talking about, Sluice?” said Hardy. “How can they help us out?”

  “Someone might be on our trail. We can ride down there amongst them horses and lose our tracks.”

  “Goddamn,” said Jigs. “You’re right.”

  “Come on,” said Sluice. “Let’s go.”

  They rode up over the hill and down into the valley below. Soon, they were in the midst of the milling horse herd. As soon as Sluice and his boys moved in, the herd became uneasy and started to move.

  “Keep with them,” Sluice yelled.

  Moving into the herd, Jigs noticed something. “Looky there,” he said. The other two saw the horse with a saddle running with the others. Sluice laughed out loud.

  “That must be old Brady’s horse,” he said.

  “He’ll get tired pretty soon running with this bunch with a saddle on his back,” said Hardy.

  They rode with the herd for a couple of miles before they moved out in their own direction. They rode back up over the hill and down onto the trail again, but this time they kept off to the side of the road, so they would leave no tracks. Then they continued moving in a southwesterly direction.

  “That ought to cover our tracks,” Sluice said.

  “If anyone was following us,” said Hardy, “he’ll lose us for sure now.”

  “That’s right,” Sluice said, “but be sure you don’t leave any tracks on the road here.”

  “Say, Sluice,” said Hardy, “ain’t there a town up ahead?”

  “Yeah,” said Sluice. “North Fork. It ain’t far.”

  “I could sure use a drink,” said Jigs.

  “And a woman,” said Hardy.

  “Or a few women,” Jigs said.

  “Hell,” said Sluice, “a whole damn herd of women.”

  The three of them burst into raucous laughter.

  Following Slocum’s trail, Gourd, Pierce, and Old Jan were riding hard. They could see Slocum’s tracks and the tracks of the three riders he was following. It was easy trailing.

  “Goddamn Slocum,” said Gourd. “He can’t ever wait for no one, can he?”

  “It’s all right,” said Old Jan. “His tracks are easy enough to follow. He knows we’re back here behind him.”

  “But what’s he going to do if he catches up with them before we catch up with him?” asked Billy Pierce.

  “He won’t wait,” said Old Jan. “He’ll try to kill them. All three of them.”

  “Goddamn fool,” said Gourd.

  Slocum followed the tracks of his prey to the horse herd. There he lost them. He searched for some time, but to no avail. He did throw a rope over Trent Brady’s horse and unsaddle it before he let it go again. At last, he decided to go back to the main trail. He couldn’t decide what else to do. He figured that once the three men had hidden their tracks in those of the herd, they might move back to the road. There did not seem to be any other place they could go that made any sense. He knew that the town of North Fork was not far ahead. He figured he would find them there.

  Sluice dismounted at the rail in front of the Watering Hole Saloon in North Fork. Jigs and Hardy started to do the same, but Sluice stopped them. “You two tie your horses down the street,” he said. “Not together, neither. And when you come inside, keep away from me.”

  “How come?” asked Jigs.

  “Just do it, asshole,” Sluice said.

  Jigs shrugged and rode down the street, followed by Hardy. Sluice tied his horse and went inside. He walked straight to the bar and pounded on it. The bartender came over to him.

  “What’ll it be, stranger?”

  “Whiskey,” said Sluice. “A bottle.”

  The barkeep produced a bottle, and Sluice paid for it with some of the money he had gotten from the stagecoach. He poured himself a drink and downed it. Then he turned to look around the room. He decided to stay at the bar.

  Outside on the wooden sidewalk, Jigs and Hardy walked together toward the saloon.

  “What’s up with Sluice?” said Jigs.

  “Damned if I know,” said Hardy.

  “Tell us to tie up down the street and stay away from him in the saloon. What the fuck is he up to?”

  “Hell,” said Hardy, “just go along with him. That’s all.”

  They reached the saloon and walked in. They spotted Sluice standing at the bar and looked at him. He looked back and gave them a slight nod of the head. They walked to the bar to stand some distance away from Sluice. The barkeep approached them.

  “A bottle and two glasses,” said Hardy.

  “Whiskey?” asked the barkeep.

  “What else?” said Hardy.

  The barkeep brought the order, and Hardy paid for it, the same way Sluice had paid for his. He looked around, spotted a table, and nodded to it. He and Jigs went to the table, pulled out chairs, and sat down. Hardy poured the glasses full, and they both drank. A couple of saloon girls were milling around, and Jigs had his eyes on them.

  “Look at that one,” he said. “I bet she’d be hot.”

  “Hell, you had some not that long ago,” Hardy said.

  “That was then. This is now.”

  One of the gals came slithering up to their table. She had her eye on the bottle in front of the two men. “Buy a girl a drink?” she asked.

  “Sit down, sweet tits,” said Jigs.

  The gal giggled and sat down next to Jigs. She waved at the barkeep for a glass, and he brought one over. Hardy poured her a drink.

  “What’s your name?” he said.

  “They call me Bitsy,” she said. “What’s yours?”

  “I’m Jigs.”

  “I’m Hardy.”

  Over at the bar, Sluice heard the conversation, and he called himself six kinds of a fool for not having told those two to keep their names to themselves. At least, no one knew that he was with them. He watched them in the mirror behind the bar. He saw them as the two of them got up from the table with the gal, took their bottle and three glasses with them, and headed for the stairway. He cursed them silently as they mounted the stairs. When they disappeared at the top of the stairway, he poured himself another drink.

  Slocum rode into North Fork looking for three horses. He expected to find them in front of the saloon, but he did not. He tied his Appaloosa at the rail and went inside. He looked around the room, but saw no one who aroused his curiosity. He didn’t see three men together anywhere. He stepped up to the bar noticing only one other man there. The bartender approached him.

  “What’ll it be?” he asked.

  “I’m looking for three men who rode through here together,” Slocum said.

  “I ain’t seen three men together,” said the barkeep. “I—”

  Sluice interrupted. “I couldn’t help but overhear you, stranger,” he said. “I seen three riders.”

  “Where’d they go?” Slocum asked.

  “These men friends of yours?”

  “Not hardly.”

  “You’re after them then,” said Sluice.

  “I mean to kill them,” said Slocum.

  “Well, I don’t know if it’s the right men or not,” Sluice said, “but three rough-looking rannies rode through town about an hour ago. Rode straight through. Seemed to be in a hurry. Maybe on account of you, huh?”

  “Could be,” said Slocum. “They headed south?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Thanks,” Slocum said. He turned and walked back out the door. Sluice poured himself another drink.

&
nbsp; Upstairs, Hardy was lying naked on the bed with a drink in his hand. Bitsy was equally unclothed and on her hands and knees between his legs slurping at his member. Behind her, Jigs was on his knees, his rod pumping in and out of her twat. Slap, slap, slap, he banged against her rump. “Yahoo,” Jigs shouted. “Ride ’em. Ride ’em.”

  All of a sudden, Hardy opened his eyes wide, and his jaw dropped. “Oh. Oh. Oh,” he said as his rod let loose salvo after salvo into Bitsy’s mouth. His fingers relaxed, and he dropped the glass, spilling whiskey all over his hairy belly. When he at last stopped coming, Bitsy let the drooping tool slip out of her mouth, and she inched forward, licking whiskey off his belly. As she did so, she pulled loose of Jigs’s cock. It popped from her cunt and slapped up against his belly.

  “Goddamn,” he said. “I ain’t done.”

  Bitsy flopped over onto her back and said, “Well, come on, cowboy. Shove it back in.” Jigs scrambled between her legs and began poking furiously, but he couldn’t find the hole. Bitsy reached down with both hands and guided it in. “That’s good,” she said. “Oh, yeah.”

  Hardy sat up on the edge of the bed and poured himself another drink. Just then the door burst open, and Sluice stepped in.

  “Get your damn clothes on,” he said. “You got a job to do.”

  “What the hell?” said Jigs, his rod suddenly going limp.

  “Just get dressed and hurry up,” said Sluice. He looked at Bitsy. “And you get out of here.”

  “I ain’t been paid,” she said.

  “Pay her and get rid of her,” Sluice said.

  Hardy picked up his britches and dug out some cash. He handed some to Bitsy. She picked up her clothes and ran out of the room. Hardy was pulling on his britches.

  “What’s up, Sluice?” he asked.

  “I was right,” Sluice said. “Someone was following us. I sent him on a wild-goose chase out of town. He’ll be looking ahead of hisself for us, so we can slip up on him from behind and kill him. Come on. Hurry it up.”

  Outside of town, Slocum rode the trail slowly looking for sign that three riders had gone ahead of him. He did not find any, but he had lost the tracks going into North Fork. These three must be skilled at covering their tracks, he thought. Well, hell, they would surface sooner or later. The trail was winding through the foothills of the mountains. There were boulders on each side. The trail had narrowed, and it moved up a rise. Slocum reached the top of the rise and started down again.

  Back behind him, Hardy rode alone ahead of his two cronies. He topped the rise not long after Slocum, and he looked down and saw Slocum riding slowly and studying the trail. He turned his horse and hurried back down to where Sluice and Jigs were waiting. “He’s right over the top of this hill,” he said. “Down in the valley.”

  “Close enough to get a shot?” said Sluice.

  “I can get him,” said Hardy.

  “Come on,” said Sluice, and he kicked his horse in the sides. The three men rode fast to the top of the rise. They stopped there and looked down. Slocum was still in sight. The three dismounted, and Hardy took the rifle out of his saddle boot. He moved to the edge of the road and leaned on a boulder. He put the rifle to his shoulder and took careful aim. Slocum was riding along the edge of a drop-off. Hardy cocked his rifle, waited a couple of seconds, and fired.

  Slocum felt the slug tear into his shoulder, and he toppled from his horse. He was very near the edge of the drop-off. He was aware of the danger he was in. Whoever had plugged him would likely come to see that the job was done. He looked over his shoulder down into the drop-off below. He thought that he could survive the fall. He rolled and went over, landing hard on a boulder. He looked up. He was in a position where he thought he could see if anyone looked over the edge, but they could not see him. He squirmed a little, moving himself in closer to the wall to be sure. He could still see up there. He waited.

  “Come on,” said Sluice. “Let’s make sure of him.”

  He started riding down the hill with Jigs right beside him. Hardy mounted his horse and followed them. Slocum’s Appaloosa saw them coming and ran farther on down the road. They stopped where the Appaloosa had been, dismounted, and walked to the edge of the drop-off. Leaning over, they looked down.

  “I don’t see no sign of him, Sluice,” said Jigs.

  “Me neither,” said Hardy, “but he went over right here.”

  “That’s a hard fall,” said Sluice. “With your slug in him and that fall, he’s done for all right. If one didn’t kill him, the other one did. Or else he’ll lay there where he landed and bleed to death. Even if he could crawl back up here, which I sure as hell doubt, his horse is gone. He’s a dead man all right. Let’s move along.”

  They mounted up and headed south along the road.

  Down below, Slocum had seen their faces. One, he thought, was the same son of a bitch he had seen back in the saloon. The one who had told him that three men passed through town. And one of the other two had called him Sluice. Slocum cursed himself for having been suckered by the bastard. He’d had him right there in North Fork. Right in the saloon. He could have killed him then and there. Oh, well, now that he had seen him, he’d know him the next time. The next time he would kill him.

  The next time. There might not be a next time. He had a hole in his shoulder, and it was bleeding badly. He was down on the side of a drop-off, and he did not feel like he could get himself back up to the road. Even if someone came along, they wouldn’t see him where he was. He had made sure of that. He wondered if this would be his end. He wasn’t afraid of that, but he damn sure regretted not getting Sluice and his pals. He groaned. The gunshot wound was beginning to hurt. The pain sent throbs through his body. And he hurt where he had banged his body into the rocks. He did not think anything was broken, but he wasn’t sure. It did not seem to matter, though. He couldn’t move. Then the world suddenly grew dim and then dark, and Slocum drifted into unconsciousness.

  Back down the road, Old Jan, Billy Pierce, and Charlie Gourd were just riding into North Fork.

  4

  Gourd, Pierce, and Old Jan tied their horses in front of the Watering Hole and went inside. They walked up to the bar. The place was not too busy just then, and the bartender met them right away. “What’ll it be, gents?” he asked.

  “We’re looking for a friend who came through here,” said Old Jan. “Probably last night. Wearing a red shirt and a white hat.”

  “Tough-looking bastard,” added Gourd.

  “A man like that was here,” the barkeep said. “He rode out south looking for three men. He didn’t even stay long enough to have a drink.”

  “That’s him,” said Billy. “That’s him for sure.”

  “Let’s go after him then,” said Old Jan.

  “We have time for a drink,” said Gourd.

  “What’ll it be?”

  “Three whiskeys,” said Gourd.

  “We really ought to be going,” said Old Jan.

  “Hell,” said Gourd, “Slocum never waits for us, does he? He don’t think he needs us. Let’s have a drink, and then we’ll hit the trail again.”

  “Makes sense to me,” said Billy.

  “Well, you two do what you want,” said Old Jan. “I’m riding on.”

  The bartender had already put a bottle and three glasses on the bar. He took the third glass back and poured two glasses full. Old Jan turned to walk outside.

  “We’ll catch up with you, old man,” said Gourd. “Likely before you catch up with Slocum.”

  Old Jan mounted up and rode south out of town. He rode easy, watching the sign. A few miles out, he thought he recognized the prints of Slocum’s big Appaloosa. Then he saw tracks of three horses coming along behind Slocum. He wondered about that. Could the three men they were after have gotten behind Slocum? He did not think so, but anything was possible. He recalled what Shakespeare’s Hamlet had said: “There are more things in heaven and on earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” He kept riding. After a while, he
came to a spot in the road where the three riders had stopped. They had dismounted, and one of them had stood beside a boulder. He was at the top of a hill looking down on the road.

  Then Old Jan got a big surprise. Down below, Slocum’s Appaloosa came trotting along the road from the south. It stopped there where the land dropped off sharply on the east side of the road. Something was dreadfully wrong, Old Jan thought. He hurried his mount down the hill and stopped beside the Appaloosa. He dismounted. Walking up to the horse, he touched its muzzle.

  “Hey, there, old boy,” he said. “What’s happened? Where’s your pard?”

  The Appaloosa whinnied and bobbed its head up and down. Old Jan then noticed something on the Appaloosa’s saddle. He reached out and touched it. Bringing his hand back close to his face, he looked at his fingers. “Blood,” he said. He looked around and saw nothing. The tracks of the three horses continued south. He walked to the edge and looked over, but he could see nothing.

  “Slocum?” he called out.

  There was no answer. He called again. Still deadly silence. But the big Appaloosa still stood there. Jan was sure that Slocum had been shot and had fallen over the side. The horse had run off after the shot, but had returned to where Slocum had gone over. Old Jan studied the drop-off carefully. It went down a long way, but there were places that could have stopped a fall. Slocum, or his body, could be out of sight along the way down. Jan decided he had to go down and look. It would be a dangerous climb. If he were not very careful, he could fall to his own death. But Slocum might be down there somewhere, and he might be alive. Even if he were not alive, Old Jan thought that he should bring back the body. He thought about how Slocum rode casually away from dead bodies, leaving them for the scavengers or for others to take care of. It was ironic that he should have someone to look after him—or his remains.

  Old Jan took the rope off his saddle and tied it firmly around a boulder. He tested it. He was sure it would hold. He started to wrap it around his waist in preparation for the descent, but then stopped. How would he get Slocum back to the top? He went back to the Appaloosa and got Slocum’s rope. He tied it to the same boulder and tossed it over the edge. Then he wrapped his own rope around his waist, turned his back to the drop-off, and started easing himself over the edge.