Slocum at Dead Dog Page 3

  Benton’s grin went a little broader, and he turned back around to his meal. The son of a bitch knows, Slocum thought. He must know everything that goes on in this one-horse town. Suddenly, Slocum wanted to be out of Dead Dog. There was something peculiar about it. He did not know what it was, and he did not want to know. He just wanted to get the hell out. He was just about to get up and leave without having had his breakfast when the back door opened and a plump, middle-aged woman came walking out. She spotted Slocum and went immediately to his table.

  “Good morning,” she said. “What can I bring you this morning?”

  Slocum ordered coffee and steak and eggs, and the woman left again, only to return shortly with his coffee. She went off again to prepare the meal. He wondered why he had stayed. Well, he did want some coffee and he was hungry. He drank the coffee and one more cup before his breakfast arrived. Just as he was about to dig in, Carl Benton finished his meal and stood up to leave. Only, he did not leave. He moved over to Slocum’s table and sat down.

  “Well,” he said, “how do you like our little town?”

  “I ain’t seen enough of it to know,” Slocum said, “and I’m pulling out soon as I eat.”

  “So soon?” said Benton. “Where you headed?”

  Slocum shrugged. “One place is pretty much like another.”

  “Then why leave?”

  “Just restless, I guess.”

  Benton shoved his chair back and stood up. “Wherever you go,” he said, “be careful.”

  The sheriff paid for his food and Slocum finished his. When he got up to leave, the woman offered him more coffee, but he refused and paid her. Then he left, feeling much relieved, and walked down the street to the livery.

  Chunk Carlile saw him coming, and by the time Slocum arrived, Chunk had his horse saddled. He was about to fasten the cinch when Slocum walked up. “I’ll do that,” Slocum said. Carlile stepped back.

  “I treated him just like a goddamn house pet,” he said. “Only thing, I didn’t take him to bed with me.”

  Slocum shoved his Winchester into the boot and tied on the roll behind the saddle. He fastened the saddlebags in place. Then he dug into his pocket and pulled out a coin, which he handed to Carlile. Carlile’s eyes lit up.

  “Thanks,” he said. “You stop by anytime. You and your horse will always be welcome.”

  Slocum swung up into the saddle. He looked down at Carlile and said, “Do you know a man named Vance Kirk?”

  The smile vanished from Carlile’s face. He rubbed his chin. “Well, now,” he said, “know of him.”

  “He’s supposed to have a ranch somewhere near here,” Slocum said. “That was the last I heard, but it’s been a while.”

  “That’s true enough. The ranch ain’t far from here. You got that right.”

  “Well, can you tell me how to get to it?” Slocum said, beginning to feel a bit irritated. It was this damned town again, or still. There was something about it that grated on the nerves. Carlile pointed down the road.

  “Take the road east out of town,” he said. “You can’t miss it. Just keep on a-going straight and stay on the road. Eventual, you’ll pass a place with a sign in front that says ‘Riley’s.’ That’s old Riley’s place. Keep a-going. The next place you’ll come to will be Kirk’s. It’s got a sign too. Be late afternoon by the time you get there.”

  “Thanks,” said Slocum. He turned the horse and headed east. As he rode down the street, he passed the sheriff’s office and saw Benton sitting out on the sidewalk. Benton tipped his hat as Slocum rode by. Slocum responded with a sullen nod. He did not like Benton, did not like Dead Dog. He would sure as hell be glad to get this place behind him. He fought back an urge to kick his horse into a dead run. All the way out of town, he felt like eyes were on his back. Benton’s? Charlene’s? Totum’s? Carlile’s? Maybe all of them. Maybe none. It could be people he had not even met. And the feeling did not leave him, even when he got out of town. Dead Dog was still there behind him, and he still had that uneasy feeling.

  He thought about just moving on, putting Dead Dog and all those people far behind him, but he had come this far to see an old friend, and he had to go through with it. He was sure as hell going to ask ole Vance what the hell he was doing so close to such a shitty place, though. Why did he stay around? Surely, he could sell out and move to some healthier location, somewhere far away from Dead Dog.

  The farther out he got, the better he felt. The day was hot and sticky, and the trail was dusty, but Slocum was used to that. It didn’t bother him too much. As the sun blazed down from a clear blue sky, Slocum wondered just what the hell a cow would find to eat out here in this desolate country. He was sure anxious to see old Vance. He tried to put all thoughts of Dead Dog and this blasted country out of his mind by thinking about the old days with Vance, all the things they had gotten into and out of together.

  By the time he rode past the sign that said RILEY’S, from the position of the sun in the sky, Slocum judged that it must be about noon. He did not see any sign of life at Riley’s place, and even the sign was hanging down crooked, seemingly only attached by one nail. Slocum did not slow down. As the afternoon went on, the heat let up, but only a little. The sun was finally heading down toward the western horizon when Slocum saw another gate. It was a wide gate with a large sign above, stretching across from two tall poles. The neat, nearly professional lettering on the sign read, KIRK CATTLE COMPANY. Slocum turned and rode beneath the sign, more anxious now than ever to see ole Vance.

  Just then, a shot rang out and splinters flew from the big sign. Slocum’s horse whinnied and reared. “God damn,” said Slocum, jerking out his Colt and flinging himself sideways out of the saddle to land in a cloud of dust on the hard-baked ground. When he hit, he rolled. Stopping on his belly, he raised his head to look for someplace the shot might have come from. His horse was running loose inside the fence, on the Kirk property. Slocum could see the ranch house not far ahead. Then a second shot rang out and dust was kicked up just to his left. The shot came from the house.

  He noticed that he was lying beside a shallow ditch that ran along next to the road that led up to the house. Not far ahead, a row of scrubby trees ran nearly parallel to the ditch, disappearing somewhere behind the house. Slocum rolled himself into the ditch landing on his back. “Oof,” he said. He rolled on over onto his belly again and started to crawl toward the house. Scooting along in the dirt, he wondered if Kirk was in some kind of trouble that had made him gun-happy. He would have to play this carefully. He did not want to shoot Kirk or get shot by Kirk because of some mistake.

  It was a long crawl, and he was sick of eating dirt way before he reached his destination. He thought about the bathtub back in the hotel in Dead Dog. He kept crawling until at last he reached the cover of the trees. He rose to a low crouch and looked toward the house. He could make out a figure standing at the near end of the house, next to the stone chimney, holding a rifle. He was looking at the shooter’s back, but he could tell enough to know that it was not Vance Kirk. It was too small to be Vance.

  “Son of a bitch,” said Slocum through his teeth. He trotted through the trees, stopping now and then to see if the gunman was still in place, until he had gotten himself behind the house. He and the trees were still separated from the house by a clearing, but at least he was behind the bushwhacker.

  He decided to take a chance. Pulling back the hammer of the Colt, he took a deep breath and started to run toward the shooter. When he was about halfway across the clearing, he knew that the shooter would hear him coming. He stopped running and fired a shot into the side of the house. He knew he would not be able to hit anything at that distance with his revolver, but he counted on the surprise of his shot.

  He was right. The shooter dropped the rifle and raised his hands in the air. Slocum walked slowly toward him.

  “Don’t try anything,” he said in a loud, bold voice. “I don’t want to kill you, but I will if you try anything. Now turn around.”<
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  He was walking on as the gunslinger turned, and Slocum stopped in his tracks, his mouth hanging open, stunned.

  “God damn it to hell,” he said. “You’re a gal.”

  “I was born that way,” she said, “and this is my property. You’re trespassing. You got no business shooting at me on my own place. Now get out of here.”

  Slocum resumed walking toward her, and he was keeping his eye on the rifle at her feet. He still held his Colt ready.

  “You’d be right about all that,” he said, “except I just only rode in at the front gate the way any visitor would do, and you started in to blasting away at me.”

  “I don’t get any visitors,” she said, “and I don’t know you.”

  “Well, yeah,” he said. By this time, he was just a few feet away from her. He looked at the gun in his hand with a little embarrassment. “If I put this away,” he said, “will you promise not to shoot me?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. She did not trust him. Slocum bent over and picked up the rifle. He held it out toward her. She took it and held it down to her side, and Slocum put away his Colt.

  “You said you were a visitor,” she said.

  “This Vance Kirk’s place, ain’t it?” he said. “Vance is an old friend of mine. I rode out here to see him.”

  The girl’s face grew long. “Yeah,” she said. “You’re right. At least, this was his place. I’m his daughter.”

  “What do you mean was?”

  “He’s dead.”

  “Oh, no,” Slocum said. “I hate to hear that. When—”

  “It was just about three months ago. I ain’t hardly used to it myself. You said you were old friends.”

  “Oh, yeah,” said Slocum. “I’m sorry. My name’s John Slocum. We were in the war together. We were good friends. I’m awful sorry to hear that he’s—well, gone.”

  “And I’m sorry I shot at you. You can call me Tex.”

  She held out a hand for him to shake, and he took it.

  “Tex,” he said. “That’s an interesting name for a girl. I’ve known a few Texes in my time, but they were all men.”

  She grinned. “You can blame your old pal. He named me Texas Wild Flower. Texas Wild Flower Kirk. And he called me Tex.”

  “What did your mother think about that?” said Slocum. “Oh, I wasn’t thinking. Is your mother around?”

  “She died shortly after I was born,” Tex said. “I’ve never really had anyone but Daddy, and now he’s gone too.”

  “Sorry again. So you’re here all by yourself?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I reckon I can see how come you shoot first and ask questions later,” Slocum said. “I sure can’t blame you for that.”

  “Hey,” said Tex. “Come on in the house and have some supper with me.”

  “Well, I—”

  “I’ve heard Daddy talk about you a lot, Slocum. He’d skin me alive if I was to turn you away without feeding you. Come on.”

  “Well, all right,” Slocum said. He followed Tex into the house, where she pointed out a padded easy chair for him to sit in. He sat down and she brought him a cup of coffee.

  “I’ve got stew on the stove. I hope you don’t mind stew.”

  “I love a good stew,” he said.

  She busied herself in the kitchen stirring the stew and putting the biscuits on a plate and back in the oven to keep warm. Tex then turned to Slocum and said, “Not long now.”

  “Um,” he said. “That smells real good.”

  “Thanks,” she said. “I’m sure glad you turned out to be you and not someone else. I’m sorry I shot at you, but I’m glad I missed.”

  “Well, I’m glad too.”

  “I’ve had some problems out here,” she said, “and I just can’t take any chances. Don’t take me wrong, but you do have the look of a gunfighter, and I’m out here alone most all the time.”

  “What kind of problems, Tex?”

  “There’s a man who wants to buy this ranch. He wants to buy up all the ranch land around these parts, and he’s already got most of it. Daddy wouldn’t sell it to him, and I won’t either. But he keeps on trying. Someone steals cattle. Someone burned my barn. There’ve been shots fired at the house after dark. I’m sure he’s behind it all, but I just can’t prove it.”

  Slocum put down his spoon and leaned his elbows on the table as he looked intently at the daughter of Vance Kirk.

  “Tex,” he said, “just exactly what happened to your daddy?”

  “He went out one morning to saddle up his horse. Someone shot him in the back, a rifle shot from out in those trees.”

  “What has the sheriff done about it?”

  “Not a damn thing. I guess there’s nothing he can do. Like I said. There’s no proof.”

  “You think you know who did it?”

  “I know who the hell’s responsible. I don’t know who pulled the trigger, but I know damn well who was behind it. It was that same man who wants this ranch, the same one who wants all the ranches around. He’ll do anything to get what he wants. He did it.”

  “Tex,” said Slocum, “what’s his name?”

  “He came down here from Kansas a while back,” Tex said, “and that’s what they call him. Kansas. Kansas Totum.”

  4

  Things sure as hell had not turned out the way Slocum had anticipated. He was just going to stop by and see an old friend. That was all. Dead Dog was nearby, so he had stopped for the night. He had seen a man that he did not like, that damned Kansas Totum, but he had not had any trouble with the man. He just disliked him. He could ride away from something like that easily. And there was that sheriff, that Carl Benton. He was too damn nosy for his own good. Slocum had had a real nice tumble in bed. That was the best thing about the trip so far, but then Benton seemed to know all about it. It was like the son of a bitch had been spying on him the whole time. Slocum did not like that feeling. Finally, there was the stableman, Chunk what’s-his-name—Carlile. He had been real friendly, especially when Slocum had given him a little extra money for taking such good care of his horse. But he had changed when Slocum had asked about Vance.

  Slocum had left Dead Dog with a bad feeling, a feeling that something was really wrong there. As he had ridden out of town, he’d had that feeling that people were watching him the whole way, watching his back, a very uneasy feeling. He did get directions to Vance’s ranch, though, but when he got there, someone took a couple of shots at him. Turned out it was Vance’s daughter. Daughter! Hell! Slocum never even knew ole Vance had a daughter. So he had lived through that, and now he was on good terms with her, but he had discovered that his old pal Vance had been murdered, shot in the back by someone, almost for sure, working for that same bastard he had seen in town and disliked so much, that goddamn Kansas Totum.

  It was a situation that Slocum should have ridden away from. It was not his fight. Slocum had been in way more than his share of fights, and he certainly did not need another one. He tried to tell himself that this was none of his business, but something kept telling him just the opposite. It damn sure was his business. Vance had been his friend. He had been riding out of his way just to pay a visit to ole Vance, and this fucked-up situation was what he had stumbled into. Vance was dead, murdered. And Vance’s daughter was left all alone to fight the fight. Slocum couldn’t walk away from that. Ole Vance might be looking down from somewhere. What would he think if Slocum rode away and left her to fend for herself? Well, there was nothing for it but to stay and take charge.

  All these thoughts raced through Slocum’s mind as he sat sipping coffee while Tex busied herself at the stove. She ladled out a couple of bowls and set them on the table. “Soup’s on,” she said.

  Slocum took his coffee cup with him to the table. He stood there hesitant. Tex motioned to a chair. “Go on and sit down,” she said. “Dig right in.” Slocum sat down, put down his cup, and took up the spoon. He dipped a spoonful of stew and took it in his mouth. Instantly, he was sorry th
at he did. It was hot. Blistering hot. He did his best to hide the fact, but he knew that she could see his eyes watering. He swallowed it down and took a deep breath, trying to cool his mouth and gullet with air.

  “Be careful,” she said. “It’s hot.”

  “Now you tell me,” he said.

  “Well, you know, we have to cook it with fire.”

  “Yeah.”

  She shoved a basket of biscuits toward him. “Here,” she said. “This might help.”

  Slocum took one and took a big bite. It did help a little. “Thanks,” he said. “Good biscuits.”

  “But the stew—”

  “I really couldn’t tell with that first bite,” he said.

  He dipped his next bite very carefully from the back of the bowl and off the top, and before he took it in, he blew on it some. At last, he slurped it out of the spoon and swallowed it down.

  “It’s good,” he said. “Real good.”

  She smiled and thanked him, and he liked her smile. He thought that he would sure like to do something that would allow her to always keep that smile. And he realized all at once that in just this short time, he was beginning to feel like a father toward this daughter of his old friend. He was trying to take ole Vance’s place. That was a hell of a thought. He had felt many ways toward a great many women in his time, and this was a young and good-looking woman, but he was feeling like a father. He wondered if that meant he was getting old. He shoved that thought aside in favor of the first thought that he was trying to take Vance’s place.

  When they had finished eating, Tex gathered up the dishes and took them to the counter. Slocum got up and followed her. “What do you think you’re doing?” she said.

  “I just thought you could use a little help with these,” he said.

  “No, you don’t,” she said. “I can handle it all by myself. Have yourself a smoke. Daddy always had a smoke right after a meal.”

  Slocum patted his pockets as if he were looking for a cigar.

  “Try that box over there on the desk,” Tex said.