by Jake Logan
“Any word on if those rooms will be available?” he asked the woman behind the front desk. He wasn’t interested in renting a room any longer, but it was the only way he could get her to say anything at all about whether or not the judge was in town. He may have been able to ask Sheriff Teaghan, but Slocum had quickly grown tired of seeing the apathetic lawman’s face.
Still as vacant behind the eyes as the first time he’d seen her, she replied, “They’re all filled up, Mr. Slocum.”
“Filled? Not just reserved?”
“That’s right. Judge Whetuski and his clerk arrived a few hours ago and they’re settling in. That family should be leaving soon, though. Finally got their wagon fixed and fit for the rest of the ride into Missouri.”
Slocum had stopped listening to her the moment she’d confirmed the judge was in town. “All right. Thanks.” Upon leaving the Whispering Hills, he headed toward the sheriff’s office on Virginia Avenue.
Teaghan’s door was locked, and before Slocum could knock, the sheriff’s single deputy shouted at him from the little jailhouse. “Nobody’s to go in for a while. The sheriff wants it that way so he can talk to the judge in peace.”
The deputy was a young man who looked even younger, owing to the lack of whiskers on his chin and the abundance of baby fat on his cheeks. In later years, it might have been a blessing to look so boyish. Now, it was hard for Slocum to take him seriously. “I’m part of the business they must be discussing,” he said. “Doesn’t that mean I get to have a word with them?”
“You’ll wait for the trial just like anyone else.”
“When will that be?”
The deputy was in mid-shrug when the front door of the sheriff’s office was pulled open. Before the younger lawman could stop him, Slocum rushed to greet the sheriff as well as two others. One was a tall man who looked like a professor from a university back East. A well-tailored gray suit hung upon a narrow frame, and a clean-shaven face was accented by a pair of thick, round spectacles. A woman with dark hair and a pinched face wore clothes that seemed only slightly less expensive than the taller gentleman’s. Slocum was surprised when she stepped up to intercept him before the sheriff could get to him.
“What is your business, sir?” she asked.
“I’m John Slocum. I’d like to have a word with the judge.”
“Judge Whetuski’s schedule is filled,” she replied, speaking the judge’s name as if it were connected to royalty. “If you’d like to make an appointment, you can speak to me.”
The judge stopped a pace behind her and watched Slocum silently. Sheriff Teaghan finally managed to get past them both so he could shove Slocum toward the street. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” the sheriff asked. “This is a judge. You don’t just strut up and start barking at him like you were in a saloon.”
Although Slocum knew the lawman had a point, he wasn’t about to bow to Teaghan just yet. Instead, he lowered his voice and took a less aggressive stance when he met the judge’s gaze. “I’d just like to know what’s going to happen with the matters that need to be resolved.”
The judge responded well to Slocum’s change in demeanor. Having ridden the legal circuit for any amount of time would have made him less of a starched shirt than a man accustomed to hearing cases in the lofty halls of a state’s capitol. “If you’re worried about the case involving you and those misinformed gunmen, I think it’s fairly safe to say the matter should be resolved within the next day or two.”
“That quick for a trial?”
“You’d rather wait longer?”
“No,” Slocum said. “It just seemed that it would be dragged out more than that.”
Judge Whetuski placed his hands upon the lapels of his suit coat and said, “I regret having to keep these good people waiting this long for me to arrive, especially when it’s a matter that’s already been handled by local peace officers.”
“I’m not just talking about the broken window,” Slocum said.
“Now that I’m here, I fully intend on seeing all of these unfortunate matters through to their proper conclusion.”
“And what about the men that were brought here?” Slocum asked.
When the judge didn’t respond right away, the sheriff explained, “He means the men being held in the jailhouse.”
“Are you involved with that Misty Creek case, Mr. Slocum?” the clerk asked.
“I helped bring the men in,” he replied. “And since it wasn’t long after that when I was shot at to try and get me to leave town, I’d say I’m hip-deep involved in it.”
After sifting through a batch of papers that she’d been holding as if they were a newborn baby, the clerk looked over to Judge Whetuski and shook her head. “Do you have proof that these two cases are connected, Mr. Slocum?” Judge Whetuski asked.
“The men who shot at me wanted me to get out of town. Apart from taking up space while I was eating pork chops, I can’t think of any other reason they might have for doing something like that.”
“I was told that was a case of mistaken identity.”
“That’s bullshit.” Seeing the angry glint in the corner of the judge’s eye, Slocum added, “Sir.”
“I intend on questioning them shortly,” Whetuski said in a voice that had suddenly acquired several layers of frost. “Until then, you’ll have to excuse me. Sheriff…”
“Teaghan,” the lawman said with an embarrassed scowl.
“Sheriff Teaghan will let you know when the trial is to commence.” After that, the judge, his clerk, and Teaghan all formed a procession that led to the jailhouse. Whetuski stepped to one side so the lawman could unlock the jail’s door and hold it open for him like a coachman deferring to a lord.
“Let me guess,” Slocum said to the deputy, who was the only one left behind with him. “That judge is running for some sort of political office.”
“Senator,” the deputy replied.
“Sounds about right.”
Stabbing a finger at him, the deputy said, “You steer clear of them until you’re called for. Understand?”
“Of course,” Slocum replied while holding his hands up. “He is a judge after all.”
The deputy was surprised by the ease with which Slocum had complied and did a poor job of showing it. His single nod and attempt at gruffness when he headed back toward the office were almost enough to make Slocum smile. “Stay in town and wait to hear about the trial. If you try to leave before then—”
Slocum turned his back to the younger man and walked away. “I know the rest.”
This wasn’t Slocum’s first time dealing with a judge. This being a legal matter, he knew better than to hold his breath while waiting for anything to be resolved in anything close to a reasonable amount of time. Therefore, he figured he had enough time to get involved in one of Bethany’s penny-ante card games. There was one other saloon in town with much higher poker stakes, but Slocum was still feeling the ill effects of his last loss and wasn’t about to make things worse by risking another one. When a man felt his luck was that bad, it was always better to pay heed and cool his heels with some other diversion.
He’d barely gotten a feel for the game when Slocum was interrupted by a tap on his shoulder. Looking up from the expectant faces of the old men sitting at the table with him, he found the Bullseye’s barkeep staring down at him. “What is it, Slick?” Slocum asked.
“Someone to see you.”
“Tell her I’ll be along once I break even.”
“Not Bethany,” Slick replied. “He’s waiting out back.”
Slocum sat up straight and lowered his voice so it wouldn’t carry to the other small-time gamblers and locals who’d come in for the dinner special. “Did he give a name?”
“No, just that I was to tell you to meet him around back.”
After making some hasty apologies, Slocum gathered up the four dollars he’d won and walked out. He watched the street every step of the way as he walked down the alley that took him to th
e lot behind the Bullseye, making sure never to offer his back to anyone posted in the building across the street. When he saw Daniel leaning against the back wall of the Bullseye, Slocum asked, “Where the hell have you been?”
“Like I told you before. I wanted to meet up with another one of the men trying to bring these assholes to justice. Cullen.”
“Did you find him?”
“Yeah, and he wants to meet you.”
“Better be soon because the judge is in town.”
“I know.”
Slocum drew a deep breath and let it out like it was steam. “You’ve been keeping an eye on things here?”
“Yeah. I was a scout, remember? That’s what I’m trained to do.”
“Why didn’t you at least keep me posted?”
“Because if anyone’s watching you,” Daniel explained, “they would have seen me coming in to tell you what’s what. And if those men don’t get any reason to believe I may be nearby, that makes it all the easier to watch where they go.”
“One flaw in that logic,” Slocum pointed out. “I can tell you where they went. The jailhouse right next to the shitter behind the sheriff’s office after being patched up by the doctor.”
“Not all of them,” Daniel replied with a sly grin.
“You found the one that got away?”
Daniel nodded. “Caught sight of him skulking around trying to catch you with your back turned.”
“When was that?”
“The other night when that saloon girl took you back to her house.”
“You saw that, too?” Slocum asked.
“And heard it.” When Slocum tried to look as if he didn’t know what he was talking about, Daniel raised an eyebrow and said, “Oh yes, I heard it. Don’t try to tell me that was the birds screaming like that.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake. Are you a scout or a Peeping Tom?”
“That fella who was trying to get the drop on you almost was the Peeping Tom. That is, before I made him realize he wasn’t as sneaky as he thought. I made some noise like I was walking to one of them other houses south of Main Street and that was enough to chase him away.”
“Did you find out who he is? A name?”
“Arthur Vesper. Does it ring a bell?”
Slocum thought about it for a moment and sighed, “No. How’d you find out who he was?”
“I recognized his face. Are you familiar with vigilante groups?”
“Not in this neck of the woods. Is Arthur Vesper a vigilante?”
“Yeah,” Daniel said. “At least that’s what he calls himself. He did some work in the Dakotas after getting his start in Nebraska. I’ve heard the name more than once ever since me and Cullen started riding through these parts. Vesper’s become a rich man clearing out land for the railroads, ranchers, or anyone else with enough money to pay his fees.”
“Clearing land of what?” Slocum asked, although he already dreaded hearing the answer.
“Settlers too stubborn to accept payment to surrender their property. Business owners who refuse to allow their stores to be knocked down so tracks can be laid down. Most anyone who stands in the way of what some might consider to be progress.” Daniel closed his eyes and then opened them as if he couldn’t bear to watch what flashed through his mind. “More recently, he’s been taking government money to spill Indian blood.”
“Why’s the government paying him to do that?”
Daniel gave him a slow, sorrowful shrug. “Plenty of reasons if you’re so inclined. Some may want to silence tribe members who threaten to fight for patches of land. Some could want to convince a tribe to move for some project or another. Major Garrison would have done it to clear out his workload and make it look like he was doing something with his command other than stealing supplies and such from the quartermaster and selling them off.”
“You think that’s what happened at Misty Creek?”
“Garrison was known to make a profit where he could when his commanders weren’t looking, but Misty Creek was a whole different animal. Cullen learned something about it, which is why he wants to meet you as soon as possible.”
“Can’t you just tell me?” Slocum asked.
“I could, but Cullen’s ridden with me for a good long while. He wants to meet the outsider I’m bringing into this affair before he’s brought in any further and I’m honoring that request. Besides, Cullen is a good man and a damn fine marksman. Having him on our side without any reservations will work out best all around.”
Since Slocum wasn’t about to argue with logic that held loyalty and friendship in such high regard, he said, “I just need to get my horse and we can go. When was the last time you saw Vesper?”
“About an hour ago. He was settling in for the night.”
“You’re sure he’s not keeping an eye on me? He did find me once and was only a few inches off when he decided to fire a shot at me.”
“He wasn’t off,” Daniel said. “He told you he wanted to try and run you out of town, and that seems to be exactly what he did. From what I’ve heard about the man, Vesper is meticulous and calculating. If he’d wanted you dead, things would have gone a lot differently at that saloon.”
14
Culbertson was a small enough town that the light coming from its windows barely made a dent in the darkness of a nighttime sky. Upon riding beyond town limits, however, Slocum was wrapped in a gloom that was almost palpable. He allowed his horse to move at her own pace until his eyes adjusted. Once they did, he was treated to the dim glow of a partial moon as well as the pinprick brilliance of countless stars splashed over his head. He was still in Kansas, after all, which meant the trail leading to Cullen’s camp was mostly flat and uneventful.
Daniel rode ahead at a quicker pace, but not quick enough for Slocum to lose sight of him. Rather than use a hand signal that might go unseen, he let out a sharp whistle when he wanted Slocum to come to a stop. “Cullen,” he said in a voice that seemed to carry for miles in the dark expanse of open ground. “That you?”
The scout’s eyes were definitely sharper than Slocum’s. If not for Daniel, he may very well have kept riding without spotting the little flicker of light ten yards or so from the trail.
“Who’s that with you?” a disembodied voice asked from the darkness.
“It’s that man I told you about earlier. John Slocum.”
“Let’s get a look at him.”
Slocum could see Daniel well enough to know the scout had turned toward him, but wasn’t sure what to do from there. Daniel motioned for him to come forward and Slocum obliged, albeit grudgingly. “We rode all the way out here,” Slocum grumbled. “Your friend is dug in deeper than a tick and already recognizes you. Why the hell do we still have to go through this sneaking nonsense?”
“Because that’s how we’ve stayed alive this long,” Daniel said. “Now just come up alongside me so Cullen can get a look.”
Once he rode up to Daniel’s side, he held his arms out as if submitting to a search. After a few silent moments, he heard the rustle of footsteps. They didn’t come from the dim light of the sputtering campfire, but cracked against the dry ground five or six yards directly in front of and to the right of Slocum’s position.
“You’re John Slocum?”
After squinting and focusing on that patch of nearby ground, Slocum could make out the figure of a man in the shadows. He wore dark clothes and a hat that was large enough to make his head blend in with the other dark blobs in his field of vision. “I am.”
“Danny tells me you’ve done a good job of standing by him this far.”
“Seemed like the proper thing to do considering the job he’s taken on.”
“Sometimes proper ain’t an easy thing to do,” the shadow said.
“You don’t have to tell that to me. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve nearly gotten myself killed by taking action instead of listening to my common sense and hanging back where it’s safe.”
The figure took another couple o
f steps forward and removed the floppy, wide-brimmed hat that had done such a good job of obscuring his face. He looked to be several years older than Daniel with the wrinkles and scars to show for it. Despite all of that weariness and dirt that had been smeared onto his cheeks and chin, he found enough in him to place a friendly smile on his face as he extended his hand to Slocum.
“Seems like losing any hint of common sense is what makes men like us do what we do,” Cullen said. “Glad to have another crazy man riding with us.”
Even after all the trouble of a night ride and being dragged around through an excessive amount of dramatics involving secret meetings and hiding in the dark, Slocum couldn’t help but grin. He reached down from atop his horse, shook Cullen’s hand, and wasn’t surprised to feel a strong, confident grip from the other man.
“Now that we’ve got all of the introductions out of the way, would you mind letting me know why I’m out here in the middle of the night instead of having a hot meal near a fire?”
Cullen nodded as a shot cracked through the air to snap his head to one side. Slocum was still gripping the other man’s hand as Cullen fell sideways and swung into the legs of Slocum’s horse. The impact came as a result of the velocity of the shot that had bored through Cullen’s skull and the angle from which he hung from Slocum’s hand. Even though the man had become deadweight, Slocum was reluctant to let him go until he could swing Cullen away so he wouldn’t get trampled by the frightened dun.
“The shot came from that direction,” Slocum said as he pointed to the north. Even though he couldn’t see much of anything over there, he trusted his ears enough to have faith in his statement.
Daniel had pulled the rifle from its boot as soon as he’d swung down from the saddle. He dropped to one knee, brought the rifle to his shoulder, and levered in a round. “Ride toward the camp and see if you can draw his fire,” the scout said in a harsh whisper. “Just be careful.”
Slocum drew his .44 and leaned forward over his horse’s neck. The dun wanted to get moving and responded as soon as it felt the snapping reins. Another shot cracked through the air, but wasn’t accompanied by the hiss of a bullet. That struck Slocum as peculiar, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it before another round whipped past his head. Whoever was pulling that trigger was a long ways off and the shots that had been taken since Cullen was hit were in a meandering pattern.
