by Jake Logan
He was practically skipping.
12
Slocum waited until after supper to talk to Jack. It took him that long to cool off after he saw Jack come skipping home. By that time, he had his temper under control—well, as “under control” as it could be, considering the circumstances—and thought that if Jack could level with him, then he could level with Jack.
He figured that was downright generous. What Jack thought? That remained to be seen.
When they shoved back from the dinner table, full as ticks, Slocum asked to join him on the front porch for a smoke. Jack readily agreed, especially since he had a couple of expensive hand-rolled, port-soaked cigars figuratively burning a hole in his pocket.
They sat down on the porch swing, and Jack offered Slocum the spare cigar. Slocum took it and lit up, then shared the match with Jack. It’d make this a tad more pleasant. Well, civilized anyway.
“Jack,” began Slocum, “I think we oughta talk.”
“’Bout what?”
Amazed, Slocum slowly turned toward him. “You don’t even know you did anything wrong, do you?”
Jack’s eyebrows bunched, then arched. “Wrong? What are you talkin’ about?”
Calmly—well, calmly for Slocum—he began to elucidate. At length.
When he was finished, all the cocky was washed out of Jack. A couple of times, Slocum thought he was going to burst into tears, and had to change the subject slightly, or steer it in a new direction.
But he got through it, and so did Jack. Slocum was fairly certain that Jack was permanently convinced never to lie to the sheriff again and to quit the self-puffery. If he wanted to pursue this line of work, there were going to have to be a lot of changes made. Or on the other hand, he’d heard of a nice business property that was for sale there in town.
Unfortunately, the hardware store news slid off him like water off a duck’s back, but the warnings about his behavior in the bounty hunting trade seemed to take better hold. That was some comfort, but Slocum would have been a lot happier if Jack had suddenly jumped to his feet at the mention of the hardware store, and shouted, “That’s for me!”
No such luck, though.
Well, Slocum would take what he could get at this point. And, he had to admit, the cigar was good.
“You know,” he said, “I still ain’t satisfied that you can handle things on your own. I believe we’ll take us a little trip in the mornin’ and try again. You game?”
“Sure I am!”
Dumb enthusiasm, thy name is Jack Tandy, Slocum thought, and barely resisted the urge to just smack Jack across the face. No, he’d let life do that, and he was certain it would. Eventually.
Slocum stood up. “Believe I’ll go in now. Coffee’s callin’.”
Jack stood up as well. “Believe I’ll go in with you a ways, but I’m turnin’ at the stairs.” He winked.
“How much is this costin’ you?” Slocum wasn’t getting charged a red cent, but Jack was another matter entirely.
“I dropped about three hundred so far.”
“What?!”
Jack broke out laughing. “I’m just foolin’ with you, buddy. Less’n half that.”
“A hundred an’ fifty is still a whole helluva lot of money. You’d best be savin’ that for your future.” Slocum thumped his forehead with the heel of his palm. “Sorry. I don’t mean to sound like somebody’s father.” Jack must’ve been at it like a rabbit to run up that bill. He’d talk to Katie.
“And that’s what happened, according to him,” Slocum finished up. Katie’d sat through the whole telling, rapt and wide-eyed, but with one eyebrow cocked, which told Slocum that she had her doubts.
She sat back and folded her arms. “And you’re sure he’s tellin’ the truth?”
Slocum shrugged. If he couldn’t count on his partner telling him the truth, then he couldn’t count on anybody. Jack had put him between a rock and a hard place, and now Katie was pushing on the rock. He tried changing the subject. “He also told me that he’s dropped around a hundred and fifty bucks in here so far. That the truth?”
Katie scowled. “I should say not! Not unless Jasmine’s holdin’ out on me, and she wouldn’t do that. She’s a good girl, and she has genuine feelings for that little liar. A hundred and fifty, my ass! It’s more like fifty, tops.”
Now it was Slocum’s turn to arch his brows. Fifty? That damn sonofabitch lied about everything! Or had he just exaggerated to make himself seem more important, more manly?
“Fifty?” he said aloud. “I gotta get rid of Jack, and that’s it.”
“I should say you do,” said Katie.
“Except we’re heading up north tomorrow.”
“What? Why?”
“Because if I just tell him to go away, I’ll never get shed of him.”
“That why you sent him into the saloon alone today?”
“Right. He needs to get his butt whipped all on his lonesome. He needs to figure this out for himself. Mind if I finish my cigar?”
“Not so long as you bring the ashtray over here,” she said, and smiled. She was sitting, cross-legged, in bed at the time.
Slocum gave a halfhearted grin and got up, the springs squeaking, fetched the ashtray, and came back. He perched on the edge of the mattress while he dug out what was left of his cigar, scratched a lucifer into flame, and lit his smoke.
He took a draw on it. One thing about Jack—he knew how to pick a good cigar. It sure didn’t make up for the other stuff, though, Slocum thought. He felt a small, cool hand on his shoulder.
“Why don’t you lean back and relax, and tell me what you plan to do up north,” Katie purred.
Slocum sighed and gave in to gravity. “I think we can find Rupert Grimes up there, somewhere around Russian Chimes.”
Katie looked surprised. “I didn’t know there was anything or anybody left in Russian Chimes! You’re going to a ghost town?”
Slocum shook his head. “No, I said somewhere around there. Ol’ Rupert ain’t worth much, and he’s never been known to use a gun, but he might be good for wearin’ down our Jack.”
“He’s not my Jack. Don’t you go blamin’ him on me.”
Katie had that resolute look on her face, which meant she wasn’t about to be talked into—or out of—anything. And Slocum had no intention of trying either.
He said, “Now, Katie, you know I didn’t mean it like that. He’s not your problem, he’s mine. I hope to God that this’ll take care of him for good and all.”
She nodded. “More like it. I wish you luck.”
He puffed on his cigar. “Thanks. I’m gonna need it. Seems like the little shit always finds somebody to fix it so that he comes out smellin’ like a rose.”
“And you’d rather he came out smellin’ like cow pies?”
“Exactly!” Slocum threw his arm around her shoulders.
Katie sighed. “Men,” she said, resigned. “I’ll never understand how that brain’a yours works.”
“You come closer than any woman I’ve ever met, Katiebird. That’s a compliment, in case you were wonderin’.”
“Figured it was.” She gave her head a slow shake. “Slocum?”
“What?”
“Are we done with talkin’ for a while?”
“I reckon,” he replied through a cloud of smoke.
“Then, can we do somethin’ else?”
“Like what?” he asked before he realized they were in her bedroom, on her bed, and they were still fully clothed. “Oh!” he laughed, tickled by his own denseness. “Miss Katie, would you do me the great and glorious honor of strippin’ off every last stitch of your clothes?”
“I would be delighted, Mr. Slocum. Will you please do the same?”
“De-lighted,” he said, answering like one of those pompous old officers he remembered from the war years. “It would be my distinct pleasure, ma’ am.”
The next morning, Katie waved good-bye from the front yard as Slocum and Jack set out for the north. Of course,
she had kissed and hugged Slocum and told him to watch his back—and for God’s sake not to go to Texas—before he and Jack walked up to the stable. And he knew she meant every pet and every lip-lock of it. But she didn’t need to worry, not really. This would be a piece of cake. He figured he could stir old Rupert Grimes out of the woodwork with no trouble, and bang, Jack’d get a lesson he wouldn’t forget.
Jack groused occasionally for the first two or three miles of the ride, but then that was it. It probably helped when Slocum shot him a dirty look and said, “Shut the hell up, will you?”
Where they were headed, Russian Chimes, had been a mining town until the gold ran out about three years back. The last time Slocum had been through there, it was nothing but a ghost town, with half of the ramshackle-built structures falling in on themselves, and not a single soul around.
Outside the town, though, there were a few tiny pockets of what you could charitably call civilization. Lem Shingle used to live up there, about a mile out, with his family, eking out a scant living by farming and raising the occasional cow. Slocum liked old Lem. He hoped the Apache hadn’t gotten him. Or his kids. What was that little gal’s name? She couldn’t have been more than sixteen the last time Slocum was through—but then, that had been two years or so ago. Pretty little thing, he recalled. Blond.
“How long’s it take to get there?” Jack asked from behind him.
“We can get there before dark if we keep goin’ like we been,” Slocum replied. He knew that Jack’s pinto wasn’t the easiest to ride at a jog, so he added, “Come on. Let’s lope for a spell.”
Jack sprang forward—and Slocum thought he heard a muttered “Thank God” when Jack passed him, but he let Rocky have his head, and in no time he passed Jack.
They were going through pretty country. They gained in altitude all the time, but the grass was thick and green and broken by stray patches of cholla or prickly pear. Insects buzzed, birds sang and called, once they saw a small group of pronghorn in the distance, and not a single Apache was in sight. Or within hearing. Much to Slocum’s surprise, it was turning into a pleasant ride.
Jack had stopped his griping, too. As they loped along, he was grinning like a kid, taking it all in. He had to have been this way before, Slocum thought. He’d said he’d worked in Prescott for a spell, hadn’t he? Well, maybe he’d taken a different route down to Phoenix. If he’d followed the old Butterfield stage route down from Flagstaff, Slocum understood why he was appreciating this so much. He didn’t care for that one so much himself.
He slowed Rocky down to a jog, then a walk, and signaled Jack to do the same. “Let’s let the horses walk for about half an hour, and then we’ll stop and eat,” he said.
Jack nodded and grinned.
Katie had packed them a big sack of grub, which was tied behind Slocum’s saddle, and they were both anxious to see what was in it.
13
They stopped at a quiet spot, took care of the horses, and then broke into Katie’s bag with great anticipation.
And it was worth the wait. Inside, Slocum found half a roasted chicken, a packet of roast beef, sliced and ready to be made into sandwiches with the half a loaf of fresh bread she’d included. There was a bowl of potato salad, too, and half an apple pie! They were in hog heaven, especially when Slocum announced that they’d hit their goal in time for supper.
So Jack made himself a thick roast beef sandwich, pulled off a couple of pieces of roasted chicken, and took half the potato salad, to boot. Slocum figured what the hell, and aped him. He noted that all during lunch, Jack kept eyeing the apple pie, to the point where Slocum had to say, “Jack, the pie ain’t goin’ nowhere. It ain’t got legs, y’know.”
Jack grinned sheepishly and kept on eating.
And that boy could surely eat! Slocum figured that he must have three or four stomachs, like a cow, to put away that much chuck that fast!
They finally made it to the pie, and Slocum decided to make things simple. He just cut the thing in half, took his, and handed the other half to Jack. He went through it like beets through a baby’s backside, and sat back, licking his lips, before Slocum was halfway finished with his.
Slocum made a point of eating slowly, relishing every bite, while Jack sat and watched, empty-handed. Katie had once teasingly accused him of gobbling his food down like a farm animal, but she had yet to see Jack eat after a long morning’s ride. Slocum figured she’d have to set a whole new standard after witnessing that!
They set off again on full stomachs, growing ever closer to their goal. They wouldn’t ride into Russian Chimes itself, not today anyhow. Lem Shingle’s place was just south of the old town, which meant they’d come to it first. And it couldn’t have come at a better time for Slocum. Jack’s pinto mare was almost in full-blown season, and Rocky had been strutting his stuff all day. Well, the long lope had taken some of that out of him, but he was still eager to get to her. If anyone but Slocum had been riding him, he wouldn’t have hesitated to mount her even while Jack was in her saddle.
However, he was doing a good job of minding his p’s and q’s, and so far hadn’t even shoved his nose up her rump. He hoped Lem would have some way to put them up separately.
Some good sound way.
It was just about five in the afternoon when they rode up to Lem’s doorstep. Slocum saw that he’d put a barn up in the two years since he’d visited there, and built an addition to the house as well. Well, you couldn’t call Lem a slacker, that was for sure.
They rode nearly up to the front door before it opened, and Lem came out, carrying a rifle. But when he saw it was Slocum, he let the rifle swing nose-down and gave out a shout. “Mother!” he called. “It’s Slocum, come to visit!”
Slocum returned Lem’s grin and swung down off Rocky. The two men shook hands and hugged and pounded each other’s backs. Lem had saved Slocum from a grizzly bear long ago, but Slocum had never forgotten it: the stench of the bear’s roar, the power of her paw as she just swept him aside like so much kindling, and her weight as she fell on him. It was Lem’s bullet that had taken her down and saved Slocum from being eaten alive, and suffering only a couple of broken ribs.
He reached over and gave Lem an extra sideways hug, for good measure. And for helping him to get out from under the bear as well! Hell, he’d still be there today if it hadn’t been for Lem. He’d just be an unknown skeleton of an unknown man pinned beneath the bones of an unknown grizzly, somewhere in the Rocky Mountains.
Lem seemed to know what he was thinking, and laughed. “You still wrasslin’ that bear, Slocum?”
Slocum flushed. “Well, maybe ...”
Lem laughed again. “And who’s this fine young man?” he asked, nodding toward Jack.
Jack said, “What bear?”
Slocum ignored him and said, “Lem, like you to meet my travelin’ companion, Jack Tandy. Jack, Lem.”
Jack moved forward and held out his hand for Lem to shake, which he did. Just then, Martha came out, drying her hands on an old dishtowel. “Oh, Slocum!” she cried and ran into his arms, hugging him like she’d thought she’d never see him again.
Lem’s face got a little stiff, and Slocum laughed. Lem was well aware of his reputation with the ladies, and every time he got within ten miles of Martha, Lem suddenly remembered it. But Martha was safe. She was as short and round as he was tall and thin, was a wonderful cook, and had a bubbly laugh as effervescent as she was good-hearted. But she knew a scalawag when she met one, and she’d pegged Slocum right off.
That didn’t mean she didn’t like him, though.
She stood back at arm’s length, shook her head, and smiling, said, “Well, look what the cat dragged in, Lemuel! I swan, I never thought we’d see you again, Slocum. What brings you up this way, and who’s your handsome young friend?”
Slocum introduced Jack again, then explained their mission—as much as he could in front of Jack, that was. Lem scratched his chin whiskers for a moment, thinking. Or at least Slocum hoped he was thinkin
g.
And then he said, “Can I see a picture of this feller?”
Slocum dug through his pockets for Rupert Grimes’s poster, and handed it over. Lem studied it for a moment, holding it out at arm’s length and squinting, then said, “Mother, isn’t this the new feller that Sandy hired on?”
Martha moved to look. She cocked her head. “Might be,” she allowed. “It’s not a very good drawing, is it?”
“This Sandy,” said Slocum. “How far away’s his place?”
“On the other side’a Russian Chimes,” said Lem, nodding back toward the east. “I can take ya, iff’n you want.”
“No need, Lem. Just directions, that’s all we want.”
Lem was looking past him. “You’d best be wantin’ a place to confine your friend’s mare, too.”
Rocky was dancing on the end of his reins. Slocum said, “It’d sure take a load off my mind, Lem. Rocky’s been dancin’ the polka all day.”
Lem laughed. “You still got that sense’a humor, Slocum. C’mon, Jack. I got a nice vacant stall where you can put your mare up for the night.” He started toward the barn, and Jack followed him, leading his pinto.
Rocky tried to follow, but Slocum pulled him back. “She’s not your type, big fella,” he said, and smiled. “Sorry.”
He turned back toward Martha. “So where’s that little girl of yours?”
Martha smiled. “Where you can’t get your hands on her, Slocum. She’s back East, at finishing school. And I plan on keepin’ her there so long as you keep comin’ around.”
“Oh, now, Martha, I was lookin’ forward to seein’ her again. She was a cute little button!”
“Uh-huh.”
“Why Martha, you got a dirty mind!” Slocum said, raising his eyebrows as he feigned surprise—and also innocence.
“That’s the pot callin’ the kettle black,” she responded with a laugh. “Go settle your stud in the corral, then come inside for some vittles. I just put on a couple’a extra venison steaks for you and your friend. And glory hallelujah, we got ketchup this year. The tomatoes come up awful good.”
