by Jake Logan
Benton ate his breakfast alone. He thought about his good fortune in meeting Bitsy and his even better fortune in getting her to go with him. His life would be better than he had even anticipated. He would have all the advantages he had already thought of, and he would have Bitsy as well. He’d had some whores in his time, but he had never married, never had a woman all to himself. He didn’t care about her past. It was the future he was thinking of. He would make her a good husband. He swore that to himself. She would never be sorry for her decision. He would take good care of her.
In her room, Bitsy got together her decent clothes. She packed them in a small bag, all but one dress, the one she thought was the prettiest. That one she put on. She did not have much that she cared about. She could buy what she needed along the way. Carl had said he had money. She was thinking about her good fortune as she threw things together. A man with money. She had been worried that she would live to be an old whore, alone and worthless and broke. She had tried to save some money along the way, but it was hard to do. She did not have much. This was a dream come true. He seemed like a good man. He would treat her well. And she would be good to him. She would be so good that he would never want to leave her, never want to let her go. For the first time in her life, she had a good life ahead of her. She finished up, grabbed the bag, and rushed out of her room.
As she passed the desk in the lobby, she called out to the clerk, “I’m out of here, Chet. You can tell them all I’m off to Denver.”
She went into the street and across to the train station. There, on the sidewalk, was Carl Benton waiting for her. She rushed to him and hugged him. He took her bag. The train was waiting out behind the station. Benton had his rifle, his blanket roll, and his saddlebags.
“You ready?” he asked.
“Sure,” she said.
“No second thoughts?”
“Not a one.”
“Let’s go then.”
They walked behind the station and boarded the train. Walking through the cars, they found a good seat, and Benton let her sit by the window. He stashed all their gear except his saddlebags. Those he kept by his side. She wondered what was in them. Why were they so important? As they settled back for the long ride, she took his arm in both her hands and held him close. He turned his head to look at her, and she smiled up at him. Everything was perfect. She thought about what he had said, and she wondered if they would stay in Denver or go on to San Francisco. San Francisco did sound nice. She decided that if he ever asked her which one she preferred, she would say San Francisco.
Back at the Hooper ranch, Bobby and Milam told the rest what had happened. They had captured Totum and found out that Kirk’s killer was the sheriff. Slocum had gone after Benton, and Bobby and Milam had taken Totum to jail. That was all there was to tell.
“So that goddamned Carl Benton did it,” said Tex. “The son of a bitch. I hope Slocum catches him and kills him. I wish I was along to watch.”
“Me and Booker tried to go with him,” Bobby said, “but he wouldn’t have it.”
“Bobby,” Tex said, her voice suddenly gone soft again, “do you think Slocum will be back? After he’s caught Benton?”
“I don’t know,” Bobby said. “I think he’d want to let us know what happened.”
“I hope so,” she said.
Old Man Hooper stepped into the room just then. “Well,” he said, “what with all that’s been going on, we’re behind on our shopping. I’m going into Dead Dog now that things has settled down.”
“I’ll go with you,” said Tex.
“Me too,” Bobby said.
“You don’t have to go,” said Tex. “You must be worn out.”
“I’m all right. I’ll ride in with you.”
Slocum reached Blanco at last. He stopped at the stage station and found out when the last stage had arrived. It had been the night before. He gave a description of Carl Benton, and heard the tale of how Benton had killed the highway robber and was the hero of the day. He went over to the train station and made inquiries there. The man remembered Benton.
“He just left on the last train,” he said. “Him and the girl.”
“A girl was with him?” Slocum said.
“Yes, sir. A right smart-looking lady too.”
The train had a good start on him, but with a fast horse, he thought that he might catch it. He took his horse to the nearest livery stable to make a trade.
“It’s a good horse,” he told the man. “But I’ve rode him too hard, and I need a fresh one. I’ve got some traveling to do.”
The man showed Slocum what he had, and Slocum picked out one that looked like he could go. He had to give the man his horse and some money to boot. He felt like he’d been had, but he didn’t have the time to argue. He paid up. He switched his saddle to the new horse.
“Take good care of that one,” he said. “He took good care of me.”
He mounted up and headed out, following the railroad tracks. He rode hard, and in a short while, he could see the smoke bellowing up from the train’s smokestack. He would have a hard ride to catch it. He didn’t know if the horse was up to it. If he could not catch it, he would ride all the way to Denver, but he hoped it wouldn’t come to that. If the train beat him to Denver, he would have a time trying to find Benton there.
20
The first thing that Tex, her husband, and her father-in-law saw when they rode into Dead Dog was the putrid body of Kansas Totum still hanging where the cowboys had left it. Flies were buzzing all over it. The smell was horrible.
“My God,” said Tex.
“We left him in a jail cell,” said Bobby.
“Someone took him out,” the old man said.
“Well,” said Tex, “he didn’t deserve any better, but we can’t leave him hanging like that. Go cut him down, Bobby.”
Bobby set a grim look on his face, pulled out a knife, and urged his horse forward. Drawing close to the wretched body, he tried to hold his breath, but it did not seem to help much. He cut the rope where the cowboys had tied it to one of the poles, and the corpse dropped to the ground with a thud. Tex had ridden into the livery stable and gotten a blanket. When she came out with it, the old man took it from her. He rode over to where the body lay and draped the blanket over it.
“We’ll let someone else worry about it from here,” he said.
“I hope I never have to see anything like that again,” Tex said.
“Or smell,” said Bobby.
“Let’s go get our shopping done,” said the old man.
“I’ve been thinking,” said Benton.
Bitsy was looking out the window at the landscape hurrying past them. She turned to look at Benton.
“Yes?” she said.
“I’ve been thinking about Denver and San Francisco.”
“And?”
“I think we ought to spend a few days in Denver. Look the place over. Sample some of the best restaurants. But then we ought to head on out to San Francisco. The weather will be nicer out in California. Well, it’ll be nice enough in Denver right now, but once winter sets in, it’ll be damn cold. California will be much better. What do you say?”
“I think that sounds great,” she said. “But anywhere will be just fine with me as long as we’re together.”
Benton smiled, took hold of her hand, and squeezed it. He glanced up casually and looked out the window, and then he saw Slocum riding hard alongside the train. He gasped. He did not want to have to kill Slocum in front of Bitsy. He did not want her to know of his shady recent past.
“Would you excuse me for a minute?” he said.
“Sure,” she said.
Benton got up and walked toward the end of the car. When he got there, he opened the door and stepped out onto the platform. The noise was deafening and the wind beat at his face and his clothes. It tore the hat off his head. He let it go. He had more important things to deal with. He pulled the six-gun out of his holster and leaned around the edge of the car, holding ont
o the rail tightly. He spotted Slocum, and he took a shot. He missed, but Slocum heard the shot. He saw where it came from. He could not get off a good shot, but he figured that Benton might get lucky. He slowed his horse and let the train get ahead of him. Benton walked through the next car, headed for the caboose. When he stepped out onto the next platform, he looked around for Slocum again. He did not spot him. The platform was rocky. It was not a safe place to stand and look around. But he knew Slocum had dropped back. He went through another car and out onto yet another platform. Then he saw the horse, but it was riderless. Somehow Slocum had managed to get himself onto the train. But where? Which car? Benton looked into the window of the next car to see if Slocum might be coming through. He did not see Slocum in there. Maybe he was back on that car’s platform waiting. Benton cursed himself for having taken a shot at Slocum. If he had not done that, Slocum wouldn’t know that he’d been spotted.
The train made a curve and, waiting back at her seat, Bitsy was looking out the window. She saw the riderless horse back a ways. She wondered where it had come from. She was also wondering just where her man had gotten himself off to. She had heard about train robbers leaping off horses and onto moving trains, and she wondered if that was what was going on here. If so, her lawman should know about it, she thought. She waited a while longer. Then she stood up. She looked down at the saddlebags. Carl had left them with her, but he had been very careful about them. She did not want to leave them unattended. She picked them up and carried them with her as she moved toward the rear of the car.
Crossing over the lurching platforms between cars made her nervous, but she steeled herself and hurried on over. Everything in the next car seemed normal. She walked through it and stepped out again, crossing over to the next car. She still did not see Carl Benton, nor did she see anything unusual. She kept going.
Benton had gone as far as he meant to go through the cars. He was on another platform, and he took hold of the ladder there and climbed to the top of the train. He stood on the top in a crouch, amazed at the frightening sensation the speed caused. He looked forward and back. There was no sign of Slocum. For an instant, he wondered if his shot had hit the mark after all, if he had knocked Slocum out of the saddle, but then he dismissed that thought. He could tell if he had hit a man. He knew that. Slocum had to be somewhere on the train. He walked to the other end of the train car. He stopped. For a moment, he considered leaping over to the next car, but he looked down at the ground racing past and decided against it. He would go down the ladder and back up the ladder on the next car. He was about to start down the ladder when the door on the next car opened. He stood stark still and watched.
Slocum stepped out onto the platform. He was not looking up, so he did not know that Benton was above him ready to shoot. The train lurched around a corner, and Benton almost lost his footing. He dropped quickly to his hands and knees, his heart pounding like a fury. When he recovered, he looked over the edge. Slocum had felt the same lurch. He had staggered and grabbed hold of the rail down there, but he was almost in the doorway of the car underneath Benton, and all Benton could see was his hand clutching the rail. In another instant, Slocum would recover sufficiently to go into the car.
Benton holstered his gun, grabbed the edge of the roof of the car, and swung down, kicking Slocum in the back with both feet. Slocum was slammed into the door. Benton dropped to the platform and fell to his knees. Slocum turned to meet him. They clutched at one another’s shirts and swayed as the platform lurched. They leaned against the rail on one side, terribly close to falling over the edge. Then the train would sway the other direction, and they would stagger over there to lean against the other rail. Slocum tore a hand loose from Benton’s shirt and smacked Benton in the jaw. It would have been a good punch were it not for the swaying. Benton pushed Slocum back against the rail, trying to push him over. Slocum held tight to Benton’s coat lapel. If he were to go off, he would take Benton with him.
The two men swirled around as the train took another curve, and they slammed together into the door of the car behind them. Benton kneed Slocum in the groin. When Slocum doubled over, Benton hit him on the side of the head. Slocum went down on his knees on the bouncing platform. He could look down and see the ground rushing along underneath. He tried to get up, but Benton kicked him in the ribs. Then Benton reached down and took Slocum’s Colt out of the holster. He cocked it and pointed it at Slocum. The door opened behind him, and he looked over his shoulder to see Bitsy standing there, clutching the saddlebags to her bosom, her mouth hanging open.
“Oh, my God,” she said.
“Bitsy, go back,” he said.
“What are you doing?”
“I have to kill this man. Go back.”
“Not like that,” she said. “That would be murder. He’s down, and he’s not even wearing a gun.”
“I don’t have any choice, Bitsy,” Benton said. “Now you go back to your seat.”
The train suddenly gave a mighty lurch, and Benton staggered. Slocum saw his chance. He reached out and took a swipe at Benton’s legs, knocking them out from under him. Benton fell back against the rail. He felt himself going over. In his desperation, he dropped the Colt, which clattered on the platform. He yelled out as his body went over the rail, turning a complete flip. He landed on his head. His neck was snapped. Slocum went to the rail and watched. He knew, by the way the head was twisted and the way the body flopped and then lay still, that Carl Benton was dead. Slocum had done his duty for Vance and Tex. He had kept his promise. He kept looking back until the train had gone too far for him to see anymore. He picked up the Colt and holstered it. He stood up and turned to the girl, but she was gone. He wondered if he should go after her and explain. He decided not.
Looking out around the cars, he saw a fairly steep incline ahead. The train would slow down when it hit the incline. He climbed over the rail and waited, and when the train was going about as slow as he figured it would, he let go and dropped to the ground. When he hit, his knees buckled. He fell and he rolled. When he stopped rolling, he was aware of the old aches from the beating he had taken some days back. They were nagging at him afresh. He checked to make sure that he had not lost his Colt. Then he stood up. He watched as the train disappeared down the track.
Bitsy was stunned. She did not want anyone asking what had become of Benton, and she decided that she did not need her bag. She did not want Benton’s rifle or his blanket roll either. She decided to sit in another car where no one had seen the two of them together. She dropped into the nearest empty bench. She sat staring out the window for several miles, not thinking of anything in particular. She was just stunned. A few minutes before, she was headed for a new life with a new man, a rich man, she thought. Now she—She suddenly remembered the saddlebags she was clutching. What was so important about them? She glanced around to make sure that no one could see what she was doing, and she opened up one side of the bags. Her jaw dropped and her eyes opened wide. It was stuffed with money. She closed it quickly and fastened the strap. She looked around again. Then she opened the other side and found the same thing. She fastened it back up and clutched the bags to her closely. She leaned back, and then she realized that she was still headed for a new life, and that she was a rich woman. She did not need Carl Benton or any other man. She had all she needed. When the train stopped in Denver, she would not stop. She would go right away on the next train to San Francisco. She had heard about San Francisco. That was quite a place. A girl with some money could live a damn good life out there. Still clutching the saddlebags tight, she leaned her head back and closed her eyes and smiled.
Slocum dusted off his clothes. He was standing in the middle of nowhere. The only indication that there was any civilization anywhere was the railroad tracks. He hitched his britches and started walking. Before long he came to the twisted body of Carl Benton. Someone would find it one of these days, and they would puzzle over what had happened. He took Benton’s pistol and tucked it into the wais
tband of his trousers. He went through the pockets and found a little money and a couple of cigars. He pocketed all that. Then he stood up and started walking again.
He had gone about a mile when he saw his horse. It was standing off to one side of the tracks grazing contentedly. He walked slowly toward it, not wanting to spook it. He had not known this horse for long. They’d had one hard ride together, but that was it. He talked to it in low and reassuring tones. It looked up and nickered, backing off a few steps. Slocum stopped, but he continued talking. In another moment, he walked again slowly toward the horse. It stood still. He reached out carefully and took hold of the reins. The horse was calm, so Slocum mounted up. He felt tremendous relief in his feet. They were sore from the long walk. He rode casually back toward Blanco.
He spent the night in the Blanco hotel, had a good breakfast in the morning, and then started back toward Texas. He did not really want to go back to Dead Dog, but he thought that Tex deserved to know that her father’s killer had paid for his dirty deed. It took all day to get to the county seat, and then he spent another night in a hotel. Another breakfast in a café, and he spent another day in the saddle.
When he reached Dead Dog, he stopped at the Range Boss Saloon. He went inside to have a drink, and there he saw Charlene. She smiled and walked toward him. He decided that Tex could wait until morning for the news. He would spend another night here in Dead Dog.
Watch for
SLOCUM AND THE APACHE CAMPAIGN
339th novel in the exciting SLOCUM series from Jove
Coming in May!
