Slocum at Hangdog Page 8
“I’ll ask Thad to ride out with me,” said Ritchie. “Will that ease your mind?”
“Well, it’s better than you riding out alone—if you’re determined to go.”
Huggy rolled over on the small cot he was using for a bed. He meant to roll over onto his back, but he rolled off the cot, landing with a thud on the floor. He roared as he came awake. Barber and Stopes popped up in their cots.
“What?” shouted Stopes.
“What’s wrong?” called out Barber, reaching his gun.
“Goddamn it,” said Huggy. “I fell out of the goddamned bed.”
“Oh,” said Stopes. “Is that all?”
“It didn’t do me no good with this shitting hangover,” said Huggy. “Barber, get your ass on up and put on some coffee.”
“Why me?”
“On account of I’m hurting too bad in my head,” Huggy said, “and Stopes’s arm is still fucked up. He might spill it all over the place. Go on now.”
“I’ll have to stoke up the fire,” Barber mumbled, putting his gun down and dragging himself out of bed. He walked across the room in his bare feet and long underwear to pick up some sticks of wood.
“You get up too, Stopes,” said Huggy. “You ain’t laying around in bed while the rest of us is up.”
Huggy was sitting on the floor. He was fully dressed, having just passed out on the cot the night before without ever really getting ready for bed. Stopes began dragging himself up.
“I don’t see why I can’t,” he said.
“On account of I got plans,” said Huggy, “and I want you both to hear them.”
9
When Ritchie got out to Mix’s ranch, Slocum was already there, but he was riding the range. Ritchie rode up to the house. It took a while before the front door was answered, and Ritchie was surprised to see that it was Dave Mix who opened it. There was a tense moment that followed before either man spoke. Then Ritchie said, “Dave. What are you doing up and around?”
“I’m getting better all the time,” Mix said. “Come in.”
Ritchie went inside and Mix motioned to a chair. Ritchie sat down. Mix took a chair across from him and sat slowly with a groan.
“You sure you ought to be up?” asked Ritchie.
“I’m all right,” Mix said. “I should have offered you a drink.” He started to rise again, but Ritchie stopped him.
“Let me fetch it,” he said.
Mix motioned toward a cabinet over against the wall that contained a few bottles and glasses.
“Can I pour you one?” said Ritchie.
“A small brandy,” said Mix.
Ritchie went to the cabinet and poured two drinks. He took one to Mix and then sat back down with the other one.
“I came out here to—”
“I know why you came,” said Mix. “Slocum and Speer had a talk with me. It seems I owe you an apology. I blamed you for all my troubles, and then you all found three rustlers who had stole from the both of us. I’m sorry, James. I was way too hasty to place the blame.”
“If it had been me,” said Ritchie, “I’d likely have done just what you did. I ain’t holding nothing against you.”
“Thanks,” said Mix.
“Say, is there anything I can do for you while you’re laid up? I can send some hands over, and there’s even some things I can do myself if you need any—”
“I’m okay,” said Mix. “Charley’s got everything well in hand, but thanks for the offer.”
Ritchie took a sip of his brandy and thought for a moment. “There is something else I have to say to you, Dave,” he said. “We cleared up the rustling all right, but there’s still the matter of your wagon and your store. I have to say this even though it’ll throw suspicion right back in my way. Dave, there just ain’t no reason them three would have to wreck your wagon and burn down your store. There’s someone else. There’s got to be. I swear to you, Dave, it ain’t me, but I sure can’t think of anyone else with a reason to do them things to you.”
A dark look spread across Mix’s face. He had just apologized to Ritchie for suspecting him of all his trouble, and now Ritchie himself had thrown suspicion right back in his direction. It didn’t seem likely, though, that he would have done that if he were guilty. Mix was trying to think of something to say when he heard a knock at the door. Again he started to get up, but Ritchie beat him to it, saying, “Sit still, Dave. I’ll get it.”
He opened the door to Slocum.
“Oh,” said Slocum. “I can come back later.”
“It’s all right,” said Ritchie. “Come on in. Me and Dave have just about patched things up all right.”
Slocum walked on in the house. “I’m glad to hear that,” he said.
“Sit down, Slocum,” Mix said.
“You ought to be in bed,” Slocum said, taking a seat.
“I already went through all that with him,” said Ritchie.
“I’m doing a lot better,” said Mix. “What brings you out here?”
“I came out to check over your stock,” Slocum said. “Everything looks all right for now. Just thought I’d peek in on you and see how you’re doing.”
“I appreciate it,” said Mix. “Slocum, James here has just brought up something that we seem to have overlooked.”
“Yeah?”
“There’s still someone else who’s after me.”
Bart Rowland rode into Hangdog about noon. He was wearing a black suit, black hat, and had a pair of revolvers strapped around his waist. A Henry rifle was snugged down in a saddle boot on the left side of his handsome white stallion. He rode with ease and confidence. He stopped in front of Ritchie’s hotel, tied his horse to the rail, and went inside, where he got himself a room. The desk clerk was obviously nervous. Rowland spoke to no one other than the clerk, and that very brusquely. He took his gear up to his room and wasn’t seen for the rest of the evening. Rowland was widely known as a gunfighter for hire. As soon as he was gone, the clerk ran around town telling everyone the news. Bart Rowland was in town. Speer stomped around town until Slocum at last rode back in. It was mid-afternoon. He called out to Slocum, and they went to the saloon together and sat down for a drink.
“Bart Rowland just rode in,” Speer said.
Slocum’s brow wrinkled. “That’s interesting,” he said.
“What do you think Rowland’s business is here in town?” Speer asked.
Slocum shook his head. “It’s a puzzle,” he said. “If he’d come in earlier, I’d have thought that he came for the same reason as me but for the other side.”
“You mean you’d a thought that Ritchie hired him?”
“That would have made sense,” Slocum said, “only now it don’t look like Ritchie’s the one behind the trouble. It looks like those three bums are behind all the running off of livestock, and Ritchie’s been a victim just like Mix has.”
“Maybe them three just blundered into the middle of all this trouble without knowing what’s going on. It could be that Ritchie’s been behind the other trouble that Mix has been having all the time, and them rustlers just kind of throwed us off the track.”
Slocum took a sip of whiskey. “That could be,” he said, “but I kind of doubt it. I don’t think Ritchie’s involved. There’s got to be someone else.”
“Slocum,” said Speer, obviously exasperated, “there just ain’t no one else. Ritchie is the only one who stands to gain a damn thing from Mix’s misfortune.”
“Someone tried to kill Davey,” said Slocum. “I keep thinking about that small boot print where the shooter stood.”
“Ah, yeah. I forgot about that,” said Speer.
“I passed Helen Lester, uh, Mrs. Mix, on the road when I was riding out to the ranch yesterday,” Slocum said. “She was armed to the teeth. Said she could handle a weapon all right.”
“Yeah,” the sheriff said. “I seen her come into town. She rode straight over to Lawyer Baker’s office. When she come back out, she headed back toward the ranch.”
“Hell,” said Speer, “she was just married. It could a been anything.”
“Yeah,” said Slocum. “Like a will.”
“A will?” said Speer. “Slocum, you ain’t thinking what I think you’re thinking, are you?” Slocum gave a slight shrug. “A small boot print,” said Speer, “a woman who rides around armed and says she can shoot, a wedding, and a will.”
“What I’m thinking,” said Slocum, “is that I shouldn’t have left Davey out there alone with that woman.”
“His whole ranch crew is out there,” said Speer.
“They ain’t in the house,” Slocum said. “Speer, I’m riding out there again, and this time I’m staying.”
Just then, Bart Rowland walked into the room. He stopped and looked the place over carefully. Then he walked to the bar. The bartender came up quickly to serve him. “Coffee,” said Rowland, and he turned and walked to a table and sat with his back to the wall. The bartender rushed a cup of coffee over. “Anything else I can do for you?” he asked.
“Just keep this cup filled,” Rowland said.
“Yes, sir,” said the barkeep, and he hurried away.
Speer looked at Slocum. He nodded in Rowland’s direction. “What about him?” he said.
“Long as he’s in town,” Slocum said, “he’s your worry. If he’s here after Davey, he’ll have to come out to the ranch.”
Slocum finished his drink and left the saloon. Speer stared at Rowland for a moment. Then he took his drink and walked to Rowland’s table. He stood looking down at the man. Rowland looked up at him.
“Sheriff, huh?” he said.
“That’s right.”
“I reckon you want to quiz me up,” said Rowland, “so you might as well have a seat.”
Speer pulled out a chair and sat across the table from Rowland. “What brings you to town, Rowland?” he asked.
“You know me?”
“I’ve heard of you.”
“Good or bad?”
“Mostly bad. I’m not happy that you’re in Hangdog. What brings you here?”
“A job,” Rowland said. “The only reason I ever travel.”
“You might not know it,” Speer said, “but there’s a law here against carrying guns in the town limits.”
“My job demands that I carry my guns, Sheriff,” said Rowland. “Besides that, there’s plenty of young toughs who like to be able to say that they killed Bart Rowland. You take my guns and I’m a dead man.”
“Who you working for?”
“That’s confidential.”
“Suppose I guess. Will you tell me if I’m right? Is it Jim Ritchie?”
“I can tell you that it is not Jim Ritchie,” Rowland said, “but that’s all I can tell you.”
“Rowland, wherever you go, someone gets killed.”
“I’ve never killed a man that didn’t draw on me first,” Rowland said.
“You’ve egged them on.”
“No law against that.”
“Look, we’ve been having trouble in this town. I want to know who brought you here.”
“Comet brought me.”
“Comet?”
“That’s my horse,” said Rowland. “He brought me the whole way.”
“I want you to know that I’m going to be watching every move you make.”
“That’s fine with me. I have nothing to hide, except the name of my employer, and I have no reason to see that person until my job is done.”
Helen had finished her business in town and was back at the ranch before Slocum got there. She met him at the door. She smiled. “Hello, Slocum,” she said. “Come in. You’ll find Dave doing much better.”
“I know,” he said. “I seen him earlier today.”
He stepped on in and took off his hat. “Well,” said Helen, “if you’ve come to see him again, you’ll find him in the bedroom. I’m afraid he sort of wore himself out today.”
“I’d just as soon have a little talk with you first,” he said. “In private.”
She looked surprised, then shrugged. “Will out on the porch do?”
“It’ll do just fine,” Slocum said.
“I’ll just bring us some coffee.”
Helen disappeared into the kitchen for a moment. She returned with a tray containing a coffeepot, a creamer, a sugar bowl, two cups, and two spoons. Slocum opened the door for her, and they stepped out onto the porch. Helen put the tray down on a small table that was standing between two chairs. They both sat down, and Helen poured the coffee. “Cream or sugar?” she asked.
“No, thanks,” Slocum said.
Helen doctored her coffee. At last she sat back and looked at Slocum. “Well?” she said.
Slocum felt awkward. He had never done anything quite like this before. Here was the wife of his good friend, and he was going to try to accuse her of attempted murder.
“You know,” he said, “that we found out who them rustlers were.”
“Yes. I know.”
“They had stole cattle from Ritchie and horses from you.”
“Yes. I’ve heard all this. But have you caught them?”
“No. Not yet, but we do know who they are. They won’t get away with anymore rustling around here.”
“That’s good. I think it would actually be better if you caught them, though.”
“We will.”
“Well, is that all you wanted to talk to me about?”
“No. Right after Davey was shot, me and Speer went down and found where the shooter had stood off the road and waited for him.”
“Oh?”
“We found the spot all right. There was an empty shell there, and there was a boot print.”
“Really?”
“The print was small.”
“And?”
“Like a lady’s.”
“Indeed,” she said. She sipped her coffee. “There are small men, you know. Some have feet as small as any lady.”
“I thought about that, and I been watching. I ain’t seen no man around here who’s that small.”
“A lady. Well.”
“When I met you on the road earlier, you were well armed. You said that you could shoot.”
“Oh, I see what you’re getting at,” she said. She put her cup down on the table. “You’re trying to accuse me of the shooting. Is that it?”
“Well, not exactly. There’s just some things that I’d like to have explained. Like what did you ride into town for?”
“I told you, I think. I had some chores.”
“According to Speer, you had one chore. You went to a lawyer’s office. When you came out, you rode right back out of town.”
“That snoopy old sheriff,” Helen said. “He’s right, of course. I went to see Mr. Baker to have the will changed to reflect the fact that Dave and I were married. He made the necessary changes, and I brought it home for Dave to sign. I’ll take it back in the morning for Mr. Baker to take care of. Do you see anything wrong in that?”
“Could be,” said Slocum. “You get a will all drawn up and then something happens to Davey, you’d be sitting pretty, wouldn’t you?”
“Mr. Slocum,” Helen said, “you’re overlooking a couple of very significant details.”
“What are they?”
“In the first place, with all the trouble Dave’s been having, if anything should happen to him, as you put it, I would likely inherit nothing but problems.”
“If you’re behind all that,” Slocum said, “the trouble would quit when you inherited.”
“The other thing is, I only had the will fixed up after Davey had been shot. Can you explain that so it makes me look guilty?”
“No,” he said. “I can’t.”
“Slocum,” Helen said, “have you told Dave about your suspicions regarding me?”
“I wouldn’t tell Davey anything like that,” Slocum said. “Not without definite proof.”
“Well, I thank you for that.�
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“It’s for his sake, not yours.”
“You really do suspect me, don’t you?”
“I keep thinking about that small print and about the guns you tote.”
“Well,” she said, “I don’t suppose there’s anything I can do about that.”
But Slocum had a feeling that she was thinking about something—something other than a worry that he was suspicious of her. He wished that he could read her mind.
10
Slocum rode night herd that night, wishing he could be two places at the same time. He had no idea which ranch the three scum would strike next. For that matter, he had no idea if they would strike that night. They might just decide to clear out, knowing that they were suspected and were likely being watched. There was nothing else for it, though. He had to watch somewhere. Since he was closer to Davey than to Ritchie, he had decided to watch Davey’s herd. There were a couple of other riders out, and once or twice in the night he had gone over to the corral to check on the horses. The night was wearing on, and everything was quiet. This night might prove to be a wasted night. He decided to ride out toward the shack on the hill and watch the rustlers rather than the herd. He was moving down the road when he heard the horses coming. Quickly he urged his big horse off the side and into some brush. He waited.
In another moment, three riders came. He waited. They came closer and rode past him. It was the rustlers all right. He waited another moment, then moved out onto the road again to follow them. They rode straight to Davey’s ranch. He had been right all along. He followed them at a safe distance. They rode past the main gate and on another mile or so before they stopped. Then Barber dismounted and took something from his saddlebags. He walked to the fence. It was wire cutters. Looking around, he cut the wires, then dragged them out of the way. He had an opening wide enough to drive the whole herd through. Barber remounted, and the three riders went through the opening in the fence. Slocum followed them.
He could hear the herd lowing up ahead. The riders pulled their six-guns and rode a little faster. Drawing closer to the herd, one of the riders took a bead on one of the cowboys. Slocum had no time to waste. He stopped his horse, pulled out his Winchester, cranked a round into the chamber, and raised it to his shoulder. Taking quick but careful aim, he pulled the trigger. The rider jerked in the saddle and slumped forward over his horse’s neck. The horse kept running for a distance with the rider flopping around on him. Then the rider slipped off to one side and fell hard. He did not move. Slocum figured he had killed the man.