by Jake Logan
“José said he could give me a dozen men who can shoot and who are not afraid. I am going to try and get them rifles and pistols so that they can rebel against this injustice that has been dealt them.”
“You are not only a brave man,” Jorge said, “you are a crazy man.”
He leaned back in his chair and did not speak until Slocum had finished his meal.
“Smoke?” Slocum said, and fished two cheroots out of his shirt pocket. He handed one to Jorge.
“Yes, I will smoke one of these. Thank you.”
“How much do I owe you for the meal?” Slocum asked. Jorge poured more coffee into Slocum’s cup.
“No importa,” Jorge said. “You do not pay.”
“I still don’t know why you were allowed to open this café and earn money here.”
“Scud said he needed someone to cook the Mexican food. He said he wanted his Mexican men to have a place to eat in town, but not at the hotel. So he said he needed me and for that favor I pay him very dearly.”
Slocum struck a match and lit their cheroots. The two men sat and smoked.
“Where will you get the guns?” Jorge asked after a few minutes of savoring the cigar. He beckoned to Esperanza with his hand and she came over. “Traiganos un cenicero,” he said to her.
“I will bring the ashtray,” she replied in English, then wafted away like a graceful dancer gliding across a stage.
“I don’t know,” Slocum said. “I was going to talk to the gunsmith when he opens his shop.”
“Ah, Tim Chandler, yes. I know him. He, too, is a prisoner here in Polvo.”
“How so?”
“He told me that Scud offered him a job and brought him here. He needed a gunsmith. But Tim did not want to stay, so Scud threatened to kill his family in Abilene if he did not stay. Tim is not a brave man, but he does know the guns.”
“Maybe he might help me.”
“I am going to tell you something, Mr. Slocum. I should not do this, but I feel that I can trust you.”
“You can trust me, Jorge,” Slocum said.
“My name is not Alessandro. I did not want Scud to know that I have two sons here at the diggings. Carlos and Mario. Our true last name is Benitez. They had guns when they came here, the pistols and the rifles. So did many others. Scud took them away and put them in a heavy vault.”
“Do you know where this vault is?” Slocum asked. “A stick or two of dynamite might crack it open.”
“Yes, I know where the vault is. It is in Tim’s shop. But he must ask permission from Scud when he wants to take out a gun. Only Scud knows the combination.”
“Scud thinks of damned near everything, doesn’t he?” Slocum said.
“He thinks of much. But he cannot see into our hearts. He does not read our minds. I think that Fate brought you here, John Slocum. I think you are the messiah we have been praying for, hoping for.”
“Hey, hold on there, Jorge. I’m no savior. I’m just fed up with the injustice I see here in this town and I want to help if I can.”
“I will talk to Tim. Can you come back around ten o’clock to his gun shop?”
“I can and I will.”
“You do not pay for the meal. I do. You must be careful when you are in town, though. There are many men who would shoot you in the back for the reward money. Two thousand dollars is a lot of money in Polvo.”
“It’s probably more than Scud and his men are worth all put together.”
Jorge laughed and pulled on the cheroot. Slocum picked up his hat and stood up. He left two dollar bills on the table.
“For Esperanza,” he said. “I’ll see you at ten o’clock, Jorge.”
“Ten cuidado,” Jorge said as Slocum walked to the door.
Slocum knew what the Mexican meant.
Be careful.
The morning was in full bloom when Slocum walked back to where he had left Ferro. He patted his belly and drew smoke into his throat and lungs. It was a fine morning. It was a morning full of hope and promise.
But when he rounded the corner, he stopped dead in his tracks.
There was a man standing in the shade of an overhang where Ferro was hitched. He was smoking a cigarette.
Slocum recognized him.
This was the skinny man who had braced him near the diggings, near the little pueblo where the Mexican workers were held as virtual prisoners. Slocum ground the rest of his cheroot underfoot and walked toward the man, his right hand just touching the butt of his pistol.
The man held one of the flyers in his hand.
But he wasn’t looking at it. He was smoking that cigarette and blowing smoke into the air and watching it whisk away in the wind.
19
Slocum walked along the length of the closed shops while the thin man looked up at the smoke he blew from his mouth. He didn’t appear to be a man on the lookout for a fugitive or a wanted man with a price on his head.
“You waiting for somebody?” Slocum said in a low tone of voice as he came within five feet of the man leaning against a storefront.
The cigarette dropped from the man’s hand and he seemed to jump half a foot. His face bore a look of surprise and his hands started shaking. He dropped the flyer, too, and it fluttered to the ground at his feet.
“You figuring to make yourself a little extra money, feller?” Slocum said in his gruffest voice as the startled man’s face blanched and his legs shook so much that his trousers rippled like a defective windsock.
“Un, no, not rightly, ah, Mr. Slocum. I—I just wanted to talk to you real bad. Is there someplace we can go where nobody’s a-goin’ to see us?”
“I’m heading for the livery stable. You can bring your horse and tie him up there.”
“That’d be fine, Mr. Slocum. I don’t mean to cause you no harm and I ain’t after that reward.”
“That’s what you say,” Slocum said.
“I mean it, sir. I didn’t know who you was when I braced you out at the diggings. I truly didn’t.”
“How’d you find out? By looking at that wanted dodger?”
The two men untied their horses and walked up the street, which was still quiet at that hour. A few people were unlocking their stores and others were sweeping out dust through open doors.
“No, sir. The men who come out to relieve us told us all about you makin’ the sheriff strip down buck naked and lockin’ him up in the hoosegow. They thought you was pretty bold.”
“They tell you I shot his deputy?”
“Yes, sir, they did, but they also said that the deputy killed Gloria up in her crib. They said you shot him square between the eyes.”
Slocum said nothing, but as the stable came into sight, he walked toward the back. The sheriff’s office was still dark and plastered with those wanted posters.
“When I heard all that, I didn’t say nothin’ ’bout you bein’ out there. They might have reported me to Scud for lettin’ you get away.”
“Smart,” Slocum said.
They reached the back corral and Slocum tied his reins to one of the cross poles. The slim man did the same.
“Say, feller, what’s your name anyway? You know mine. I don’t know yours.”
“My name’s Delbert Crowell. Most call me Del.”
“All right, Del, tell me why you wanted to talk to me. You could get into a lot of trouble with Scud, you know.”
“I know, but he’s the reason I come a-lookin’ for you. When I saw your horse there, I knew you’d be by to get it and so I just waited.”
“All right. You found me. Now what do you want?”
“Well, sir, I ain’t happy workin’ for Scud and I feel sorry for all them Messicans. I mean I see ’em every night and they look so damned poorly and I know how they live and what Scud mak
es ’em do ever’ day. It’s a cryin’ shame.”
“Why don’t you just leave, Del?”
“Last man what tried to leave was brought back and hanged from a pole right in the middle of town. But he was already shot in both kneecaps and his face was all puffy from bein’ beaten half to death. No, sir, I warn’t goin’ to run away and get my neck stretched. No way.”
“Why come to see me, then?”
The two men walked through the gate and over to the small door at the rear of the stable. There, Slocum paused to hear Del’s answer.
“I figured on my ride back into town that if you stood up to Sheriff Scudder, you might be the one to help me get out of this hellhole.”
“What makes you think that?” Slocum asked.
“Hell, I saw the way you didn’t back down and knew you wasn’t bluffin’ when I come up on you out at the ’dobe town. I figured you was a man to ride the river with and I wanted to sound you out about Scud and his brother. See if you was goin’ to light a shuck or stay and fight. Then I saw that dodger and I knowed you was not on Scud’s side.”
Slocum opened the door and they walked inside. Some of the horses nickered and they heard the sound of someone cleaning out one of the stalls.
“Wait here a minute,” Slocum said, and left Del there by the door while he walked down to the open stall.
Inside, a young man with a shovel was scooping up horse droppings and straw and dumping the refuse into a small wheelbarrow.
“You Ralston?” Slocum said.
The man froze with the shovel in midair and turned to look at Slocum.
“Yeah, I’m Lew Ralston. You got a horse here?”
“I’m Joe Wilson,” Slocum said.
“No, you ain’t.”
“What?”
“Hell, I seen your picture nailed up all over town. Caleb said you was Wilson, but I know better.”
“What else did he tell you, kid?”
“I ain’t no kid, Mr. Slocum, and you’re a wanted man. Got a bounty on your head.”
“You care to try and collect it, Ralston?”
“No, sir. You can see I ain’t got no gun and I sure don’t want no trouble. Just go on about your business here and I won’t get in your hair.”
“That’s good to know, Ralston. You keep shoveling shit and we’ll get along.”
“Yes, sir. You need anything, you just holler, hear?”
“I’m going to get some of my gear out of the loft and I may be back later.”
“You go right ahead sir. I got to clean out all these stalls.”
Slocum walked back to where Del was standing.
“You wait here. I’m going up in the loft and I won’t be long.”
“I ain’t in no hurry to go nowhere,” Del said.
Slocum climbed into the loft and saw that Fanny was dressing. She stood in front of a small window, a silhouette limned with rays of sunlight.
“I wondered where you were, John,” she said. “I woke up and you were gone.”
“I’ve got to find a place for you to stay. Mind a little walk through town?”
“I’d rather stay here with you and do it one more time,” she said, a coquettish lilt to her voice.
“Some other time,” he said. He bent down to roll up his bedroll. He picked up his rifle and tucked the bedroll under his left arm, then grabbed his saddle. Fanny finished putting on her shoes and fluffing her hair.
“Let’s go,” he said, and the two walked to the ladder and climbed down it. Ralston was still in the same stall and they could hear him chunking horse offal into the wheelbarrow. He was whistling some old song that neither of them knew.
Del looked surprised when the two walked out of the shadows.
“You got a woman here?” Del said.
“One of those Scud kidnapped. Del, this is Fanny Beeson. Fanny, this is Del Crowell.”
“Pleased to meetcha,” Fanny said.
“Me, too,” Del said.
The three of them walked outside and over to the horses. Slocum slung the saddle over his horse, secured it in place. After he slid his rifle into its scabbard and tied his bedroll on the back of the saddle, he looked over at Del, who was standing next to Ferro’s rump.
“Del, do you live alone?” Slocum asked.
“Well, yeah, I do. I built me a little shack over on Third Street. Why?”
“Fanny. She needs a place to stay. A place to hide where she’ll be safe until I clear up some things in town.”
“You mean you want me to take her in?”
“Just for a few days. If you think she’d be safe there.”
“I was hopin’ to throw in with you, Mr. Slocum. I don’t want to guard them poor Messicans no more.”
“That’s a pretty big decision, Del.”
“I know it is. I’m just about to the end of my rope, Mr. Slocum.”
“Call me John, will you. I keep thinking you’re talking to my father.”
“Sure, John.”
“Well, let’s see where you live, and if you have any food there, I’m sure Fanny would be mighty grateful if you were to feed her.”
“Don’t I have any say in this?” Fanny asked.
Slocum looked at her, a quizzical expression on his face.
“Seems to me that you don’t have too many choices, Fanny,” Slocum said. “If Scudder or Scud sees you on the street, you’ll be right back in their grimy clutches.”
“That’s another thing, Mr., ah, John, about Scud and his brother,” Delbert said.
“What’s that?” Slocum asked.
“I found out them two and some others done left town early this mornin’,” the boy replied.
“Do you know where they were going?” Slocum asked.
“Yes, sir, I do. I been out there with them before. They always go there when they have some dirty work to do and don’t want to get none of it on their hands.”
“Where is that, Del?”
“Why, over to the Injun camp. They’s a little bunch of Kiowa camped about five miles from here. Scud takes ’em likker and sometimes ammunition and grub. I drove a wagon out there once’t or twice and the smell of them Injuns just about blowed me off my feet.”
Slocum grinned and gave Del a look that would melt an unlit candle.
“Del, I could kiss you,” Slocum said.
Del backed away and held up both hands palms out.
“Don’t you be doin’ nothin’ like that, John,” Del said.
“Just joking. Let’s take Fanny to your place and get her settled, then you come with me. We’ve got work to do. If you want to see this town cleaned up and get yourself out from under Scud’s yoke, that is.”
“I sure do,” Del said, and he grinned wide, showing his tobacco-stained teeth.
“Well, I hope this man Del has a nice place and you don’t keep me there too long,” Fanny said.
“Your choice,” Slocum said, tiring of her demanding ways.
“Oh, all right. I guess I’ll go and hide out.”
Slocum helped her up to a perch behind the cantle and then climbed into the saddle.
“Lead the way, Del,” Slocum said as the man stepped into his stirrups and swung into the saddle. “We’ve got a hell of a lot to do after we get Fanny settled.”
“Yes, sir. I feel real good about that, John.”
Slocum followed Del as he rode to the next street then turned toward the east, where the sun was blazing in a nearly cloudless sky. People were starting to appear on the street—shop owners, as well as merchants with their mule- and burro-drawn carts laden with fabrics, pottery, and gewgaws all probably handmade and sold cheap.
Slocum drew his hat brim down and lowered his head as they rode past all the wanted flyers nai
led to walls and posts along their way.
He felt better about one thing, though.
Scud and his brother were not in town. He could breathe a little easier, but he knew he still had to be on guard. There were men in Polvo who would not think twice about shooting him in the back. They were the wild cards in a deck full of jokers.
He had sat at this table many times before.
And he had played this same game with a table full of cardsharps.
20
Del’s house stood on four concrete pillars. A mangy black dog had burrowed a bed for itself under the house at one of the corners. It rose from its bed and chased two sparrows that were hopping across the barren yard.
“That’s Sassy,” Del said. “Not my dog, but she’s adopted me.”
“Oh, sweet,” Fanny said.
Slocum was surprised to see a small hitching post made out of wagon springs welded together on one side of the house at the end of the street. The house itself was framed with whipsawed lumber and appeared very sturdy with a roof made out of froed shakes, unlike the others nearby, which were constructed of a combination of adobe brick and uneven slabs of knotty pine.
“Nice house,” Slocum said.
Del looked sheepish as he dismounted near the odd-looking hitching post. He wrapped his reins around one of the springs and took Slocum’s reins and wrapped those on the opposite part of the T.
“I was a carpenter back in Del Rio,” he said. “I scrounged around for the lumber to build this place at a sawmill down in Alpine.”
“So, you came here of your own free will,” Slocum said as he dismounted and helped Fanny light down.
“Saw an ad in the San Antone paper offering carpenter work and asking for a load of lumber.”
“And what happened when you got here?”
“I hauled lumber up here and Scud offered me a job, said I could build me a house with the lumber I brought. Said he would make me rich if I helped him mine silver and gold out at that big old ravine. Only gold I seen since was on a ring he wears on his finger.”
“But you couldn’t leave,” Slocum said.
“Threatened to kill me if I tried.”
“And you believed him.”
