Slocum and the Warm Reception Read online

  “That was your second barrel,” Slocum said.

  “The hell it was!” As he shouted back, Luke leaned out from behind his cover and sighted along the top of a pistol he must have drawn since finding his hiding spot. As Slocum guessed, that shot was wild and much too panicked to come close to hitting him. The bullet hissed through the air several yards above its intended target to sail into the inky night sky. Slocum had gotten what he was after, so he drilled through the barrel where Luke was hiding with a careful shot that caused him to jump into the open quicker than a scalded dog.

  “What are you waiting for, damn it?” Luke shouted to the man still writhing on the ground. “You still got a barrel left and a gun at yer side. Use ’em!”

  “I’m hit, Luke!”

  “You dyin’?”

  “No,” Slocum replied. “He’s not dying.”

  Matt looked up at him with wide, terrified eyes. “How do you know?”

  “Because,” Slocum replied, “if I’d wanted you dead, you’d be dead. You’ve just got a flesh wound in the leg. A blind man could see as much from where I stand.”

  Matt wriggled like a worm on a hook until he could get a better look at his bloody leg. The back section of his jeans was ripped to shreds from the glancing shot and the edges of the tear were blackened by the bullet’s passing. Blood poured from his gaping wound, but not enough to cause much concern. Even so, Slocum pointed out, “You’ll need to get that stitched up. You’re losing plenty of blood.”

  “Go to hell!” Matt shouted. “You’re the one that shot me!”

  “And you’re the one that came at me when all I wanted was some fresh air after a good meal.”

  “He’s only got one shot left,” Luke said to his partner. “I counted. We can still bring him down.”

  “You’re full of surprises, Luke,” Slocum said. “I would never have thought you could count.”

  Matt started pulling himself toward his shotgun, dragging the weight of his body as if both legs had been blown off at the knees. He started to crawl, which gave him some bit of pain. He didn’t have far to go, so his dramatic display was short-lived. When he got to the shotgun, he placed one hand over it and held it there.

  “What are you waiting for?” Luke demanded. “Pick it up!”

  “What about you, big man?” Slocum asked. “You’ve got a gun already in hand. You gonna put it to use, or are you content to stand back and bark orders at someone else?”

  Luke ignored Slocum completely and snarled at his partner, “Pick up that damn shotgun! He can’t shoot both of us!”

  “That’s right,” Slocum said. “I can’t. But I can get one of you for certain. And when I do get that one, I can promise it won’t be a flesh wound or anything like the little nicks I’ve handed out so far. I’ll burn a hole through your face that’ll empty what little brains you have onto the street for all of Creation to see.” Slowly casting his glare back and forth between the other two men, he added, “Which of you is gonna step forward for that?”

  After a second or two to consider it, Matt eased his hand away from the shotgun. In his haste to distance himself from the weapon he’d dropped, he was able to climb to his feet and grit his teeth through the pain he felt when using his wounded leg to support himself. “I’m through with this,” he squeaked. “I . . . I never wanted to go about it like this in the first place.”

  Slocum nodded and focused most of his attention on Luke. If Matt made a move for the shotgun, he’d see it from the corner of his eye, but he wasn’t too worried about that one anymore. “So it’s down to you and me then,” he said to Luke. “You still have the advantage, seeing as how you’ve got more bullets to fire. I’ve only got the one. Guess I’d better make it count.”

  Even though Luke didn’t say a word, Slocum could read plenty in his eyes. They moved in quick, jerking twitches within their sockets. Surely he was pondering the image of his life ending in a red, pulpy mist exploding from the back of his skull. Soon, his face started to twitch. When Slocum saw Luke’s gun hand tremble, he knew the fight was all but over.

  “Who’s this Mr. Dawson?” Slocum asked.

  Luke’s hand had stopped trembling, but every muscle in his face was tightened with the effort of keeping it steady.

  Slocum was ready to fire at any moment. His gun wasn’t pointed at Luke, which was his intention. If a man was absolutely certain he was about to die, he’d lash out like any animal after being backed into a corner. But if he thought there was a chance to live, no matter how slim, he became much more susceptible to reason.

  “Whoever he is,” Slocum said, “he must be pretty important for you to lay down your life this way.”

  Sweat broke out onto Luke’s brow, glinting with reflected moonlight and a few stray beams from a nearby torch.

  Slocum lowered his pistol until his arm hung loosely at his side. It made him appear less threatening even though it would still only take a slight effort for him to aim and fire. “If you’re set on earning that three thousand dollars,” he said, “then make your move. Otherwise, drop that pistol and walk away.”

  “You’ll shoot me no matter what,” Luke spat.

  Slocum shook his head. “It’s like I said before. All I wanted was some fresh air after my meal. I’ve had it. Whatever happens next is up to you.”

  Now that he was given a choice, Luke relaxed a bit. As he regained some of his composure, a bit of his fighting spirit came along with it.

  Recognizing the glint that drifted into Luke’s eyes, Slocum cocked his head slowly to one side. A wolf baring its teeth to an approaching rival angled its head in much the same manner and with similar results.

  Luke knew right away that he wasn’t about to get the drop on the man in front of him. Even more, he could tell he’d already taken one too many steps in the wrong direction. Just like a lesser animal that saw the warning snarl from that wolf, he changed direction right quick.

  “All right,” Luke said. “I’ll go.”

  “Leave the pistol,” Slocum warned.

  Having already admitted defeat, Luke dropped his weapon without hesitation.

  Pointing a finger at Matt without taking his eyes off Luke, Slocum said, “I haven’t forgotten about you. Leave that shotgun where you dropped it along with any other guns you’re carrying.”

  “B-But them are my guns,” Matt said meekly. “I . . . I own ’em.”

  “You want them back, come and find me some other time. I have a feeling we’ll be crossing paths again.”

  Slocum put just enough of an edge into his tone to make both men carry out the orders they’d been given with haste. Matt was in such a hurry to leave that he didn’t even remember he’d been injured until he made it to the corner. Luke helped his partner along, but not without a steady tongue-lashing to go with it.

  As he collected the guns that had been left behind, Slocum waited for any sign that there were more gunmen to worry about. Although the street remained silent for the time being, he didn’t fool himself into thinking it would stay that way for long.

  9

  The Three Star Hotel was where Slocum had stayed the last time he was in town. Back then, it was a modest little place run by a family who’d just gotten started and had thrown everything they had into maintaining their business. The rooms were small, but clean. The meals served were tasty and stuck to a man’s bones. Most important, the beds were a hell of a lot better than sleeping on a bedroll in the middle of the desert. Slocum headed there now because he simply couldn’t recall the name of any other hotels in Mescaline.

  On his way there, he felt more and more eyes staring at him from behind darkened windows and shadowy doorways. After having to endure a long day’s ride and the scuffle in the street, he no longer gave a damn who was watching as he, his horse, and a bundle of recently acquired firearms made their way to the three-story building near the center of t
own. The outside of the Three Star was much fancier than he recalled, and there were plenty of lanterns burning within. Slocum tied his horse to a post, entered the hotel, and walked up to a desk where a tall, frail-looking woman stood with a pencil already in hand.

  “Can I . . . help . . .” The woman’s question trailed off as her eyed narrowed into a harsh squint. She stared intently at the man that had just walked in from the darkness before whispering, “John? Is that you?”

  Slocum nodded and gave her a tired smile. “It is.” When he’d started talking, Slocum couldn’t remember her name. Just seeing the woman’s narrow features and warm eyes brought her right back to the front of his thoughts. “It’s . . . Margaret, right?”

  Her smile had been there before, but now it positively beamed. “That’s right! I didn’t think you’d remember.”

  “You remembered me.”

  “Well, after what happened when you were in town last time, it would be next to impossible to forget you.”

  “This time is shaping up to be fairly interesting as well,” Slocum said. “I’d be surprised if you hadn’t heard the commotion.”

  “I did hear something, but I guess I just thought it could have been some drunks or the like.”

  Slocum could tell she had more to say on the matter, but he was too tired to press. Instead, he told her, “I could use a room. Do you have anything on the third floor?”

  “No, but I have plenty of nice rooms on the second.”

  “Sounds fine. Something away from the stairs if you’ve got it. I’d also like a good view of the street.”

  She smiled again nervously. “Now that sounds familiar.”

  “Yeah, I suppose I did have to watch my back and just about every other part of me when Hartley started going on his tear.”

  To anyone who’d lived in Mescaline during those days, mentioning that name was more than enough to send a chill down their spine. Whether it was followed by anger, fear, or sadness, the chill worked its way through Margaret’s body and made her avert her eyes. When she looked back at him, she forced herself to remain steady.

  “It’s good to have you back, John. What brings you to Mescaline?”

  “I found myself in Nevada and had some business to conduct,” Slocum told her. “I figured since I’m on good terms with folks around here, I’d stop by, conduct my business, and see how everyone was doing since I left.”

  Margaret nodded stiffly.

  “I am still on good terms with folks around here, right?” he asked.

  Her lips pressed tightly together but soon curled into a genuine, albeit weary, smile. “I can only speak for myself and a few others, but I can say you’re definitely a welcome sight. Always will be.”

  He looked across the desk at her, studying her stance as well as her face. He wanted to ask about the two men that had sought him out and why nobody had bothered to step foot outside to watch, lend a hand, or even take a look at what was left behind after the smoke cleared. The law may have left a bad taste in his mouth fairly recently, but the fact that no authority of any sort came along during or after the fight outside the restaurant was just plain odd.

  Then there was the name he’d heard from Luke and Matt.

  Mr. Dawson.

  Slocum would have bet a pretty penny that he’d get a reaction from Margaret if he dropped that name right now. Since he was certain the reaction wouldn’t have been a very good one, he held his tongue. Slocum knew the woman had been through plenty and that didn’t take into account whatever had come to pass since he’d left the first time. He wasn’t in the mood to rattle her again just so he could put a question or two to rest. Considering how important this Dawson fellow was and the fact that shots had already been fired in his name, Slocum was certain he’d find out more about him without having to wait very long.

  “Is there anything else I can do for you?” Margaret asked.

  “Yes,” Slocum said as he took the key she handed to him. “Tell me you’re still the one that cooks breakfast for the guests. I’d cross the desert on my hands and knees if your biscuits and gravy were waiting for me.”

  Her shoulders lowered as if she’d finally let out a breath that she’d been holding for the better part of a week. “I’ll have a hot plate waiting for you in the morning, along with a fresh pot of coffee.”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  “Is there anything else I can do for you, John?”

  There was plenty, but Slocum decided to let it wait for another day. “I’d just like some sleep. Can I put my horse up in the back like before?”

  “Yes. There should be fresh oats just inside the door.”

  He tipped his hat to her and went outside. The moment the cool night air washed across his face, Slocum felt like he was once again on display. More than that, he felt exposed from several angles. The shadows were so thick in several sections of the street that just about anything could be hiding in them. A few torches sputtered in various spots, but they wouldn’t do much do keep back any predators that wanted to remain out of sight. There were plenty of rooftops where someone could make their perch, but Slocum’s gut was still telling him he was safe.

  At least . . . as safe as he could be in a town containing men who wanted to see him dead. He chuckled to himself as he took the gelding’s reins and led it around the hotel. If he tried to avoid any place where people wanted to do him harm, Slocum would be confined to a very small patch of land somewhere in an Alaskan snow field.

  Some men wanted to kill him because of some old score to settle.

  Some wanted to collect one of a few rewards that had been placed on his head. Thinking along those lines, Slocum added Dawson’s three thousand dollars to that list.

  And some men just wanted to test themselves against John Slocum because they knew some other gunmen had lost a fight to him. Young outlaws were always looking to add a notch to their belt or polish their reputation, and Slocum didn’t have the inclination to sort through the number of times he’d been fired upon for such a paltry reason.

  He’d reached the little barn behind the hotel that was used as a livery stable for the hotel’s owners and guests. The door wasn’t locked, so he pulled it open to reveal an old carriage with wheels that could have been fixed if a talented blacksmith rolled up his sleeves and pounded them out for about a week and a half. Spiders and mice had claimed the carriage’s interior. Fortunately, that dirty old relic was on one side of the barn and the trio of horse stalls were on the other.

  Slocum led his gelding to one of the two unoccupied stalls and rummaged around for a feedbag. He found one hanging on the edge of the stall’s door, and when he glanced back to the front door, he found a bag of oats sitting right where Margaret had said it would be. He approached the oats, stooped down to pick them up, and saw a flurry of movement just outside the barn.

  Reflexes brought Slocum’s hand to his holster even before he got a look at who was rushing toward him.

  The figure moved silently upon feet covered in flat shoes. The dark brown cotton dress draped around the tall, lithe figure made more noise as it flapped in the breeze than the young woman who raced into the barn. She charged at Slocum, recklessly throwing herself at him without an ounce of concern for the pistol he’d almost drawn from the holster at his side.

  “Oh my God,” she sighed as she wrapped her arms around the back of his neck and pressed herself up against him. “It is you, John!”

  “Anna,” Slocum said in a voice muffled by the woman who was now clinging to him. “I meant to find you, but I just got into town.”

  Anna Redlinger held his face in her hands and leaned back a little to get a better look at him. Her face was just as pretty as he remembered—framed by plenty of flowing, light brown hair. A pert little nose sat at the center of her features like a single button placed upon a lovingly tailored doll. Her lips formed a little bow just beneath it
and were colored as if they’d been rubbed by freshly picked strawberries.

  “Are you all right?” she asked. “I heard there was trouble. I heard shots. What happened?”

  “I’m not hurt,” he said. “You heard the shots?”

  “Of course I did. This isn’t exactly a rowdy town.”

  “How come nobody came out when they were fired?” Slocum asked. Before he could ask his next question, Anna pulled him in closer and pressed her mouth upon his lips in a long, powerful kiss filled with more urgency than passion. The instant he tasted the familiar flavor of her, Slocum wrapped his arms around Anna’s waist and felt her thin frame melt against him.

  Several parts of his body responded as if it had only been a matter of hours since the last time he’d felt Anna’s naked flesh beneath his searching hands. However, he forced himself to take her slender arms in his grip and push her back a few steps. She looked at him with surprise and a hint of fear when he snapped, “What the hell are you doing?”

  “I was worried about you, John.”

  “There wasn’t a soul out there when I faced those other two men. Where were you that you could see what was going on so well?”

  “I couldn’t see it. Otherwise, I would have found you sooner.”

  “How did you find me at all?” he asked.

  “Bess told me you were at her restaurant. Don’t you remember? That was the place where we first met each other.”

  Slocum let go of her, suddenly feeling a bit of shame for handling her so roughly. “Yeah,” he sighed. “I remember. It’s been a long night. Sorry about speaking so cross to you just now.”

  Although she rubbed her arms where he’d grabbed her, Anna quickly stopped so as not to make him feel any worse and said, “I understand. Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “I’m fine. Those two that came after me couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn if their lives depended on it.”