by Jake Logan
DEAD AS A DOG
“That’s ole Billy Bob all right. We was wondering what became of him.”
“I’ll bet you were,” said Slocum.
“You kill him?”
“I damn sure did.”
Totum walked away from the gruesome load and stood once again in front of Slocum.
“You want to get out of my way,” said Slocum, “or you want me to ride over you?”
Totum watched while Ball and Reardon walked up behind Slocum and pulled out their six-guns.
“Neither one, saddle bum,” said Totum. “I want you to raise your hands up over your head.”
“Better do what he says, saddle bum,” said Reardon.
Slocum did not need to turn to know what he had ridden into. He heard the click of two hammers being thumbed back behind him.
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Today’s longest-running action Western. John Slocum rides a deadly trail of hot blood and cold steel.
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An action-packed series by the creators of Longarm! The rousing adventures of the most brutal gang of cutthroats ever assembled—Quantrill’s Raiders.
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Meet J.T. Law: the most relentless—and dangerous—manhunter in all Texas. Where sheriffs and posses fail, he’s the best man to bring in the most vicious outlaws—for a price.
JAKE LOGAN
SLOCUM
AT DEAD DOG
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
SLOCUM AT DEAD DOG
A Jove Book / published by arrangement with the author
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Jove edition / April 2007
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Table of Contents
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Slocum and The Apache Campaign
1
The tired horse hauled Slocum’s ass up to the top of a rise. Slocum stopped the critter and pulled off his hat. He wiped his sweaty brow with a sleeve, fanned himself a few times with the hat, and then put it back on his head. He studied the wide valley below. Just beneath him, at the base of the hill upon which he was perched, was a small town. It looked like any one of a hundred or so other towns he had visited on the frontier, but it was a welcome sight. He had been riding for days without any sign of civilization. He had not even passed a stranger to speak to. In a way, that was good. There had been nothing to spend his money on, so he still had a little in his pockets. From where he sat, he could see the livery stable at one end of the road down below.
“Well, ole horse,” he said, “that down there’ll be your home for tonight at least. You’ll get a good feed and a good rubdown. Plenty of water. Just what you need in this hot weather.”
He felt a little foolish talking like that to his horse, but the horse was all he’d had to talk to for all this long ride. The horse snorted, and Slocum took it for a response. He leaned forward and patted the animal on the neck.
“Let’s get on down there,” he said, and he urged the horse forward, down the sloping hill. He moved carefully. “Dead Dog,” he said out loud, not necessarily to the horse, just to hear his own voice. “That’s the name of the place. Dead Dog.”
Slocum was riding into Dead Dog deliberately. He had ridden into West Texas aimlessly, but then he had heard mention of the name of Dead Dog, and he had remembered that he had an old friend who had settled there. Vance Kirk had been his partner in a deal years ago. Slocum smiled thinking about him. Vance was a hard-riding, fast-shooting, tough-fisted son of a bitch. Slocum had liked him a lot. Hell, Vance had saved his life on more than one occasion. Of course, Slocum had returned the favor a time or two. When he’d heard the name of Dead Dog, he’d remembered that was where Vance had headed. Vance had said that he had a little spread there, and he meant to fix it up and work it. It was time to settle down. Slocum had decided it was time he visited ole Vance after all these years.
It was getting into evening, though, so he would just find himself a room, get a steak and a few drinks, and then hit the hay for the night. He’d ask around for directions to Vance’s place, and in the morning, he w
ould light out for it. God damn, he thought, it will sure be good to see ole Vance. Yeah, it seemed like a damn good idea, this visit to ole Vance. Slocum usually just wandered around without any plans. It was kind of interesting to have one.
He reached the bottom of the hill, and the ground leveled off as he rode into Dead Dog. Looking ahead, he saw a hotel, a place that said EATS on the front, three saloons, and all the other businesses one would expect to see in a small West Texas town. There were some horses tied to the rails in the street, and a few people could be seen walking down the board sidewalks. Two cowhands rode in from the opposite direction and stopped in front of one of the saloons. The livery stable was the first building that he came to, however.
He stopped there and finding the big front door wide open, he turned his horse and rode inside. “Howdy, stranger,” came a voice from the darkness.
“Howdy,” said Slocum, squinting into the dingy corners of the place.
Just then a squat, paunchy figure came lumbering out of the dark and walked up to where Slocum still sat in the saddle. “What can I do for you?”
Slocum swung down out of the saddle and handed the reins to the man. “You in charge here?” he asked.
“I’m the owner and the entire staff,” said the man. “Name’s Chunk Carlile. What do you want done with this critter?”
“I want to put him up for the night,” Slocum said. “Give him a good rubdown, a good meal of good oats, and plenty of water. He’s had a long, hard ride, and he deserves the best you got.”
“Treat him like a pet, do you?” said Carlile. “Well, I like a man that treats his horse good. It’s good for my business too. What’s your name, stranger?”
“Slocum.”
He dug some money out of his pocket and paid the man. Then he took the roll off from behind the saddle, took the saddlebags off, and pulled the Winchester out of the boot. He turned and walked out of the stable and into the street of Dead Dog. The place wasn’t quite dead. He started walking toward the hotel. The walk was good for him after the long ride. The hotel didn’t have a name other than HOTEL, but it looked all right. Slocum went inside and walked up to the desk. A pasty-faced young man looked up and over a pair of wire-rimmed glasses.
“What can I do for you?” he said.
“I’d like a room,” said Slocum.
“How long?” said the clerk.
“Just tonight,” said Slocum, dropping some coins on the desk. The clerk gave him a room key, took the money, and pointed to the stairway.
“Just at the top of the stairs,” he said. “Number six.”
Slocum thanked the boy and walked up the stairs. He unlocked the door and went inside. It was a room like most hotel rooms. It would do. Slocum tossed the saddlebags, bedroll, and rifle on the bed. Then he went back out, locking the door behind him. He walked down the stairs and back over to the desk. “Where can I get the best steak in town?” he asked.
“Baker’s,” said the clerk. “The sign don’t say Baker’s, though. It just says, EATS. It’s right across the street.”
“I saw it when I came in,” said Slocum. “Thanks.” He turned and walked outside. He was about to step down off the sidewalk to cross the street when he heard a voice right beside him.
“Howdy, stranger.”
Slocum turned his head and saw a man leaning back against the wall of the hotel. His right foot was up against the wall, and he was smoking a long, thin cigar. He wore dark britches and a dark vest over a white shirt. He had a black flat-brimmed hat on his head, and he sported a slender handlebar mustache. But the main thing that Slocum noticed was the badge on the vest. It seemed to gleam in the dim light of the evening. Slocum nodded in response.
“You just came out of the hotel,” said the lawman. “You get yourself a room?”
“I did,” said Slocum. “I paid for it. Is there some problem?”
“I don’t know,” said the lawman. “It depends. What’s your business in Dead Dog?”
“No business. Just passing through.”
“You got a name?”
“Slocum. You got one?”
The lawman grinned. “I’m Carl Benton,” he said. “I’m the sheriff in Dead Dog.”
“You might say it’s your town, huh?” said Slocum.
“That has been said,” Benton answered. “You headed across the street to Baker’s?”
“I am.”
“They got the best steaks in town.”
“Someone else told me that,” said Slocum. He walked away from the sheriff and crossed the street. Inside Baker’s, he found one table occupied by four men. They all had the look of cowhands, all except one. Slocum sat down at an empty table. He was thinking about Carl Benton. He had heard of Benton, a tough, no-nonsense lawman. He had a reputation for cleaning up a few towns, but the rep wasn’t all good. It was said that he’d just as soon shoot a man as put him in jail. And there was talk that he was always willing to take a payment under the table for some special favor. Still, he was no one to get crossways with. Slocum was glad that he was only planning on spending the one night in Dead Dog.
Just then, the door in the back wall opened and a young woman came out with a tray full of dishes. Steam was rising from the dishes. She saw Slocum and smiled. “I’ll be right with you,” she called out.
“That’s fine,” Slocum said.
The woman went to the table with the four men seated at it and started to distribute the plates and cups. The man that Slocum had singled out as being something more than just a cowhand smacked her on the butt.
“Oh,” she said. “Cut that out now, Kansas.”
The man called Kansas laughed, and so did the three cowboys. Interestingly, the gal did not seem all that upset. She was a damn good-looking gal, Slocum noted, with a fine figure underneath the dress and the apron she was wearing. She was a little sweaty, and her hair was pulled back, but several loose strands hung down in her face.
“Okay,” she said, “you all got everything you want now?”
Kansas reached around her waist. “For right now,” he said.
She pulled his arm loose and stepped back. “I don’t mean that,” she said. “I have another customer.”
“Maybe later?” said Kansas.
“Well, you just never know, do you?” She walked over to Slocum and smiled at him. He thought it was a beautiful smile. “How are you this evening?” she said.
“I’m powerful hungry,” Slocum said, “and I’ve been told twice already tonight that you have the best beefsteaks in town.”
“That’s true enough,” she said.
“I’d be mighty happy if you’d fix one up for me with all the trimmings. And coffee. Lots of coffee.”
“I’ll get it right out to you,” she said, and she turned and walked back through the back door. Slocum watched her walk, swinging her hips in that way that women do, a way that’s calculated to drive men crazy. Then he noticed Kansas looking at him. He looked back, and Kansas turned his head back to his plate. Maybe it was nothing. Slocum almost hoped that Kansas was thinking of trying to take him on. He didn’t like the bastard a damn bit. The gal came back out of the kitchen with Slocum’s coffee. She put it down in front of him.
“Thank you,” he said.
“You’re welcome,” she said. “I’ll be back with your steak in a jiffy.”
And she was gone again. Slocum tried to picture her naked. She would be just fine. He tried to picture Kansas on his back with a bloody nose. That would be just fine too. He decided to try to get those thoughts out of his head, and he picked up his cup and took a tentative sip of the steaming-hot coffee. The four at the other table were talking and laughing loudly while stuffing their faces. Slocum wished that they would hurry up and get done with their meals and get the hell out of the place. Better yet, he wished they’d choke. He thought, it’s a good thing I’m just here for a short visit or else I’d get it on with that bunch sooner or later. He finished his coffee just as the gal came out with his meal. She pu
t it on the table for him, and then she said, “I’ll get you some more coffee.”
As she walked by the table of four, Kansas reached out again to pinch her ass. She dodged just in the nick of time. “Hey, babe,” he said. “Bring us some more coffee.”
“Sure thing, Kansas,” she said.
Slocum was thinking that obviously she knew the man, and apparently she did not mind his crude behavior. She must have to put up with a lot of that shit, he thought, working in a place like this—in Dead Dog. She came back out with the coffeepot, and she stopped first at the table with Kansas and his cronies. She filled up the cups around, and she ignored Kansas’s hands all over her as she did. Slocum felt like going over there and throwing the man down on the floor, but he kept his thoughts to himself. Finally, she broke away and came to his table to refill his cup.
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said.
“You’re welcome,” she said with her nice smile. She went back to the kitchen. Slocum wondered whose behavior she preferred, his or that of Kansas. It was hard to tell about women sometimes—well, most times. He concentrated on his steak. In another few minutes, she came back out. She went to Kansas’s table. “More coffee?” she said.
“Naw,” said Kansas, “we’re done here. Got to be getting along.”
The four men stood up from the table. Kansas followed the gal over to the counter and pulled some money out of his pocket. The other three walked on outside. Kansas paid up for the four of them. “Will I see you after a while, Kansas?” she said.
“You never can tell,” he said.
“Well,” she said, “you know where to find me.”
“Yeah,” he said, walking toward the door. “I might look you up. Might not.” And he went on outside. Slocum heaved a sigh of relief. She walked around the counter and over to Slocum’s table.
“How’s your steak?” she asked.
“Oh,” said Slocum. “It’s real good. I’ve never had better. Those two didn’t lie to me.”
“Those two?”
“The two men who told me I’d get the best in here. Remember?”
“Oh. Yeah. I remember now. Well, I’m glad you think they didn’t lie to you. Anything else I can do for you?”
