Slocum and the Gila River Hermit

by Jake Logan

  Slocum ate a hearty breakfast in a small restaurant, bought supplies for the trip, and got back to the livery in time to see the stableman finishing with his horse. Slocum fished in his pocket for the change he had received from buying breakfast and settled his account.

  Slocum felt a momentary pang as he rode from town, knowing he ought to pay his respects to Arlene before moving on, but this was easier. He settled into the saddle and trotted to the edge of town before slowing to a walk. It was a long way to Mesilla, not so much in distance as it was in terrain. Once he got out of the mountains, he would be in hard desert. The half bottle of whiskey would serve him well then on the otherwise dusty trail.

  The sound of hoofbeats behind him caused Slocum to draw rein. He looked over his shoulder and heaved a deep sigh.

  “Hold up, Slocum,” shouted Mayerling. The former Raider yanked on his reins and caused his horse to dig in its heels and skid along in the dirt a few feet. He came to a halt beside Slocum. “Where you going?”

  “Away,” Slocum said. He had no reason to answer to Mayerling. When they had both ridden with Quantrill, he had been the man’s superior. Nothing had changed that over the years, even if Mayerling now wore a deputy’s badge.

  “You’re going after him, aren’t you?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I saw you talking to her. Was she filling your head with her damned lies?”

  Slocum’s thoughts tumbled around. What connection did Mayerling have with Arlene Castle? And what could he be talking about? Arlene’s woes were hardly the stuff of lies. Slocum had seen her dead brother with his own eyes, and he had certainly seen the way Caleb Castle treated her.

  “How do you come to know her?” Slocum asked. “You must work mighty fast. She’s been on the trail for the past couple weeks.”

  “Longer,” Mayerling said. “And if her lips are moving, she’s lying.”

  This riled Slocum. He might ride off without saying a word of good-bye to Arlene, but he wasn’t going to tolerate this back-shooting son of a bitch saying such things about her.

  “I know how long she was on the trail,” said Slocum. “I was with her every minute of the trip.”

  “You double-dealing—” Mayerling was working to get his pistol from his holster.

  Slocum’s draw was quicker, easier from his cross-draw holster. He fired before Mayerling cleared leather. The slug went wide and spooked the man’s horse. For a crazy minute, there was nothing but rearing horses and a huge cloud of brown dust being kicked up that obscured them both. Slocum slid from his saddle and let his horse go. He wanted to get a decent shot at Mayerling, and doing it from horseback wasn’t likely.

  “You can’t cross me, Slocum,” the gunman called. Slocum turned toward the sound and fired where a rider ought to be. But as the dust settled, Slocum saw that Mayerling had done just as he had; they were both on foot, hoping to get a better aim.

  “How’d you come to know her so quick?” Slocum called, wanting to play for time to get into position. He was on one side of the road, hunkered down in the ditch. Mayerling was on the other side, crouched behind a boulder. Slocum had to admit the former Raider had the better position. That would have to change quickly.

  Staying low, Slocum began duckwalking along. He kept as quiet as he could, with the intent of flanking Mayerling. He reached a spot where the road turned sharply. Slocum dashed across there and flopped, belly-down, to get a clear shot at Mayerling.

  Gone. The man had circled the rock.

  “You always were good at hiding, Mayerling,” Slocum said, hoping to prod his foe into action. “Let everyone else take the bullets, then you’d come riding up like you were in the fight.” Slocum sighted along his barrel at the spot where he figured Mayerling would poke out his head. Instead, he got a shot as the incautious man’s arm came into view from around the rock. It wasn’t a killing shot, but it was better than nothing.

  “Damn you, Slocum. You hit me.”

  Slocum said nothing. He had intended to drill him between the eyes.

  “That bitch’s not worth it. What’d she promise you? To spread her legs for you? She’s a whore, Slocum. She’s a goddamn man-eating whore. I ought to know. She played me for a fool in Austin, just like she’s playing you now.”

  This brought Slocum up. It finally occurred to him that Mayerling was talking about Edna Berenson, not Arlene Castle. Because Slocum had been dwelling on Arlene, he had assumed she was the woman Mayerling had meant when he had launched on his vindictive catalog of womanly flaws.

  “I’ll forget this ever happened, Slocum,” Mayerling went on. “Throw in with me. The others are fools. Me and you can find him. We can split the reward. You know how much it is.”

  “I want a sixty-forty split,” Slocum said, still trying to figure out how to get a better shot at Mayerling. He knew the man wasn’t likely to ever want a partner who had just shot him. Slocum would have to watch his back every second of the day. To Mayerling, front or back didn’t matter when it came to shooting a man.

  “She’s turned your head, Slocum. You shouldn’t listen to her. Ride with me, your old partner.”

  Slocum rolled and came to his knees, hoping to catch Mayerling trying to sneak back around the rock. Nothing. Then he caught sight of the gunman running across the road and into the ditch where Slocum had first taken refuge. Rather than trade places, Slocum stood and started firing, but a gunfight wasn’t in the cards. Mayerling only paused in the ditch before racing across the meadow and grabbing his horse. He swung into the saddle and hightailed it away just as Slocum’s six-gun came up empty.

  As Slocum tracked down his own horse and took the time to reload, he considered everything Mayerling had said—and hadn’t said. Slocum knew he had jumped to a faulty conclusion when Mayerling rambled on about throwing in with a “goddamn man-eating whore.” He had not meant Arlene. He must have been talking about Edna.

  Slocum mounted and looked both ways along the road. Ahead led to Mesilla. The other direction would return him to Silver City. He retraced his path. Mayerling was not going to shoot at him and get away with it. More than that, he wanted to find out what the hell was going on.

  By the time he rode back into Silver City, the town’s commerce was running at full steam. Freight wagons carried off loads of supplies to the mines and miners, while ore carriers brought in tons for smelting. The line at the assay office told of a booming industry, but Slocum ignored the bustle and went directly to the solitary hotel smack in the middle of town.

  He presented himself to the dozing room clerk, who could hardly open his eyes.

  “Mrs. Berenson. I want to talk to her. What room?”

  “Cain’t give out information like that,” the sleepy clerk said. Then he came fully awake with Slocum’s fingers around his throat. “Upstairs. Room eight,” he croaked out.

  “Thank you,” Slocum said as he released the man. He was on a short fuse now. The shoot-out with Mayerling was only part of it. Slocum was chewing away at himself over his decision to leave without saying good-bye to Arlene. If only the former Raider had simply let him ride on, none of this would be happening.

  He rapped sharply on the door. Edna Berenson opened it, looking positively radiant. Her midnight-dark hair was mussed, but otherwise she was impeccably dressed, as if she expected to receive royalty. When she smiled, it lit up the dingy hotel and made it seem a fitting place for a royal audience.

  “Mr. Slocum, what an unexpected pleasure. I had not thought to see you again. Did your journey not go as you expected?”

  “I want answers to some questions.” He pushed past her and looked around the tiny room. She had obviously washed her face. On the dresser stood a washbowl and porcelain pitcher in front of the cracked mirror. She had not left the room yet. The filled chamber pot was still to one side of the dresser. If anyone else was in the room, he had to be in the wardrobe. Slocum moved to a spot near the bed where he could see past the partially open wardrobe door.

&nb
sp; “Satisfied that I am alone, Mr. Slocum?” Edna Berenson was amused at his caution. “Or reflecting that you could have awakened this morning other than in a livery stall?”

  He fixed her with his cold look. She was taunting him. Although she danced around it, she was saying he could have slept with her last night if he had accepted her offer to find her husband. Mayerling was probably right in his appraisal of her, but that did not answer any of the questions burning in Slocum’s head.

  “He tried to kill me because he thought I was working for you. Why?”

  “He?” Edna’s surprise might have been faked, but Slocum did not think so. She was shocked at what he said. “Who is this you’re referring to, Mr. Slocum?”

  “Deputy Sheriff Mayerling,” he said.

  “Deputy sheriff?” Edna scoffed. “Is that how he is presenting himself now? The lies that man can conjure. I do declare.”

  “You know him. He knows you.”

  “Of course he knows me,” she snapped. “He’s a bounty hunter after my husband. If Mayerling finds him, he will certainly commit murder. For him, it won’t be the first time. But you know that, don’t you, Mr. Slocum? How is it you know Mayerling?”

  “Why does he want to kill your husband?”

  “What is it to you? You turned down my offer of employment.” She flounced about, her bustle swaying about in a fashion that diverted Slocum’s attention. For a few seconds. He wasn’t over his mad yet, and he wanted answers.

  “Mayerling tried to gun me down as I was leaving town. He thought I was working for you.”

  “Indeed,” Edna said, looking grim. “I am sorry you have—” She looked at him sharply. “You’re here. Where is Mayerling? Did you kill him?”

  “It wasn’t for lack of effort,” Slocum said, “but he got back to town. I want to know what’s going on before I track that owlhoot down and bring a little overdue justice to him.”

  “In the form of a bullet, no doubt,” Edna said. The answer was obvious in Slocum’s expression. “Do sit down, Mr. Slocum. The story isn’t a long one, but it has complicating turns.” She sat beside him on the sagging bed. She made no effort to move away when their weights brought them together on the soft mattress so their legs touched.

  Edna took a deep breath that lifted her bosom and then adjusted her neckline so that a little more skin showed. Slocum thought of an actress preparing to go onstage, but he had to admit this one’s appearance was beguiling. If his anger weren’t still burning inside him like a hot coal, he might have been more impressed.

  “My husband has done some very bad things,” she started. “He made powerful men angry, that is not open to debate, but whether he killed anyone is another matter. Those who have hired Mayerling and his cutthroats want Rolf dead. They have placed a very high bounty on his head.”

  “So Mayerling is nothing more than a bounty hunter?” That fit Slocum’s idea of the man more than him wearing a badge, even though he had seen some of the most crooked owlhoots north of hell appointed as lawmen.

  “An assassin. A killer. That’s what he is, Mr. Slocum. He is a no-account, snake-in-the-grass killer.”

  “He thinks as highly of you,” Slocum said, a small smile coming to his lips for the first time since he had shot it out with Mayerling.

  “I doubt those were his words. If I were not a lady, I would be equally indelicate in my description of him,” she said tartly. “Let it lie at him wanting Rolf dead. Very powerful politicians in Texas would gladly rejoice.”

  “There’s more to them wanting your husband dead.”

  “He . . . knows things. They want him silenced,” she said.

  “And you just want him back? To keep you company at night?” Slocum saw the flash of revulsion at his words. Edna realized her carefully built facade had slipped and spoke to cover it.

  “He might not be a killer, not like they say, but he is a sick man. I have found a sanatorium and a doctor who might be able to help him.”

  “He’s sick?”

  “Here, Mr. Slocum, here,” she said, tapping the side of her head. “He’s not crazy, as you might think. He just . . . has visions. They talk to him and tell him to do things. But he can be helped! I’m sure of it, and that’s why I want him captured—alive—so he can receive treatment that will return him to me the way he was.”

  “He only developed this craziness recently?”

  “He’s not crazy. Don’t say that. He’s got a condition. That’s the way Dr. Foreman describes it.”

  “A condition,” Slocum mused. It sounded as if Rolf Berenson was a raving lunatic who might have killed people and was almost certainly a danger to powerful men down in Texas.

  “I don’t even know if Rolf is here, but I believe that to be true. Mayerling must, also, since he has shown up with his pack of killer dogs snuffling along behind him.”

  “What brought you here, if you don’t know for certain where he is?”

  “The stories of a hermit out in the forest north of here. I’ve spent hours and hours going over news accounts from all over the West. When I read of a hermit being sighted, it caught my attention. The hills must be filled with men who don’t cotton much to the company of others, but this one was notable or it wouldn’t have been reported.”

  “I can see that,” Slocum said. “On the way into town from Fort Wingate, I thought a man was watching me for the past week or thereabouts.”

  “You saw Rolf?” Edna impulsively grabbed his arm. “Tell me about him. Is he all right? Was he thin? Has he been eating enough?”

  “Never saw him up close. He always watched from the rim while I was down on the canyon floor.”

  “I knew he was here. He had to be. Oh, thank you, John, thank you!” She jumped up and spun about so that her skirts rose from the floor, giving him just a glimpse of some ankle. He didn’t know if it was from joy that Edna Berenson spun around or from some desire to further entice him. It hardly mattered. Slocum had already come to a decision on what to do.

  “What’s it worth for me to find him? Or the man I saw out in the Gila Wilderness?”

  “It’s him, I know it must be,” Edna said. She sank onto the bed again, this time much closer to Slocum. Their upper thighs pressed together warmly now. She put her hand on his arm again. “This is the first real hope I’ve had since coming to Silver City.”

  “Others must have seen him,” Slocum said.

  “But it’s been weeks since anyone in town spotted their hermit.”

  “He’s called a wild man up north,” Slocum said.

  “A wild man? Oh, that’s got to be something Mayerling and his cronies have been spreading. Rolf isn’t a wild man. You will find him for me, John? Please? I can make it well worth your while.”

  “I’m sure you will,” Slocum said. He put his hand over hers. Edna did not shy away. “I’ll need more supplies than I have. Tracking a man out along the Gila is likely to take a while. He’s been there for some time and must know the land better than I do.”

  “He’s a clever man, Rolf Berenson,” she said. “But you are a tracker, a frontiersman, a scout. You will find him. I just know it.” She bent over and gave Slocum a quick kiss on the cheek. Before he could respond, she drew back. “How much of an advance will you need for supplies?”

  “How much are you offering to find your husband?”

  Edna looked at him and again a smile danced on her thin lips.

  “Five hundred dollars.” She rose, went to the wardrobe, and searched until she found a small purse. She took out a wad of greenbacks large enough to choke a cow and peeled off several.

  “Here is one hundred dollars. Will that be enough?”

  Slocum took it. Their fingers lingered for a moment before he tucked the bills into his vest pocket.

  “For now,” he said.

  6

  Slocum had just slung the gunnysacks over his horse’s haunches when he heard a determined footstep on the boardwalk. He glanced over his shoulder. His heart jumped and his stomach k
notted when he saw Arlene Castle.

  “You were leaving without saying a word to me, John Slocum?” She stopped, crossed her arms, and tapped her foot on the boards, creating a resonant sound intended to drown out any excuse he might make.

  “I’m not leaving,” he said. “I have a job. I’ll be back to town when I finish it.”

  “What sort of job?” Her expression changed from one of hurt to hope. A small smile even crept onto her lips. It was like the sun poking out from behind dark clouds.

  “Tracking,” he said. Slocum wondered if he ought to say more. If he gave her any of the details and Arlene carelessly mentioned it around town, word might get back to Mayerling and the murdering owlhoots riding with him. That could put Slocum in danger—and Arlene. She had already been kidnapped once because of the crazy hermit.

  “The wild man,” she said, brightening even more. “You’re going out to hunt for him, aren’t you?”

  “It’s dangerous talking about that,” Slocum said. “Keep it under your hat.” His smile matched hers. “Keep it under your bonnet,” he amended. “The fewer folks who know what I’m up to, the quicker I can get back.”

  “Oh posh, how can it be dangerous just talking?”

  “There are men hunting for him, too. They want him dead. If they think you know anything, they’re likely to kill you.”

  “Deutsch?”

  Slocum had tried to avoid bringing up the gunman so as not to upset Arlene. Everyone wanted Rolf Berenson, and it seemed as if the majority wanted him dead. Slocum was working for the only one who wanted him alive, and even then he wondered about Edna Berenson’s motives. She hardly had the look of a grieving wife about her. He touched the wad of greenbacks in his pocket. Still, she was willing to pay to have Slocum fetch her husband from wherever he hid out. Deutsch kidnapped to gain his ends, and Slocum already knew how Mayerling operated.

  “Men a whole lot more dangerous even than Deutsch,” Slocum said. He quickly described Mayerling to her. “Stay clear of him. The man’s a stone killer.”