by Jake Logan
“Be right there,” Faron yelled and the hoofbeats became louder as iron hooves pounded over dirt and gravel.
Del ducked down under the wagon. He drew his pistol but didn’t cock it.
“Just hold on, Del. He’s almost here.”
Faron rode up, glancing at the two saddled horses, and then looked at Jubal’s horse without seeing either Del or Slocum.
“Jubal, what in hell are you doin’?” Faron asked as he jerked his horse to a halt in a miniature cloud of dust that glistened with starlight then winked out so fast he seemed to be swallowed up by the night itself.
Slocum stepped out of the shadows, his right hand just touching the grip of his pistol.
“Throw up your hands, Lawrence,” Slocum ordered.
“Who in the hell are you?” Faron said. He did not lift his arms or raise his hands.
“The name’s Slocum. John Slocum.”
A second or two passed as Faron Lawrence absorbed the name and worried it through the thick wool of his mind. His eyes were slitted, then opened wide.
“Why, you’re the sonofabitch what’s got a price on his head, the one who rousted Sheriff Scudder down at the saloon last night.”
“The very same, Mr. Lawrence. Now climb down from your horse and keep your hands empty.”
“You ain’t orderin’ me around, you two-bit bastard.”
Faron’s right hand plummeted to his holster. He clawed at the butt of his pistol, while fixing Slocum with a look of pure hatred.
Slocum pulled his pistol free of the holster. It was so smooth and fast that Faron appeared to hesitate for just a fraction of a second.
Then came the click of the hammer as Slocum cocked the Colt. His arm rose in a steady flow of movement as if he were setting up on a range for a target shoot and had all the time in the world.
Faron’s pistol cleared leather, but his thumb slipped off the hammer in his haste to shoot first.
“You had your chance, Lawrence,” Slocum said evenly as he squeezed the trigger. The Colt bucked against his palm and he thumbed the hammer back again, quicker than a man could count from one to two.
The pistol roared again and sprouted a column of fiery powder, propelling the lead pellet on a flat trajectory toward Faron’s chest.
Faron jerked with a sudden spasm as the first bullet hit him in the left lung. A split second later a hole appeared where his heart pumped, just to the right of his breastbone. He tried to scream, but the noise that came out was so twisted and gravelly that it sounded like a dying crow’s feeble squawk.
“You got him, John,” Del cried out. “You got him.”
Faron’s eyes fixed in a death stare and seemed to gloss over with dull moonlight. His hand went limp and his pistol slipped from his grasp. He swayed slightly in the saddle before he just collapsed and tumbled off to one side.
His body made a dull sound as he hit the ground. His horse sidled away, its eyes rolling so that only the whites showed. It made a sound in its throat, a fearful nicker that rose to a thin squeal.
Slocum dug the toe of his boot under Faron’s belly and kicked upward. Faron turned over on his back and stared up at him with eyes that had turned to a white frost. His mouth was slack and distended, and there was an almost imperceptible sag to his face as if his skin were melting into dry parchment.
“Strip off his gun belt and grab his horse,” Slocum said. He opened the gate of his pistol and ejected two empty cartridges. He fed two fresh ones back into the cylinder and closed the gate. He spun the cylinder then eased the hammer between two of them and holstered his pistol.
He drew in a long breath and watched as Del took off the gun belt. Slocum led Faron’s horse to the opposite side of the wagon and looped the reins around the wheel and a spoke.
“Now you got two horses and two rifles and two pistols to give to that Mex.”
“It’s a start,” Slocum said. Then after he rubbed the sweat off the palms of his hands, he said, “Let’s go see if José is ready to round up some men and ride into town.”
“Think we need more dynamite, John?”
“We have enough to blow the safe.”
“I’d like to blow up the whole town,” Del said.
“It may come to that,” Slocum said.
Del untied Faron’s horse while Slocum took Jubal’s reins. They rode around the ravine and down into the adobe village. Candles glowed in some of the huts, and by the time they reached José’s, people were outside, speaking in Spanish whispers, questioning, wondering.
José stood outside as if he had been waiting for them. His eyes widened when he saw the two horses that he recognized as belonging to the night guards. Then he saw the rifles jutting from their scabbards and the pistols and gun belts dangling from the saddle horns.
“We heard the shots,” he said. “You got their horses.”
“We got their horses and they’re yours, José. So are the guns. As for Faron and Jubal, you don’t have to worry about them anymore. Now if you can round up one more man, you can ride into town with us tonight.”
“What do we do in town?” José asked.
Slocum grinned.
“We’re going to get you more guns and enough ammunition start a war.”
“What?” José said.
“Listen to me, José,” Slocum said. “I told you what you might have to do. There are men who would keep you poor and a prisoner here. There is no way to reason with them. We are going to have to fight them. Kill them. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I will get Carlos Garcia to ride one of the horses. We will go with you to get the guns.”
José went into the house, and they heard him explaining to his family in Spanish that he was leaving and that there would be fighting.
When he returned, he wore a straw hat and he walked to both horses, examined the pistols. Then he lifted Jubal’s rig from the saddle horn and strapped on his gun belt.
“I am ready,” he said. “We can pick up Carlos on our way.”
“You catch on real fast, José,” Slocum said as Delgado hoisted himself up in the saddle. Del handed him the reins of Faron’s horse, and the three men rode off. People came out of their huts and offered encouragement and prayerful pronouncements. José grinned at all the attention.
Slocum looked up at the sky after Carlos had joined them and the four of them were riding toward Polvo. He gauged the moon’s location and the Big Dipper.
“We’ll make that midnight appointment, Del,” he said.
“We should have dipped into that other box under the tarp,” Del said.
“For what?”
“It has cotton to stuff in our ears when the dynamite goes off.”
“Use your fingers,” Slocum said.
Carlos, a short burly Mexican with a couple of gold teeth and a thin moustache, grinned.
“When I forget the cotton,” he said, “I use the fingers.”
Del laughed and they rode on.
Both José and Carlos drew their pistols and pointed them at imaginary targets several times. Then they pulled the rifles from their scabbards and aimed them at invisible targets as well.
Slocum watched them and wondered if they would have the courage to fire their weapons at real men and watch them die. They were simple people and did not know much of murder or killing. But they were also oppressed people with a history of revolution in their country south of the border. So they knew what blood looked like and had seen so much poverty and cruelty at the hands of Scud’s men that he was sure they were ready to overthrow the tyrant and cut down any man who stood in their way.
If they were not accustomed to killing, they would have to learn fast.
If not, he thought, they were all soon going to be dead men.
24
The street was deserted. The fou
r men rode up to the gun shop and tied their horses to the hitch rails on the opposite side of the street and a good distance away from Tim’s shop.
The door was unlocked as Tim had said it would be.
The four men walked inside and groped around in the dark.
Slocum walked back to the safe after telling the others to stay where they were and keep their eyes open.
He came back a few minutes later with a smile on his face.
“Tim left a can of glue right in front of that safe,” he said. “So now you can bring in the dynamite, caps, and fuse, Del. José and Carlos can help you if you need it. Be careful with the sticks and don’t drop the box of caps.”
“I won’t,” Del said. “You boys come with me,” he said to the two Mexicans. They followed him out of the store and José closed the door very quietly.
Slocum waited. He knew he was going to need light to work, but he didn’t want anyone to see it from the street. He walked back to the safe and then back into the front part of the store. As his eyes became accustomed to the darkness, he saw Tim’s hurricane lamp and looked at the tables.
When the three men returned, carrying the explosives and other materials, he knew what he had to do to blow the safe.
Slocum slipped on his gloves and took the coil of fuse from Carlos.
“Carlos, bring that lamp into the room where the safe is. Del, you and José unload that stuff in there, too, then come back and get this table and bring it in. We’ll stand it on end so that I can light the lamp and anybody coming by will have a hard time seeing the light while I work.”
Del and José set down the caps and sticks of dynamite beside the wall next to the safe. Then they brought in the table and stood it on end.
Slocum struck a match and lit the lamp. He set it on the floor in front of the safe and shooed the others out of the room.
“Just wait until I come out,” he said. “Keep your eyes on the street. Anybody shows up who looks like one of Scud’s men, shoot him.”
The three men walked into the front room and closed the door.
Slocum laid out the sticks of dynamite in an even row, with two inches of space between them. Then he took out his Bowie knife. He took one stick and lay it in front of him. He sliced the stick into two pieces with his knife and set the pieces aside. He did the same with all the sticks.
After that, he opened the box of caps and inserted them into the soft inside of the cut ends of dynamite sticks, burying the cap in the mixture of fine sawdust and nitroglycerine. He did this with each stick. Then he opened the can of glue and picked up the small brush that Tim had laid beside the can.
Slocum brushed one side of a half stick and glued it along the top edge of the safe’s door. He did this with each half stick until the entire perimeter of the door was covered with dynamite.
He was sweating when he’d finished this task. He waited a minute or two then picked up the coil of fuse and stood up. He’d saved one complete stick of dynamite, which he cut in half, then pushed caps in both halves, cut two short lengths of fuse, and attached one to each half. He glued these half sticks at the top and bottom of the door so that they were near the sticks lined up around the edges.
He spliced the short fuse cords from the top and bottom sticks together, attached the remaining length of fuse, picked up the lamp, and walked into the front room, uncoiling the fuse as he went.
The other men all looked at him.
“Better clear out,” he said as he blew out the lamp. “Leave the door wide open. I’m going to light this fuse and then run like hell. Del, you take my horse down to the end of the block. You and Carlos, fetch the wagon we spotted on the next block over. Hitch up those two horses Carlos and José are riding. Got that?”
The three men nodded.
“We’ll load up the wagon and drive out to the adobe village and see who wants to ride with us.”
“Where are we going?” José asked.
“Del here is going to show us where that Kiowa camp is. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find Scud and his brother there.”
“Godamighty, John, we goin’ up against them redskins?”
“We sure are, Del. They stole four horses from me and I aim to get them back.”
“If Scud is with them and his brother, too, there’s going to be a hell of a fight.”
“What are guns for?” Slocum asked. “Now clear out of here. I’ll give you a few minutes to get down the street before I light this fuse.”
The three men walked briskly across the street and started untying their horses. Slocum watched them through the dark window until they were out of sight.
He took off his gloves and stuck them in his back pocket. Then he picked up the fuse, tucked it under his arm while he fished out a box of wooden matches. He struck the lucifer on the sandpaper side of the box, and a bright blue, red, and orange flame erupted. He touched the burning match to the end of the fuse, heard it hiss, and saw it spume smoke. He dropped the fuse, blew out the match, and ran through the open door. He ran to the end of the street, where Del was waiting with Ferro.
“Did you do it?” Del asked.
“Long fuse,” Slocum said. “Might take a few minutes for the spark to hit the dynamite.”
They waited. Slocum counted off the seconds, then lifted a finger to mark one minute, then two, three. Five minutes later, they heard a single explosion followed by a tremendous roar.
They both saw smoke billowing out of the gun shop.
“That will sure as hell wake up the town,” Del said.
“Yeah, let’s ride back and start getting at those guns.”
The gun shop was filled with smoke and the smell of cordite. Del and Slocum tied their horses to the hitch rail two doors away and dashed into the smoke, removing their hats and fanning a path through the fumes.
The safe door gaped open. The metal on both sides of the seam was twisted and cracked. Inside, they saw shelves of pistols and stacks of rifles. They started carrying out the rifles first. They laid them outside and went back for pistols and ammunition. An empty wagon rumbled up the street.
On the seat were Carlos and José driving their horses.
Slocum hailed them as they drove up parallel to the shop.
“Start loading the wagon with those guns,” Slocum said. “Keep your eyes peeled. We made a loud noise.”
“We heard it,” José said. He crossed himself and set the brake. Carlos jumped down from the seat first, then José climbed down, and the two men started loading the rifles, admiring some of them as they placed them flat on the wagon bed.
It took them a good fifteen minutes to get all the arms and ammunition. The table that had stood in front of the safe was blown to splinters. Smoke lingered in the corners and against the ceiling and bottoms of the walls like white cotton batting.
Slocum closed the door, looked both ways down the street, then unwrapped his reins and climbed into the saddle.
“Let’s go,” he said to José. “To your village.”
“We are ready,” José said, looking over at Carlos on the seat next to him.
“Keep your pistols and rifles handy. We’re liable to run into some of Scud’s men before we get to the diggings,” Slocum said.
“We are ready,” Carlos repeated.
José turned the wagon.
Slocum directed Del to bring up the rear while he rode in front.
The rifles clattered as they bounced up and down in the wagon bed. The pistols, most of them holstered, jostled with a sound like ocean waves in a squall.
The town stayed dark, and they saw no riders. When Slocum looked back, he saw a few lamps burning dimly from the houses on the back streets. He wondered if Tim was going to look over the damages and lock up his store. Slocum felt sorry about the worktable, but the gunsmith could easily bu
ild or buy another one.
They rode straight to the adobe village, where they all knew there were no guards. It was well after midnight when they got there. José drove the wagon to the center of the barrio and halted the horses. He spoke to Carlos, who ran to a friend’s home while José climbed onto the wagon bed, picked up a rifle and a gun belt, and started yelling in his loudest voice.
“Come on, boys. We have guns. We are going to fight. Come and get your weapons.”
As Slocum watched, sleepy-eyed men began to flow toward the wagon. Some were young, some older, but he counted a dozen who crowded around the wagon.
Carlos returned and started unhooking the team. He picked up their saddles and bridles from the wagon and started putting them on the two horses. One or two men came to help him while others grabbed rifles and searched for the correct ammunition.
When José was finished passing out the arms, he jumped down and walked over to Slocum, who sat his horse looking at the ragtag army assembled around the wagon.
“What do we do now?” José asked.
“You can stay here and wait for the day guards and take them down, or you can take over the sheriff’s office and look for any of Scud’s men.”
“Do we shoot them or put them in jail?” José asked.
“Do you have a sheriff here you can trust? Do you have a judge who will try those men who kept you working here like slaves?’
“No,” most of the men shouted.
“Then shoot any of Scud’s men you find and tell everyone in town that they are free to leave. Tell them to pack up their goods and get the hell out of town.”
“There are many who will leave,” Carlos said.
“I think all of them will leave,” José said.
Del rode up alongside Slocum.
“I know where the two day guards live,” he said.
“Good,” Slocum said. “If they’re in town, we’ll get them.”
He turned his attention back to José.
“March these men into town. Go to the livery stable. Do not harm the boy there, but take all the horses you can find and put them under saddle. I’ll meet you there. I want at least ten men to ride with me and Del out to the Kiowa camp where Scud and his brother are.”
