by Jake Logan
“I . . . I’ll buy you the whiskey if you’ll hear me out. It’s important.”
Slocum saw tears in the man’s eyes. This intrigued him. He had thought the only thing that would make Caleb Castle cry was smoke blowing in his eyes.
“All right,” Slocum said, pointing to a table. He snared the bottle and shot glass. He didn’t care if Castle drank or not. From the man’s agitated behavior, a shot or two of whiskey might settle his nerves—or turn him into a raging maniac like Rolf Berenson.
Castle flopped into the chair and winced as he leaned back. Slocum saw the wood splints Arlene had strapped to the man’s body to keep his ribs from poking through his skin again. Every movement, every breath, must be like sucking fire into his lungs. Slocum couldn’t find too much sympathy for him, though. He sipped at a third shot, savoring its warmth spreading from his mouth and throat throughout his body. The pains he felt were mostly gone now, putting him in a better mood to listen to Castle.
“She’s gone, Slocum.”
“Arlene?” Somehow, this didn’t much surprise him. She had been working herself up enough courage to get a horse and simply ride off. There was nothing but blood holding them together, and Castle had shown little inclination to strengthen that bond.
“I got the land. Me and my lawyer finally backed that son of a bitch crooked mayor down and I got my due.”
“All the land?”
“More ’n a section, all for the back taxes. Only a hundred dollars.”
“You got a good deal,” he said, already losing interest.
“That’s when she was kidnapped. He wants my land as ransom.”
“What?” Slocum shook his head trying to clear it enough to make sense of Castle’s claim. “Deutsch?”
“He’s the owlhoot,” Castle said, nodding vigorous approval that Slocum figured out who Arlene’s kidnapper was so fast. “He took her. He wants all my land turned over to him.”
“The hell you say. That’s about the stupidest thing I ever heard, unless he is in cahoots with the mayor.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Think about it. He kidnaps your daughter, then gets the land as ransom. What’s he going to do with it? You find the sheriff and have Deutsch arrested. He can’t farm the land. He can’t put cattle on it. He can’t go anywhere near it. What kind of ransom is land? Unless he turns it over to the mayor, and then it’s obvious he’s in cahoots and a kidnapper, too.”
“But why else would he have grabbed her like he done?”
“Are you sure it was the same gunman who took her before?”
Castle kept nodding so hard and fast that Slocum thought the man’s head would fall off.
“People saw him. They did.” Castle pointed to the crowd at the saloon door. “Ask any of them. They seen him and Arlene ridin’ from town together.”
“When?”
“Last night at sundown. As bold as brass they rode out.”
“Was she tied up? Did he have a gun trained on her? Or did it look as if she was going willingly?” Slocum remembered how ambiguous Arlene had been about whether she had even been kidnapped before. Deutsch had seemed to want nothing more than information from her, if that. The first kidnapping had had the feel of a drunken prank rather than an outright crime. But if Deutsch had done it a second time, Slocum had to suspect the man’s intent was not all that friendly.
“Ask them. They can tell you.”
“How’d he let you know he wanted your land in exchange for your daughter? Let me see the note.”
“Note? There wasn’t a note. It has to be that. I don’t have anything else a lowdown, no-account cayuse like him’d want from me. My wagon’s gone.”
“Along with your son,” Slocum said. Castle didn’t even hear him.
“I spent a goodly sum on that shyster lawyer and paying the back taxes. I don’t have much left, but what I do have is all yours, Slocum, if you can get her back. I know you were sweet on her.”
A cunning look came to Castle’s eye, showing he hoped Slocum would do the dirty work for nothing.
“I have a job already,” Slocum said. It pained him to admit he wasn’t doing too well at it, either. Twice Berenson had skunked him. There would not be a third failure. He would catch the crazy galoot and return him to his wife.
“Twenty dollars, gold. That’s all I have, Slocum, but it’s yours if you can rescue Arlene.”
“I don’t even know if she needs rescuing,” Slocum said. “She might have gone with him of her own accord. Women can do crazy things, at times.”
“You, Sonny, get your cracker ass in here. Now!” Castle barked at a young man peering fearfully into the saloon. When Castle called his name, the youngster jumped a foot and looked as if he faced a hungry grizzly. Timidly, he pushed through the swinging doors and stood a few paces away.
“Tell him. Tell Mr. Slocum ever’thing you told me. Don’t leave out a single detail.”
“About Miss Arlene leavin’ town, you mean?”
“Yes, you idiot!”
“Shut up,” Slocum said in a low, level voice that brought a new flare of rage to Castle’s eyes. But the old man fell silent when he saw this was a fight he would lose. Always.
“Tell me all about it, Sonny,” Slocum said. “Want a drink?”
“No, sir, I don’t drink.” He pulled up a chair and stared at the bottle, then looked at Slocum. Slocum pushed the filled shot glass in his direction. The young man downed it in a gulp. He didn’t cough or choke, showing this was hardly the first time whiskey had passed his lips. The liquor gave him enough gumption to tell what he had seen.
“I seen both of ’em, Miss Arlene and that Deutsch fella, ridin’ out of town last night at sunset. I remember it was them ’cause she’s so purty and the sun shone right through her blouse and—”
“Don’t pay any attention to him,” Slocum said sharply. He moved his chair to sit between Sonny and Castle. “They were riding west, weren’t they?”
“Why, no sir, they was ridin’ east. Back in the direction the wagons came from a week back.”
“They could take the southern fork in the road and head on down into Texas,” Slocum said.
“Might be so,” Sonny allowed, “but I overheard Deutsch say things like ‘Gila River’ and ‘wilderness’ a couple times. Each time Miss Arlene would say somethin’ I couldn’t hear.”
“Did he have a gun on her?”
“Nope, never left his holster, but he has a mean look about him. Downright cruel, like a man used to killin’ and rapin’.”
“But she wasn’t tied or seeming to be afraid of him?”
Sonny paused a moment, then looked thoughtful. “Never considered that. Nope, she wasn’t afeared of him in the least. They was talkin’ away like they was friends. Old friends,” he said.
“They rode east,” Slocum said. He hadn’t passed them on the road, though he might have missed anyone camped as he returned to Silver City. They would not have had time to reach the southern fork going toward Mesilla and from there into Texas if they only left at sunset.
“Yeah, east,” Sonny agreed. He tried to peer around Slocum to get a look at Caleb Castle, but a simple shift in the chair blocked that.
“You hear Deutsch say anything about a ransom or where he might have taken Miss Arlene?”
“Nope, nuthin’ like that. As I said, they was ridin’ along all cheerful. Well, not cheerful.”
“Friendly?”
“Yeah, friendly, like they’d known each other a spell.”
“Thanks,” Slocum said, dismissing Sonny. The young man shot to his feet and finally got a good look at Castle.
“Real sorry about Miss Arlene, sir,” he said. “She’s ’bout the purtiest filly I ever did see.” He chewed his lower lip, then left.
“See? She was took,” Castle said. “That—that—” he began sputtering.
Slocum turned to face him and saw the man was upset. That more than anything else convinced him.
“I’ll track th
em down,” Slocum said. “For the twenty-dollar gold piece.”
“Here,” Castle said with ill grace. He tossed it onto the table, where it spun a few times before finally falling down with a decidedly golden ring.
“There was no ransom note?”
“None.”
“If he wants to ransom Arlene, he’ll have to send one. You keep an eye out for a courier.”
“And I’ll shoot him!”
“The courier probably won’t know what’s happening,” Slocum said. “Deutsch will give some kid a dime to deliver the ransom note. The kid won’t even know where Arlene is, more ’n likely.”
“What’s that all mean?”
“He didn’t take her too far from town. They’re probably within a few miles of Silver City,” Slocum said, mentally going over the road and figuring the best camping spots. “I need to get supplies, and I’ll head out right away.”
“You do that, but don’t go expecting any more than that twenty dollars. That’s a lot of money.”
Slocum said nothing. Castle had placed an upper limit on what he thought his daughter’s life was worth. Twenty dollars. At least it was in gold.
“You’re purt’ near my best customer, Mr. Slocum,” the owner of the general store said as he dumped yet another sack of supplies on the counter. “If ’n I had a few more like you, I could close up shop and move to Manitou Springs up in Colorado. They got the best waters anywhere.” The man lifted his left arm and showed Slocum he could hardly get it above shoulder level. “Yup, the arthritis has set in. Them waters at the Navajo Spring Hotel are supposed to cure sore joints.”
“I’ve heard that,” Slocum said. He had ridden through Manitou Springs. The sulphur smell had made his horse skittish and he had gotten a headache from it, but that didn’t stop people, even from as far away as Boston, from sitting in tubs of smelly water to cure whatever ailed them.
“Bet you’ve heard ’bout that girl and Deutsch,” the store owner said, leaning closer as if he were sharing a confidence.
“What about them?” Slocum was tired and wanted to hit the trail. He had left Caleb Castle and tried to get some shut-eye, but the townspeople had all opined on the matter. The only one Slocum had not seen was Edna Berenson. That was just as well, since he didn’t want to explain to her that fetching back her husband was a chore still unfinished.
“I think they eloped.” The owner winked broadly. “Yup, that’s what I think. They was all cozy and chattering like magpies.”
“Not like a woman being kidnapped?” Slocum had heard variations on this all over town.
“No, sir, not at all. But she seemed uneasy when they rode past. I caught sight of her face and she was anxious.”
“Do tell.” This was something Slocum had not heard. “As they rode out, before they disappeared?”
“Just at sundown. Yup.”
“Thanks,” Slocum said, wondering anew what had happened. He had swung from one side of the issue to the other trying to figure out Arlene’s reason for going with Deutsch. But he might have Deutsch’s motives all wrong. The gunman was not going to hold her for ransom, but what else could there be? He discounted the store owner’s notion that Arlene and Deutsch had eloped. He had kidnapped her before, if the inept attempt could be called that. She would never marry a man who had treated her so shabbily.
Hurrying now, feeling the pressure of time on his shoulders, Slocum secured his supplies and then mounted. He trotted from town, ignoring those who waved at him. Catching Deutsch and bringing Arlene back had taken on the air of a crusade for these people. It was a romantic notionthat gave them something more than their tedious lives to think on.
The sun poked above the trees and forced Slocum to lower the brim of his hat. The bullet hole let a ray of light shine through into his right eye. He twisted the hat enough to realign the bullet hole. He needed a new hat, but such a luxury could wait until after he had rescued Arlene Castle. And returned Rolf Berenson to his wife.
The road was near impossible to read for marks, but the fork in the road going into the Gila Wilderness showed fresh tracks. The road heading toward Mesilla carried the most traffic, but two horses had gone into the Gila, forcing Slocum to once more consider what Deutsch was up to.
“He wants Rolf Berenson dead,” Slocum said aloud. “Mayerling wants to take him back for murder, but Deutsch wants him dead. And Edna wants him committed to an asylum. And I’m working for her.” Slocum shook his head. No matter who got to Rolf Berenson, the man was not going to like the outcome.
If he liked being a hermit now.
An idea began to form about why Arlene was with Deutsch, though. She had seen Berenson as the wagons rolled out of the wilderness and into Silver City. That made her useful for finding a place to start tracking Berenson. Slocum had to smile ruefully. Unless Deutsch was a sight better tracker than he looked to be, he would never find Rolf Berenson. But finding out from Arlene where to start was logical.
Slocum sucked in his breath when another thought came to him. Maybe Berenson had been spying on the wagon train for another reason. Maybe he had taken a liking to Arlene. She was a mighty pretty woman. Maybe Deutsch intended to use her as bait to lure Berenson out of his lair so the gunman could kill him.
“Judas goat,” Slocum said. “Deutsch is going to use Arlene as a Judas goat.” He had to catch up with them and save her from such a fate. Otherwise, the “goat” was likely to end up dead.
10
He lost the trail. Slocum dismounted, pushed his bullet-holed hat back on his forehead, and looked around the rocky floor of the canyon. Ten minutes earlier he had been following tracks left by the two horses he assumed were ridden by Arlene and Deutsch. Now he could not find any trace at all. It was as if they had simply floated up into the air.
He walked slowly along his back trail, hunting for the spot where he might have missed any spoor. But the trail simply was not there. Slocum stood at the point where he had last found bright scratches on a rock left by a shod horse, looked around, and wondered if they had gone down either of two branching canyons. The cut across the main road taken by the wagon train led to a pair of smaller canyons. He scouted a half mile up the lefthand one, found nothing, and returned to find what trace he could in the right canyon. It was a deep, narrow canyon. Getting to the rim from it would be impossible unless you were a spider able to crawl up sheer rock. Slocum found signs that Indians had been through this way, but some time back. If he had to guess, those signs were at least a month old. Nothing new showed that Deutsch had brought Arlene along this way.
Slocum had hoped, if Arlene was a captive, she would leave some small traces behind as she rode. A scrap of cloth torn from her skirt, a discarded piece of jewelry, anything. Although it was possible he had missed something, he doubted it. He rode back to the main canyon and studied the rising walls. They were nowhere near as sheer as those in the branching canyon, but getting to the top on either side would be a real chore. Slocum knew he might have used up all his luck finding the other path he had taken up to the rim where he had found Berenson before. Getting rock dumped on his head might have signalled the end of his luck, so Slocum vowed to depend more on skill.
Which was failing him now.
He rode deeper into the large canyon until it split again, but he kept riding. This was the route they had taken with the wagon train. It was the only one Arlene knew. But where he had run afoul of Rolf Berenson was some distance away. When he reached a smallish river, he decided to take a break, water his horse, and let the situation bubble around in his head.
After washing the dust off his face and sitting under a shady cedar for a spell, he was convinced he was not going to find Deutsch and Arlene the way he was working. The common item driving everyone, from Mayerling to Deutsch to himself, was Rolf Berenson. Find the crazy old galoot and he would solve all his problems. If Deutsch sought Berenson, and Slocum had Berenson captive, then Deutsch had to bring Arlene along to dicker.
Slocum considered the
situation, since it was likely to require snap judgment if it ever occurred. Would he trade Berenson for Arlene? If he knew Deutsch would kill the old man?
He had to make certain such a trade was never in the cards. But Slocum had not done stellar work to this point and found himself beginning to doubt himself. That would never do, since it spelled death for Berenson and probably Arlene Castle, too.
“How do I catch a handful of wind?” He looked around at the way the fitful breeze blowing down the canyon barely stirred leaves or disturbed pine needles. It was hot and sluggish. This was the time of day when Mexicans took a siesta because of the heat.
This was the very time he ought to be going after Berenson. He heaved to his feet, pulled his horse away from the river, and mounted. Getting his bearings wasn’t too hard. He followed the river a ways, then cut through another canyon with a small stream feeding the larger river. The terrain became more familiar and eventually he knew where he was. Directly to the north was the center of the Gila Wilderness, and on the ridge to his left was the slaughterhouse where Berenson had eliminated two of Mayerling’s deputies.
“Where did you go, Mayerling? I ought to settle a score with you, too.” Slocum knew that the Texas deputy sheriff was only an annoyance now. Let him wander about by himself. The real danger came from Rolf Berenson. Slocum had underestimated him twice before. No longer.
A broad valley gave way to a gentle slope leading up to the rim where he suspected Berenson had his camp. Just before sundown he reached the rim overlooking the canyon where he had led Castle’s wagons a lifetime ago. Slocum sat on his horse and stared down, remembering the nights with Arlene. Her pa was mostly in a stupor from his pain and never knew what his daughter and Slocum were up to. Or so Slocum had thought until Caleb Castle had begged him to rescue her from Deutsch. Castle was a cold man with no real feelings for his daughter.
That made Slocum uneasy. He doubted Caleb Castle had spent one minute of any day thinking about Arlene until she had ridden away with Deutsch—or as Deutsch’s prisoner. What had changed? Castle had his land. That had been the only reason he had come to Silver City in the first place. Why did he give two hoots and a holler about his daughter now, unless something more was at stake?
