Slocum's Close Call Page 6

  “Yeah,” Bobby agreed, “but them ten is professional gunfighters. Mean as hell.”

  “Put your horse in the corral, Bobby,” Slocum said, “and get back over here on the porch.”

  Bobby did that, and was back in a flash. Slocum stood up and moved his chair to the center of the porch, just in front of the door into the house. He brought along the Winchester, and this time, when he sat back down, he laid the rifle across his lap. “Chuckie,” he said, “go back to your corner.” Joiner walked back to the end of the porch to Slocum’s right. “Bobby,” Slocum said, “why don’t you take the other end?” Bobby walked to the end of the porch to Slocum’s left. Both men stepped off the porch and around the comer of the house to lean against the side wall. Soon the ten riders came.

  When they had reached the line where the flagged sticks poked out of the ground, Slocum called out to them. “That’s far enough,” he said. The rider in the middle and a little out front of the others held up a hand, and he and the others stopped riding. He squinted at Slocum. “Who the hell are you?” he said.

  “Name’s Slocum. John Slocum, but that ain’t what’s important,” Slocum said. “What’s important is that this ranch is back in the hands of Charlie Joiner and his crew. You might say I’m Charlie’s foreman.” He stood up, rifle ready, and stepped to the front edge of the porch. “Now I’ m suggesting that you fellows turn around and ride out of here if you want to avoid a bloodbath,” he said. “Boss?”

  Joiner stepped out from around the corner of the house and leveled his rifle at the leader. “Right here,” he said.

  “Bobby,” said Slocum.

  Bobby stepped out and aimed his rifle. “Ready,” he said.

  “Bobby?” said the talking cowboy. “That you?”

  “It’s me, all right,” Bobby said.

  “You with these others?”

  “Sure looks that way, Herd,” Bobby said.

  “You’re a double-crossing little shit, Bobby,” said Herd, “and you’re going to be real sorry when I get my hands on you.”

  “Call it any way you like, Herd,” Bobby said. “My first boss on the ranch here was Charlie. I stayed on when you all ran him off, but now he’s back. That’s all.”

  “That’s enough talking,” Joiner shouted. “Now you can turn around and ride out of here or start shooting.”

  “Who’s that?” Herd asked.

  “Charlie Joiner,” said Joiner. “Make your move.”

  Herd laughed. “Hell,” he said, “there’s ten of us here and three of you. How long you think a fight would last?”

  “You’ll be the first to fall,” Slocum said, sighting in on him with his Winchester. “And before you make up your mind, look around. Look at the windows.”

  Herd saw the rifles then, one protruding from each window. “Turn around, boys,” he said. “We’ll see what Mr. Harman says about this.” The other riders turned their horses, and just before turning his own, Herd shouted back at the defenders of the house, “We’ll be back. You can count on that.”

  They kept a watch up for the rest of the evening and all through the night, but it was midmorning of the next day before anyone came back to the ranch. Slocum was in the house, when Myrtle, who had been out on the porch, stepped into the main room. “Sheriff’s coming,” she said.

  “Alone?” Slocum asked.

  “He’s alone,” Myrtle said. In a minute, Slocum, Joiner, Bobby, and the two women were all out on the porch. Sheriff Coleman rode up easy and stopped his mount at the hitching rail there. He looked up at the crowd waiting there to meet him.

  “Mind if I get down?” he asked.

  “Climb down,” Joiner said.

  Coleman swung out of the saddle, lapped the reins of his horse around the rail, and stepped up onto the porch. “Have a chair, Sheriff,” said Joiner. Coleman sat, and so did the others, all except Myrtle.

  “Coffee, Sheriff?” she asked.

  “I don’t mind,” Coleman said.

  Myrtle went into the house, and Julia got up to follow her. “I’ll give you a hand,” she said.

  “It’s been a long time, Charlie,” Coleman said.

  “Two years,” said Joiner.

  “I heard rumors that you was coming back.”

  “And here I am,” said Joiner. “I got my ranch back too.”

  “Well,” Coleman said, “you’re in possession right now. There’s no arguing with that.”

  “And possession’s nine-tenths of the law,” said Joiner. “Or something like that. Ain’t it?”

  “If that’s so,” Coleman said, “then the other tenth is papers, and it’s a powerful tenth. Harman’s got the papers on this place. I came out here to ask you to give it up, Charlie. I don’t want no trouble with you.”

  “I got my ranch back,” Joiner said, “and I ain’t giving it up again.”

  Just then, Myrtle and Julia came back out and distributed cups of coffee all around. Coleman took a tentative sip. “That’s real good, ladies,” he said. “Thank you.”

  “Bud,” said Joiner, “you know that Harman stole this place from me. Now. I ain’t accusing you of nothing, but why the hell would you want to help him keep it?”

  “Be careful what you say, Charlie,” Coleman said. “I don’t know nothing of the kind. All I know is that you ran off a couple of years ago. Whenever your tax bill come up delinquent, Harman paid it. He got the ranch legal. Now you’ve come back and took it by force, and Harman’s made a complaint. That’s all I know.”

  “You know why I left?” Joiner said.

  “I heard rumors,” Coleman said. “A bunch of the ranchers got together and accused you of rustling. They was going to string you up, but you got away from them.”

  “That’s right,” said Joiner, “but I never rustled no cattle. It was Harman. He had his boys put them cows on my place, and it was him accused me, and it was his boys that got the lynch mob up. It was all part of his scheme to get my ranch away from me.”

  “That may be,” said Coleman, “and I’ve had my suspicions. But there ain’t no proof of any of it. The facts are just the way I laid them out for you. I’m sorry, Charlie, but you’re going to have to give it up.”

  “Chuckie boy,” said Slocum, “show the man the papers you got.”

  Coleman shot a glance at Slocum. “What papers?” he said. Slocum didn’t answer, and Coleman looked back at Joiner. “What papers?” he said. “What’s he talking about?”

  Joiner reached inside his shirt and drew out a folded oilcloth. He laid it on his thigh and unwrapped it to reveal a stack of papers. Then he handed the papers to Coleman. Coleman read the top paper, then went hurriedly through the stack. He looked up at Joiner. “Harman’s our rustler, all right,” he said. “How’d you get all this?”

  “I ain’t just been idling down there south of the border,” Joiner said. “Well?”

  “Well, I can arrest Harman on this evidence,” said Coleman, “but that won’t give you back your ranch. It’ll just put him in jail.”

  “That’d be a good start,” Slocum said. “Why don’t you just set aside the problem of possession of this ranch till you get Harman in jail? Then Chuckie can get it back the same way Harman got it away from him in the first place.”

  Coleman stroked his chin contemplatively. “We might work it like that,” he said. He finished his coffee and put the cup down on the porch. “You’ll be hearing from me,” he said, standing up. He started toward the porch steps, but Slocum stopped him.

  “Sheriff,” he said, “I think that you ought to leave those papers here with us—for now.”

  Coleman looked at the papers in his hand, then looked from Slocum to Joiner and the others there on the porch. He was outnumbered, and clearly they were determined. “Well,” he said, “I guess we won’t really need them till the trial.” He handed the bundle back to Joiner, then moved on to his horse. Loosening the reins, he mounted up. He looked back at the five on the porch, touched the brim of his hat, and said, “Be seeing yo
u.”

  “Sheriff,” Slocum said. “Be careful. From what I hear, this Harman ain’t no respecter of the law.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” Coleman said. He turned his horse and rode away.

  Harman sat behind the big desk in the office inside the Hi De Ho Saloon. He was a tall man, rangy and tough-looking. His hard face had a black mustache that matched the heavy brows over his eyes. His black coat and hat hung on a tree just inside the office door. He was wearing the trousers and vest that went with the coat, and he had on a white shirt with lace collar and cuffs, and a black string tie. He looked up from his work when he heard a knock on his door.

  “Come in,” he called out.

  The door opened and Sheriff Bud Coleman stepped in. “Well?” said Harman. “You bring them in?”

  “They wouldn’t listen to reason, Harman,” Coleman said. “And I was outnumbered. Five of them met me on the porch, and there were rifles poking out every window of the house. The bunkhouse too. Charlie Joiner’s got a small army out there.”

  “Then we’ve got to get together a bigger one,” said Harman, “and drive them out of there or kill them.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Coleman. “There’ll be time enough for that later. Just now, I’d like for you to come along with me.”

  “Come along where, Bud?” Harman said.

  “Over to the jailhouse,” said Coleman. “I got to put you under arrest.”

  Harman leaned back in his chair and looked at the sheriff in disbelief. “There’s a known rustler in possession of my ranch illegally,” he said, “and you want to put me under arrest? Just what the hell for?”

  “Suspicion of cattle rustling,” Coleman said.

  “Well, now,” Harman said, taking a cigar out of a box on his desk and sticking it in his mouth. “Just what is it makes you suspicion me?” He picked up a match and struck it on the side of the desk, then stuck the flame to the end of the cigar.

  “I got a look at some bills of sale from south of the border,” Coleman said. “They show that you’ve been selling the cattle that’s been rustled from around here.”

  “Let me see the papers,” Harman said.

  “I ain’t got them on me,” Coleman said. “I ain’t that stupid. You’ll get to see them soon enough. You or your lawyer.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Harman. “Let me work this out here. I sent you out to the ranch to get Charlie Joiner out of there, and you come back with a story about some papers that prove me a rustler. Is that right? To the best of my knowledge, Joiner’s been down in Mexico for the last couple of years. That all adds up to one thing. Joiner showed you them papers. Am I right?”

  “That’ll be answered at your trial,” the sheriff said. “Come on. Harman. Don’t give me any shit.”

  “Them papers is fake,” Harman said. “Bring them in here and let’s have them examined.”

  “They’ll be examined by the judge,” Coleman said. “Come on now. Let’s go.”

  Harman spread his arms to his sides in a gesture of submission. “All right,” he said. He stood up and walked around his desk to the hat tree, then took his coat and started to put it on. “I’ll go. I’m a law-abiding citizen. We’ll get this all straightened out. and come next election, if you last that long, you’ll be voted out of office.”

  “We’ll see,” said Coleman, taking the black hat off the tree and setting it on Harman’s head. “Let’s go.”

  As they walked through the big main room of the Hi De Ho Saloon, the man called Herd turned away from the bar and straightened up. As the sheriff and Harman walked past him, Harman said, “Keep an eye on things, Herd. The sheriff’s putting me in jail.” Then Harman walked on out the front door along with Coleman. Herd stared after them for a moment, then gestured toward two cowboys sitting at a table close by. They stood up and walked over to the bar to join him.

  “Kurt,” Herd said, “you and Jelly come along with me.”

  Herd led the two other men out of the saloon and down the street to the sheriff’s office and jail. They stepped inside just as Coleman was about to shut a cell door on Harman. Herd pulled a revolver, and the other two men did the same. “Hold it, Sheriff,” Herd said. Coleman stopped still.

  “Harman,” the sheriff said, “is this the way you want it?”

  “It’s the only way,” Harman said. “You don’t really think I’d sit in your damned jail waiting for a trial, do you?”

  Just then Deputy Joe Short stepped in the door behind Herd and the other two. Taking in the situation quickly, he pulled out his revolver.

  “Well, what now, boys?” said Coleman. Short edged his way between Kurt and Jelly to stand beside Herd. “Joe, you damn fool,” said Coleman, “you left two men at your back.”

  “Way I see it, Mr. Harman,” Short said, “there’s only one thing to do now.”

  “Do it then,” Harman said.

  Coleman’s eyes opened wide with the sudden realization, too late, of where his deputy’s loyalties lay. “Joe?” he said. “Joe, you no-good son of a bitch.”

  Joe Short’s revolver barked and jumped in his hand, and a bullet tore into the chest of Sheriff Bud Coleman. Coleman’s right hand had just touched the handle of his own revolver. He never had a chance to grip it. He groaned angrily and looked down at the fresh hole in his chest. Blood ran freely down onto the belly of his shirt. “No good—” His voice faded, and his knees buckled, and Coleman crumpled to the floor.

  “Well, Joe,” Harman said, “I guess that makes you the law around here.”

  “What about Eddie?” Short asked.

  “If Eddie Cobb is willing to string along with us,” said Harman, “then I reckon he can keep his job as deputy—your deputy. Take these two along with you. Find him and feel him out. Then look me up over at the Hi De Ho. We got things to do.”

  “All right, Mr. Harman,” Short said.

  Back at the ranch, Slocum walked the row of buried dynamite sticks. The gang of cowhands had trampled some of the flag sticks, and he wanted to straighten them up, make sure the targets were all clear and plain. He figured they might be needing them before much longer. With the power that Harman had behind him, Slocum couldn’t imagine that the man would just calmly walk into a jail cell and let himself be locked up to wait for a trial on a cattle-rustling charge. Harman had wanted what he considered his ranch back before. Now he was going to want it that much harder and faster. Ten men, Slocum thought. And what had they said about the ones in town? Six more, was it? That would be sixteen all told. Sixteen coming at them. They had to be ready.

  Joe Short led Jelly and Kurt across the street to the Long Shank Hotel, where Eddie Cobb had a room. He figured Eddie might be in there. They were approaching the front door when Cobb came hurrying out. “Hey, Eddie,” Short said. “We was just coming to see you.”

  “I heard a shot,” Cobb said.

  “It’s all right,” said Short. “I took care of it. We got to talk, Eddie. Come on over to the Hi De Ho and let’s talk over a glass of whiskey.”

  “Well, okay,” Cobb said.

  They walked to the Hi De Ho, and got themselves a table in a far comer away from other customers. Kurt got them a bottle and four glasses, and Short poured drinks all around. “What’s this all about?” Cobb asked.

  “Eddie,” Short said, “Bud went and got himself killed.”

  “What? That shot I heard—”

  “That was it,” Short said. “Sit still and listen to me. You know, Charlie Joiner and his gang have took over Mr. Harman’s ranch out there.”

  “Yeah,” Cobb said. “I heard about that.”

  “Mr. Harman asked Bud to run them off or arrest them, but Bud come back in town and said he was fixing to arrest Mr. Harman for rustling,” Short said. He turned down his drink and poured himself another. “On Joiner’s word,” he added.

  Eddie Cobb looked at Short’s cold face, and he looked at the two Harman men who were siding Short.

  “That’s slim,” he said.


  “Yeah,” said Short. “So Mr. Harman said he figures that I’m the sheriff now. What he actually said was that I’m the only law. I said what about Eddie, and he said if Eddie strings along with us, he can keep his job—as deputy. So what I’m asking you, Eddie, is where do you stand?”

  “You mean—whose side am I on?” Cobb asked.

  “That’s what I mean to know,” said Short.

  Cobb sipped some whiskey and thought carefully about the words he would use. “Well,” he said, “it was Bud who hired me. Now you’re sheriff, I’d say it was up to you whether you want me or not. I mean, Bud got to choose his own deputies. You ought to have the same right. If you don’t want me, I’ll move on. No hard feelings.”

  “It ain’t that,” Short said. “I’m asking you, if I keep you on, will you stick by me?”

  “Does that mean sticking by Mr. Harman?” Cobb asked.

  “The way I see it,” said Short, “the law’s on Mr. Harman’s side.”

  Cobb lifted his glass for another sip. “Well,” he said, “I don’t know nothing about the law. All I know is—if I work for a man, I do what he tells me to do. So if you’re the new sheriff, I got no quarrel with that. It ain’t my place to decide whose side the law’s on. Just do what I’m told. That’s all.”

  “You just keep thinking like that, Eddie,” Short said, “and we’ll all get along just fine. Now, uh, why don’t you get on over to the office and clean things up there. I’ll see you later.”

  Short, followed by Kurt and Jelly, headed toward Harman’s office, and Eddie Cobb walked out the front door. He walked over to the sheriffs office and found the body of Bud Coleman lying there on the floor. He looked out the front door and didn’t see any of Harman’s men watching, but he didn’t want to take any chances. He headed for the back door, but paused as he came to the sheriff’s body. He took off his hat and looked down.

  “Sorry to run out on you like this, Bud,” he said, “but I’ll be back. I promise you that.”

  He put his hat back on his head and hurried to the rear door. He went out and walked down the back alley until he came to the livery. He entered the livery from its back door, got his horse and saddled it up, and rode out the back way. He was headed for the ranch and the so-called Joiner gang.