by Jake Logan
“Sounds great, Martha! I’ll be right in!”
Later, Slocum and Jack pushed back from the table, full as ticks. Martha had made coleslaw and fried potatoes to go with the venison, and there was cake for dessert!
“Mind if I smoke?” Slocum asked, his fixings bag halfway out of his pocket.
“Have I ever?” asked Martha.
“No, ma’am, I don’t believe you have,” Slocum replied, and began to roll himself a quirlie. Lem had already filled his pipe and lit it, and he leaned back in his chair with a satisfied ear-to-ear grin on his face.
He said, “Mother, that was one fine meal,” and Slocum and Jack, who had already voiced their gratitude for such tasty bounty, grunted and nodded their agreement. “Now, Slocum,” he went on, “just what is it that this feller has did that you’re willin’ to track him up here to arrest him? Seems to me you know what it’s like to be on the other end’a that sort’a deal.”
Slocum was ready for him. He said, “Lem, I have had what they call a change of heart about the thievin’ and rustlin’ game. And Jack here is in trainin’ to be my partner.”
Jack took some exception to that last bit, but Slocum stilled him before he had a chance to stick his foot in his mouth. He went on, “I ain’t wanted in Arizona, so it seemed like a good place to start out.”
Lem nodded sagely, with his pipe clamped between his teeth. He plucked it out long enough to ask, “So, he ain’t done nothin’ personal to you, then.”
Slocum shrugged his shoulders. “Not s’far as I know. He’s bilked a lotta folks outta their money, though, money they’d saved up all their lives to buy ranches and such.”
“And a bunch of other things, too!” broke in Jack.
Slocum nodded.
“He’s the one who’s been doin’ that?” Lem suddenly sat forward.
Slocum eyed him. “Why? That stuff goin’ on around here?”
“Hell and damnation! Slocum, last winter a buckboard full’a elephant seekers and their rug rats pulled up outside my front door and demanded I vacate their ranch! They had a bill’a sale and everythin’. I had to go and get the sheriff up at Strawberry in on it, and it went all the way to Prescott before they finally convinced them jackass settlers that they’d been rooked.”
“Now, Lem,” soothed Martha, “they thought they were in the right.”
Lem dismissed her with a wave of his hand. “I don’t care what they thought. This here’s our land, period, been that way since ’65. I lost two sons to it, buried right out there. I fought Injuns for it, and the big cattle ranchers, too, and I knew damn well it didn’t belong to nobody but me and Martha. And that’s the truth of it.”
Slocum leaned forward, planted his elbows on the table, and shook his head. “Lem, I’m truly sorry for your troubles. I didn’t know—elsewise you know I would’a been here.”
Lem nodded, his wrath spent. “I know you would, Slocum. You always been a good and true friend to me, ain’t he, Mother?”
“Yes, Lemuel,” Martha replied soothingly.
“See? Mother agrees, so I know I’m in the right.”
Slocum couldn’t think of a damned thing to say, so he just nodded. Finally, he asked, “Why’d you ask, Lem? I mean, about why I was trackin’ him?”
“Nothin’. Just curious, that’s all. I mean, I don’t believe you never done anything in your life without a damned good reason, and I guess this one’s no different.” He took another puff on his pipe. “Now you, young feller,” he said to Jack, “I got me a dandy bay gelding out in that barn, you see him?”
Jack nodded.
“Good. ’Cause tomorrow, you’re gonna be ridin’ him. You just let that pinto mare of yours stay in the barn until she’s outta season, and everybody’ll breathe a little easier. All right? He reins good, got snake sense, and he’s like ridin’ butter at the jog.”
Jack was pleased. He grinned and said, “You bet it’s all right!”
“That’s settled, then,” Lem announced with a smile. He climbed to his feet and moved from the table to a stuffed chair beside the fire. “I like t’ end my day with a little quiet time an’ a book. You fellers do what you want. You know where the sleeping quarters is, don’t you, Slocum?”
“I sure do. Thanks again, Lem.”
14
The next morning, Slocum found himself and Jack following Lem down what was left of a rutted road, going toward Russian Chimes. The town had been christened by an influx of Russian miners passing through, who stopped to wait out a snowstorm. They didn’t know that snowstorms were rare here, and named the town in hope. They found the gold, too, and cleaned out every last nugget and flake before they moved on.
But they left behind a sort of a town, hastily and shabbily built, and now falling in on itself. As the men rode down the main—and only—street, they passed the ruined stable, an adobe mercantile gone to crumble and melt, and the whorehouse, its once brightly painted exterior peeling in the sun and its caved-in roof.
Slocum had a moment of sorrow. He had fond memories of that whorehouse, and the girls who used to ply their trade there. There had been a little Mexican gal ... what was her name? Aw, hell. It had fallen right out of his head. But she was something, all right.
Constanza, that was it! Man, just when you stopped trying to remember ... He smiled at himself.
The saloon was still mostly standing, he was pleased to see, the peeling name of it still illegible, being written in Russian. Slocum momentarily wondered if the proprietors had forgotten to take along any little bit of their wares. A half-bottle of whiskey hidden under the bar, perhaps, or an unfinished fifth in the back room.
He was thirsty and he knew Lem could use a drink, too. Slocum saw him throw a longing glance toward the old bar, too, but it didn’t last. He led them on, straight down the middle of what was left of the street, with Slocum and Jack wordlessly, patiently following behind him.
They had left Russian Chimes behind now, and were traveling over hard, rocky territory. If Sandy Whatshisname was raising cattle on land like this, he was crazy. But then they crested the gentle rise they’d been climbing, and suddenly, everything was green. Cattle grazed in the valley beyond, and past that, smoke curled from the chimney of one of four buildings that Slocum could see.
As if Slocum had asked, Lem said, “This here’s Sandy’s spread. Goes up north a ways in the mountains and a full day’s ride to the east. Yup, he got him a passel of good land for cattle, all right. And his name’s Sandy Slade, if you were wonderin’.”
Slocum nodded. “Yeah, I was. Thanks for the heads-up, Lem. Appreciate it.”
Jack simply grunted.
They started down through increasingly greening grass toward the cattle and the buildings. Soon they were parting the cattle and riding through, and Slocum could make out more details up ahead. Corrals, an outhouse, two barns of moderate size, a shed, and of course, the ranch house. It wasn’t large or showy, but even from this distance Slocum could see that it was pretty much Apache proofed.
There were gun ports, like those on a sea schooner, on the side of the house that Slocum could see. It was roofed in wood instead of thatch and thickly shingled. Out front, behind a wooden waist-high shield beneath another wooden roof, stood a Gatling gun, the kind that Slocum remembered from the war. Sandy Slade was more than ready for an Indian onslaught, all right.
Slocum was kind of afraid that Sandy would suddenly take them for Apache, and the Gatling gun would all of a sudden open up on them!
But it didn’t, and they rode up into the yard at just about the time that the front door popped open and a sandyhaired, middle-aged man stepped out. “Howdy, Lem!” he called through his thick mustache. “Didya bring me some company?” He nodded toward Slocum and Jack.
“Sorta,” said Lem as he dismounted. Slocum and Jack followed suit and swung down, too. “Sandy, like you to meet my good friend, Slocum, and his buddy, Jack.”
Slocum stepped forward and shook hands with Sandy. “Pleased to meet yo
u, Sandy.” Jack, of course, was right behind him and shook Sandy’s hand as well, but Sandy kept looking at Slocum.
“And the both of you,” he said. “I heard a lot about you, Slocum. Lem talks you up all the time.”
Slocum grinned. “Glad he don’t talk me down.”
“Lem?” Sandy replied. “Never! He told me about the time he shot a grizzer off’a you up in the Rockies, and the time you saved his hide durin’ the war, and well, I guess you know the rest. I mean, you were there and all.”
Slocum smiled and shook his head slowly. “Yeah, reckon I was, reckon I was. But we come to talk to you ’bout somethin’ else today. See, we’re lookin’ for—”
“Rupert Grimes,” interrupted Jack. “We got a picture of him. He’s a wanted man!”
Slocum shook his head, and pulled out the poster, saying, “Lem and Martha tell me it’s not the best drawing, but they thought you hired a man that sort’a looks like him.”
Sandy studied the poster. “Well, shit. Sure looks like him. Kinda, I mean. But they caught the eyes, all right. His name—the one he’s usin’ here, I mean—is Red Garvy. The boys’ll be coming in off the range in about three hours. Care to come in and pull up a chair, have some coffee?”
“That’d be swell, Sandy,” said Lem. “Slocum, you ain’t in no rush, are you?”
“Not me.” Then he looked over at Jack. “Somebody might be in more of a hurry,” he said, “but he’ll calm the hell down for a few hours.”
Jack looked at the ground.
“Well, tie your horses to the rail and come on in, then! I just put on a pot’a coffee, and I think we still got some pie left from last night. You like pumpkin?”
Lem nodded happily. “Louise makes the best pumpkin pie you boys’ve ever set a tooth to. You’re in for a real treat!”
“Better than Martha?” Slocum asked, his eyebrows raised in a kidding sort of way.
“Mother don’t make no pumpkin pies. Says she was absent the day they taught that.”
All the men laughed, even Jack, and then they hitched their horses to the rail, climbed up to the porch, and followed Sandy into the house.
Louise Slade did indeed make one helluva pumpkin pie. She had plenty of leftovers, so Slocum and Jack each had two pieces, complete with freshly whipped cream!
Afterward, the men had a rare afternoon brandy, and they lay the facts before Sandy. “Now, Jack’s in trainin’, remember? He’s got to take this one all by himself, if it’s the right feller,” Slocum concluded. “Nobody goes to help him, ’less he’s in mortal danger. But I don’t figure this fella, Rupert Grimes, is gonna put up much of a fight. Whatcha think, Sandy?”
Sandy nodded. “Seems to me like a real peace lover. Ain’t drawn his gun since he’s been here anyways.”
“There you go, Jack. He’s all yours.”
Jack nodded, although a little shakily. “All mine. Got you.”
Lem spoke. “If you get him and he’s the one, put a bullet right twixt his eyes!”
Slocum shook his head. “There’ll be none’a that, Lem. For starters, the bounty is only if we bring him in alive. If Jack here kills him, then it’s his face on a wanted poster next time. And we’re not lookin’ for that.”
Lem grumbled, “Well, you can smack him around a little, can’t you? For me? For all the trouble his like has put us through?”
Jack said, “Well, maybe a little,” then looked at Slocum as if asking permission.
Slocum looked right back at him and said, “No.”
Lem said, “You boys just ain’t no fun! I mean, he might be the very same slicker what tried to sell my little spread out from under me!”
Slocum shook his head. “I doubt it, Lem. Those guys are a dime a dozen. ’Sides, the poster says he ain’t done that for a while. Lately, he’s switched over to rustlin’ on a small scale. Now Sandy, I reckon that’s why he’s here. Wouldn’t do for him to take on a big outfit like the Aztec up around Flag, and Lem’s spread is too little. You’re middle-sized. Reckon he figured he could take quite a few over a period of time afore you noticed.”
Sandy shook his head, his hands balled into fists. “That stinkin’ little bastard!”
“I agree,” said Slocum, nodding. “But we’re not gonna kill him and we’re not gonna rough him up. We’re gonna take him back down to Phoenix and turn him in, let the law deal with him.”
Both Lem and Sandy sat there like two peas in a pod, shaking their heads and looking generally disgruntled. Jack looked scared, but determined. Again, Slocum silently prayed for a simple flesh wound for Jack, then helped himself to a second brandy. He hoped God was listening today. Or that if he was busy, Jesus was standing in for him. Slocum would settle for Buddha or Allah or even Confucius, so long as he could just arrange a little wound for Jack. Nothing serious, nothing life-threatening, just enough to help turn him away from wanting to bounty hunt for a living, and choose a safer occupation.
Slocum glanced at the clock, which now read four thirty-two. He noticed that Jack was staring at it, mesmerized by the rhythmic sway of the pendulum. Four thirty-two, no, thirty-three now. Sandy said he expected the boys back in around five: supper time. Louise was already banging pots around in the kitchen. He guessed that they didn’t have a ranch cook, and it all fell on her.
Four thirty-five now. He supposed the hands could ride in at any moment. Most cowhands were an easygoing lot, and could be counted on to do absolutely nothing “on time”—except show up for supper. He expected them sooner than later.
Sure enough, at about a quarter to five, they began to file in. All were freshly scrubbed, courtesy of the horse trough, and some still had beads of water glistening on their ears or necks. As the crew dribbled in, Sandy made the introductions to several of the men, always finishing up with, “And y’all know Lem.”
They seemed a friendly bunch. They joked around before they took their seats at the long table between the kitchen and the living room, but once they sat down, they hushed themselves. Slocum thought it must be either out of respect for Louise, or for the coming food, then decided it was more likely both.
As the table gradually filled with bodies, Rupert Grimes was still nowhere to be seen. Jack hissed, “What’s keepin’ him?” at Slocum.
Who replied, “Shut up. He’ll be here when he gets here.”
And speak of the devil! Slocum had barely finished his sentence when the front door opened and Rupert walked in, talking with a couple other hands. Sandy stood up, and Slocum and Jack followed suit. Sandy said, “Well, there’s the last of ’em.” He caught Slocum’s eye and winked. “Louise, we’re a full crew now.”
Louise was already ladling out plates full of beef stew, and the serving plate of biscuits was moving fast around the table. A big bowl of mashed potatoes was swiftly moving in the other direction, followed by a large bowl of steaming green beans.
Sandy had taken his seat at the head of the table by then, but all the other chairs were taken up by the workers. Sandy asked, “You boys don’t mind takin’ second shift, do you?”
Slocum and Jack shook their heads. Slocum figured that a man with Jack’s appetite probably minded, and minded quite a bit, but he kept his peace. For a second there, Slocum was kind of proud. But then he realized what he was proud of, and mentally smacked himself.
15
When the cowhands began pushing back from the table and loosening their belts, Slocum decided it was time to take action. He shot a glance over to Jack, who stood up somewhat reluctantly. “Now?” he whispered to Slocum.
“Good a time as any,” Slocum whispered back. The buzz of conversation from the table negated their reasons for whispering, but they did it anyway. “Go ahead.”
Jack slowly made his way to the table, then around to its other side, stopping once he got behind Rupert. Amid the chatter, he was barely noticed. But he slid his gun from its holster and slowly raised it, so that the muzzle was against Rupert’s temple.
“Rupert Grimes, you’re wanted for l
arceny by the Territory of Arizona, and I’m takin’ you in,” he announced. Rupert went white.
Suddenly, the room was so quiet you could’ve heard a mouse fart, Slocum thought.
Sandy stood up and addressed the men. “Calm down, boys. It’s true, what Jack here just said. Him an’ Slocum rode up from Phoenix, lookin’ for him. And they’re gonna haul him back down tomorrow. Anybody got a problem with that?”
There was no comment from the table. Slocum noticed the men had moved away from Grimes a little. Although he didn’t know how Rupert got along with the other boys, it was always a shock to find out that your saddle pal was a wanted man.
“All right,” said Sandy. “If you boys are finished, you can git on down to the bunkhouse. Somebody gather up Grimes’s stuff and bring it back up, okay?”
“I’ll do it,” said a short man farther down the table.
“Good. Now go on, men. Don’t say I never provided entertainment with your supper.”
A few of the men chuckled into their hands or fists as they filed out, much more sedately than they had filed in. Which left Rupert Grimes at the table, with Jack still holding a gun to his head.
“Jack?” Slocum said.
“Yeah?”
“I think you can put your gun away now.”
“Huh? Oh, yeah.” He holstered the gun, but not before he had Grimes stand up and relieved him of his guns and gun belt, and made him turn out his pockets. The latter action revealed a pocket knife, but nothing else of interest. He looked toward Slocum again. “What now?”
Christ Almighty! Slocum thought. Had this guy learned nothing? He began to suspect that Jack had a brain like a sieve, holding information for only a day or two, then letting it leak away. Hell, he wouldn’t even make a decent shop owner!
Jack gave up on Slocum, who was shaking his head in disgust, and turned toward Sandy. “Do you have a short length’a rope? Even a lady’s scarf’ll do.”
All right. Maybe he retained a few things. He’d remembered the scarf anyway.
