Slocum and the Cheyenne Princess

by Jake Logan

  Some passersby took Flanagan off the horse and carried him up the front steps. By this time, the doctor was unlocking the door, so they took him inside, where one lamp was lit.

  “Who did this?”

  “An outlaw named Grosbeck and two of his men,” said Slocum.

  The law arrived about then. “What happened?”

  “Flanagan and I were about to arrest an outlaw named Grosbeck. He came out shooting, shot Flanagan, then ran.”

  “He have a horse?”

  “He didn’t get his own. They were still out front.”

  “I’ll get some men and go see if I can find him.”

  “Good. I’ll join you as soon as I see about Flanagan. My name’s Slocum. Verna Lee will vouch for me.”

  “You have a description?”

  “Big man. Dark complexion.”

  “You know him?”

  “Yes, he’s been running wild over northwest Nebraska raping women and robbing stages.”

  “I’ve seen some of those wanted posters. I’ll be up there shortly.”

  “Let me check on Flanagan,” Slocum said, then stepped inside.

  “Go ahead. We’ll get ready to go,” the deputy said.

  Flanagan sat on top of the operating table, with his pant leg split and the bloody wound gaping.

  The doctor made him lie down so he could examine it, then shook his head and spoke to Slocum. “It looks like a simple wound. After we get the bullet out, we’ll try to stop the bleeding and then he should be all right.”

  “Thanks. Someone get the word to Verna Lee that he was wounded. She’ll want to know. I’m going back to help the deputy.”

  “We can get that done,” a man promised him.

  “Good. Take care of him. He’s brave man.”

  He ran to get on Bull and charged off to find the deputy. He was soon back in Willows, and the first women he saw in a group, he reined up beside them.

  “Have you seen any hatless men running around here?”

  “Yes. They shot at a few people and ran back west. A couple of men chased them with guns. There, hear those shots?”

  With a thanks and a nod, Slocum hurried westward. He came up on two men with smoking revolvers behind a turned over wagon. Short of them, he set Bull down in a sliding stop, dismounted, and joined them.

  “How many shooters are there?”

  “Two. They shot at some women. Made Jeb and me mad.”

  “You boys have ammo?”

  “No.”

  “There are some forty-five cartridges in my saddlebags.”

  “Good, we can use them. I’ll get them, Jeb.”

  “Think they’re still there?” Slocum asked Jeb.

  “They were shooting from behind that cart.”

  “I’ll empty my six-gun into it and see what happens.”

  “I can watch through a crack. Fire away.”

  Slocum fast-fired his gun into the cart area, from right to left. One of the shooters screamed he was hit. Busy shucking casings, Slocum nodded. “Now where is his partner?”

  “I hear a horse taking off. He may be getting away from us.”

  His gun reloaded, Slocum said, “You hold that wounded guy for the deputy. He’ll be here soon.”

  “We can damn sure do that,” Jeb’s partner said and handed Slocum the half-empty cartridge box. He tossed it inside his saddlebags, then mounted up. The men thanked him as he urged Bull around the wagon and headed westward. As he slapped Bull on the butt with his handgun, they burst through the willows. He saw the back end of a horse with a hatless rider headed for higher ground. Convinced that was his man, he took after him in hot pursuit.

  The deep sand held the big horse back some, but they were soon up on the prairie and racing after their quarry. It was obvious to Slocum that the outlaw was running his bay horse for all he was worth and that the mount would soon bottom out. Bull was a damn sight tougher than most horses, and he was gaining on the rider that looked like Grosbeck. Every hundred yards, the distance between the two riders became less. Obviously, Grosbeck had emptied his pistol, because he had holstered it.

  Slocum grew more confident with every minute ticking by, as the bay horse was beginning to lose his stride and Bull drew closer. Soon he was at the bay’s tail, and Slocum stood in the stirrups. Being a buffalo horse, Bull had no fear of running past the bay, like most horses would have had. When things were right, Slocum dove for the fleeing man’s shoulders, threw his arms around him, and took him off the horse. Hand on the back of his head, he plowed Grosbeck’s face hard in the grass and dirt for a long ways. Skidding on his nose and mouth, sliding over the vegetation and piles of dirt from the gopher mounds, he tried to curse Slocum.

  When they at last stopped, he jerked Grosbeck around onto his back and slammed him in his dirty bloody face with a right. The blow was so hard it made Grosbeck’s head strike the ground. Unsteady, Slocum managed to stand and regain his breath.

  “Get up! I’m going to pound the piss out of you. You don’t have no ax handle–wielding help here this time. You ain’t sitting your damn horse on some ridge watching me get beat to death. Get up!”

  He gave the groaning outlaw a flying kick in the ham of his leg. The man moaned and got up on his knees. This time Slocum kicked him in the belly and drove the wind out of him. He fell over backward and groaned, holding his guts.

  With a handful of his greasy hair, Slocum raised him up on his knees; then he smashed him in the face with a hard right hand. “That was for Snow, you sumbitch. I intend to beat you senseless for what you did to her.”

  Cowering on the ground and holding his hands up to protect himself from any more blows, he cried out, “You’re killing me. You’re killing me.”

  “You killed lots of good men and women. You can plead, cry, whatever, but I have no use for you.”

  A posse was coming on horseback across the sweeping prairie. Maybe two dozen men in suits and some dressed in workers’ clothing were riding hard toward him. That might spare the worthless piece of shit being killed by his own bare hands.

  “We came as quick as we could,” the deputy said in a flying dismount. “The one you shot is dead back there in the camp. I’m surprised this one’s still alive. There was another one shot earlier, and he’s dead, too. Reckon you got the whole gang.”

  “I simply hope Flanagan is going to be all right.”

  “So do we. Get him in irons and into the country jail,” the lawman said to his assistants. “And, thanks, Slocum. Those men back there thanked you for giving them shells, too.”

  He nodded that he heard him. His right hand ached from hitting Grosbeck so damn hard. Maybe Verna Lee would soak his fist and make it hurt less. Better go that way and get rested. Billy Hank Spurlock might show up next. He’d get that sorry outfit, too.

  They had bloody-faced Grosbeck in the saddle with his hands chained to the saddle horn.

  “I’ll get you, you sumbitch,” he growled. “You wait and see. Your ass will be in a million parts.”

  Slocum gritted his teeth. He wanted to blow him to kingdom come with his pistol—that son of a bitch didn’t deserve to live another day on this earth. Slocum told them to go on, he didn’t want to hear another word out of that damn Grosbeck or he’d kill him.

  He set the horse for Verna Lee’s place. When he reached her front gate, she ran to meet him, carrying her dress hem

  “You all right?” She was beside him to ease him off the horse. In that movement, she must have seen his swollen fist, and she grasped it. “You broke it?”

  He forced a smile. “You should see the other guy.”

  “Let’s get you in the house.”

  “Take care of his horse,” she said to her man. Then, like a mother hen, she herded him up the stairs and into the great house.

  “You got him?”

 
; “He’s in jail. They say his two men are dead. Flanagan was shot in the leg. I hope he’s all right.”

  “I’ll send someone in to check on him. You need to see a doctor.”

  “We’ll soak it. I’ve done this before. Boy, it really felt good to smash that bastard for all he’d done to people.”

  “Adelle, draw him a hot bath.”

  “I’ll get that done. Have you eaten lately?” her housekeeper asked as Verna Lee undid his holster, rebuckled it, and put it on the peg.

  “I had breakfast.”

  “I’ll have you some food shortly.” In a swirl of skirts, Adelle hurried off toward the kitchen.

  He rolled his swollen hand in the palm of the other one. That damn sure hurt.

  Verna Lee set him down in a Morris chair and went to the walnut cabinet, took out a glass, and poured him a double shot of some high-priced whiskey.

  “This should help you some.”

  He tossed it down and made a deep sound. “Ah, bound to help someplace.”

  They both laughed. After he ate and bathed and downed two more doubles, she put him to bed. He woke up the next morning and realized his right hand was still swollen and sore. But Grosbeck was in jail.

  Verna Lee swept into the bedroom and opened the curtains to let the light shine in. “Flanagan appears to be doing fine, they say.”

  Seated on the side of the bed, running his fingers through his too-long hair, he nodded. “That’s good news. No word on the outlaw Spurlock?”

  “No one sent me word, and those other two men I had over find out many things that are going on. Though Flanagan is the best, and he’ll be, like you, out for a few days.”

  “My hand gets a little better, I want to go see him and thank him for helping me.”

  His hand was so sore she had to help him dress. But at last, they went downstairs to breakfast.

  Adelle looked up from doing some food preparation. “I was about to haul your food upstairs. You feel all right?”

  “Doing fine.”

  “No, you’re not.” Verna Lee shook her head over his statement. “His hand is so swollen he can’t even button his own clothes.”

  Adelle nodded like she understood his condition.

  “Thanks. I have two fine ladies concerned about me. I should get well real quick.” He took a place at the table, and the two fussed over him.

  “No, you will probably get in a bigger fight with another outlaw,” Verna Lee said in disgust.

  He used his left hand to raise a steaming mug to taste Adelle’s coffee. “Mighty fine. Even better since I didn’t have to make it.”

  They laughed at his words. After breakfast, they went to putting hot compresses on his battered hand. The skin still felt ready to bust, but it helped a lot.

  He napped in the afternoon, waking up when he rolled over wrong on the hand. But the day was pleasant, and when he went downstairs for supper the aroma of Adelle’s cooking filled the house.

  The county sheriff dropped by to meet him. Lloyd Miles was a man in his forties with a great mustache and had not missed many meals. He was a man who obviously took charge, and right off he apologized for being in Kearny bringing a prisoner back for trial at the time of Grosbeck’s arrest.

  “No problem, it gave us our chance to capture Grosbeck. He’d gotten away too many times. Everyone was a big help. They came with a big posse in less than an hour. I couldn’t believe they could come that fast.”

  “Folks back law and order out here. We want a place where settlers can live and farm safely, so more will come. We have the rich land, and usually the rainfall, to be the garden of this earth. We don’t need the likes of him running around loose.”

  “There is a second outlaw, Billy Hank Spurlock, that held up a bank in Abilene and used my name.”

  “Verna Lee told me, and I wired that sheriff’s office down there and told him what happened. He told me he’d make new wanted posters and to tell you that you were off the hook.”

  “That sounds wonderful.”

  “I’m much obliged for your actions. Those posse men said that if you hadn’t persisted, he’d’ve got away again.”

  “Can I pour you gentlemen a drink to celebrate?” Verna Lee asked

  “Verna Lee, you know I always enjoy some of that good whiskey you keep in the walnut cabinet,” Sheriff Miles said. “Best booze in the county.”

  Slocum agreed.

  After the drink, the sheriff left, and Slocum thanked Verna Lee.

  “No problem, big man.” She came and sat on the arm of his chair. “Miles is a real lawman, and he leads the forces around here. As long as people elect men like him, we’ll have law and order in this county.”

  Slocum agreed.

  As the days passed, his hand healed. While still not a hundred percent recovered, he could use his Colt and fire it. The two of them had long sessions in bed, and Verna Lee told him she might keep him prisoner so he couldn’t leave.

  Flanagan came out in a buckboard to see him. The man was on crutches, but he tied off the team and clambered down with sticks under his arms, then propelled himself on them to the porch.

  “Need some help?” Slocum asked.

  “No. No, I’ll get up there.”

  “What brings you out here today?” There was a hint of fall in the cool wind pumping water real steady from Verna Lee’s windmill.

  “Let’s go inside,” Flanagan said.

  Slocum held open the door, and the man hobbled into the room and spoke to Verna Lee, who was drying her hands on a tea towel.

  “You men have things to say. I’ll make some coffee. Go set in the living room chairs.”

  “Thanks, Verna,” Slocum said.

  Flanagan took a seat and acted relieved to be there. “I come to tell you I picked up word from a reliable source that Spurlock was staying in the Ogallala area. Not certain about his exact location. I wired the sheriff there. His name is Woolsey, and he said if Spurlock was there he hadn’t heard about him. But he’s around there, according to my informants.”

  “They have my name off the wanted posters, but he needs to be run down. My hand’s getting better. I should go there and see if I can find him before he dens up for the winter.”

  “Wish I could go along, but I’ll be a while yet and on these damn crutches. I’d not be worth much to you.”

  “Thanks for thinking of me. I’ll get organized and go see what I can find. Thanks, Flanagan, it’s been great working with you.”

  “Shame we can’t tackle him together. I’d like to be there when you catch him.”

  “I hope I can.”

  “Adelle will have lunch shortly,” Verna Lee announced.

  “Well, by damn, I can still eat,” Flanagan said. “This leg ain’t stopped that, too.”

  They went in the dining room and had an enjoyable lunch, and then Flanagan left. After he drove off, Verna Lee stood by the front window and looked out at the rolling scenery. Slocum knew she wanted something and was working up her nerve to ask for it.

  She turned to face him. “There is no way to get you to stay here. I know that. It always saddens me when you leave. But if you ever need money or anything, wire me. My finances are solid, and I’d be more than glad to help you, just in case you need it.”

  He got out of the chair and stood behind her. “You know all the things that tag along behind me. I can’t stay here long. Plus, rascals like Spurlock shouldn’t be running around planning more robberies. He’ll kill some innocent people pulling off his next crime.

  “I better get over there. I’ll leave in the morning.” He hugged her from behind. “You are a great, sweet woman, and I’d not have healed without your care.”

  When she turned to bury her face in his shoulder, tears spilled down her cheeks. “I knew when Flanagan came today, he’d have news for you.”

&nbs
p; “Thanks.” He squeezed her tight. Morning would come early. Too damn early.

  • • •

  He wore the new sheepskin-lined leather coat she’d had made for him. In the chill of the morning, he set Bull on the way west with an empty place in his heart for a great woman. He had a cold notion that winter was about to sweep down the face of the Rockies and smother the plains and him in snow.

  When he reached Ogallala, he went by the sheriff’s office and spoke to the chief deputy, Reb Corning. The sheriff had gone to Denver by train to return a murderer apprehended there. He was due back any day.

  Corning had no idea where Spurlock might be hiding. That left Slocum to look for someone who knew his whereabouts. He took a room in a boardinghouse, put Bull up in a livery, and began combing bars for people who might have heard of his man. He played some dime-limit poker with unemployed teamsters, cowhands headed back for Texas, and a few of the whiskerinos that inhabited such Western towns. He learned lots about things going on, but no one knew anything about Billy Hank Spurlock.

  Then a scruffily dressed man stopped him in the cold wind on the porch of Dewey’s Saloon one mid-morning.

  “You Slocum?”

  “That’s me. Who’re you?”

  “Grim’s my name. This guy Spurlock you been asking about . . .” The man cut his gaze around to be certain he’d not be overheard. “What’s he worth to you?”

  “To find him? Ten bucks.”

  “He’s denned up at the G Bar 9 ranch. Old man Sawyer knew him from before in Texas. If you tell him I sent you, he’ll murder me, so don’t. He’s been out there lounging around.” Grim shut up and let a drunk stagger past them before he spoke again. “Jenny Doll Sawyer is fucking him. That’s the old man’s wild-ass daughter.”

  “You know her?” Slocum was about to laugh.

  “Gawdamn right I do, and every mole on her body. I was good enough for her until that sumbitch showed up. She knew him from Texas also.”

  Slocum paid him a ten-dollar gold piece. “How hard is that place to find?”

  “It’s ten, twelve miles north of here. Just off the main road and west a mile. They’ve got a sign points that way. Oh, and thanks. I appreciate this money, but don’t ever mention my name up there.”