Slocum and the Golden Girls

by Jake Logan

  “And they tried to kill Johnnie last night, too,” she said, and told him about the shotgun blasts that tore up his hotel room.

  She didn’t mention where Slocum had spent the night, but Slocum knew she didn’t have to tell him. He knew.

  “I’ve got a line on a couple of the men who came after me,” Slocum said. “Same men I saw down on Cactus Flat. You know they murdered Lonnie Taylor. Then burned him after tying him to a juniper tree. I saw them ride off afterwards.”

  “Lonnie? Oh no, I didn’t know,” Wally said and he squeezed his eyes shut like tiny fists.

  “You know why they killed Lonnie, don’t you?” Abby asked her brother.

  “I’ve got a pretty good hunch. Lonnie went crazy over that woman, Ruby Dawson.”

  “Ruby’s a bitch,” Abby spat. “She and her bunch of so-called ‘golden gals’ over at the Jubilee.”

  “She runs the Jubilee Saloon,” Wally explained to Slocum. “Rumor has it that she snares young gals and makes them work for her.”

  “She makes slaves of them,” Abby said.

  “Slaves?” Slocum asked.

  “Every so often, the stage comes up from Jackrabbit Valley with a gal or two who answered an ad in some dinky newspaper offering them jobs and maybe marriage. Ruby’s one smart woman and I warned Lonnie not to get tangled up with her.” Wally kicked a clod of dirt with his work boot, and his eyes closed tight again and squeezed out a tear or two.

  “So, Cordwainer’s sweet on this Dawson woman,” Slocum said.

  “I think it’s more than that,” Wally said. “I think they’re in cahoots. And Constable Mayfair is right in there with them. Miners tell me that Ruby and her Golden Gals provide information to Cordwainer about gold strikes and claims. Mayfair will lock some of them up and get more information out of those hapless men. And it all gets back to Cordwainer, who jumps their claims or tortures them to sign over all they have or be hanged on some trumped-up charge Mayfair lays on them.”

  “It’s more than a hornet’s nest you’ve got up here,” Slocum said.

  “You’re damned right it is. That’s why I want to run for constable and knock that drunken Mayfair into the middle of next week where he can’t do any more harm. Will you help me, John?”

  Slocum looked long and hard at his friend. Wally was a lone man in the middle of a snake pit. He was surrounded by greedy and scheming people who had neither morals nor conscience. Halcyon Valley was infected with a disease. It seemed to him that Cordwainer had a strangle hold on the populace of the valley and had managed to ally himself with two dangerous people, Mayfair and Dawson. The constable was probably afraid of Cordwainer, and Ruby Dawson was probably in love with him.

  “You know I will, Wally. I don’t know how I’m going to do what needs to be done, but it burns me to see a man like Cordwainer wield such power over people. He’s like a wormy apple in a barrel full of good ones. He spoils everything he touches.”

  “You’re damned right he does,” Wally said. “But, John, I don’t want you to risk your life for me. If you think you can run Cordwainer out of the valley without getting yourself killed, it would make this a better place.”

  “It wouldn’t be just for you, Wally, and I don’t think Cordwainer is the kind of man who will run from trouble. He seems to have surrounded himself with lawless gunslingers who don’t give a damn about human life. I’d stop his clock for you, Abby, Lonnie Foster, Caleb Butterbean, and all the others he’s trampled on.”

  “Whew,” Abby exclaimed. “That’s the kind of talk I like to hear.”

  “It’s going to be mighty dangerous, John,” Wally said. “I couldn’t go up against Cordwainer by myself. He’d have his men torture me until I told him where I filed my mining claim or make me sign over all my holdings to him. That’s how he operates.”

  “I’m getting the picture,” Slocum said.

  He looked at all the pilings, the shoring logs, and a pile of materials covered by a tarp.

  “What’s under there?” he asked, pointing to the tarp.

  “Dynamite, mining tools, caps, fuses. I only blast at night so nobody can see smoke. They might hear the explosions, but they can’t tell where I’m blasting.”

  “So you think these two mines will pay off?” Slocum asked.

  “I’m sure of it. Come on, let me show you something.”

  Abby and Slocum followed Wally as he left the ravine and climbed to the top. He walked to the farthest end and pointed.

  “I don’t know if you can see it from here,” he said, “but if you look close, you can see the big mine over Ettinger Lake.”

  Slocum could see some of the log superstructure of the Ettinger mine.

  “Ettinger is a smart man and he’s hired the best mining engineers in California. He thinks he’s about to tap into the mother lode and my mines are in a direct line with where he’s drilling and blasting.”

  “I see,” said Slocum. The mines were in a direct line with each other. “So Ettinger is coming toward your mine and you’re digging toward his.”

  Wally laughed.

  “That’s one way of putting it,” he said. “When this planet was formed, millions of years ago, there were volcanoes and upheavals. Gold was pure liquid and it flowed like a river down from Alaska, through the Rocky Mountains, and clear to the coast. When the earth cooled, the gold stayed in little pockets, and some of it, the dust, settled in rivers and streams, and we find gold in the tree roots next to a creek and other places. I’ve found a large vein in the lateral mine and another in the deep rock mine. I believe they’re connected, and that the veins go all the way to Ettinger’s mine and beyond.”

  “Could be big, all right,” Slocum said.

  “Ettinger says that he believes there is a lake of gold right underneath Halcyon Valley,” Wally said. “I think he’s right.”

  “But you can’t get to it,” Slocum said.

  “John, you amaze me sometimes. If I had all the dynamite in the world, I couldn’t blast down deep enough to that lake of gold.”

  “It’s that deep, huh?” Slocum said.

  “Yes, but the fever keeps me going. Keeps me dreaming. I think there must be some old volcano buried under this mountain and it gushed up the gold I’m finding down there in those two digs.”

  The three of them walked back down to the ravine. They spoke some more and then Wally said he had to get to work.

  “I’ll take us back to town,” Abby said.

  Later, as they were approaching the hotel, Abby said something that stuck in Slocum’s mind like a cocklebur under a horse blanket.

  “Johnnie,” she said, “when you meet Ruby Dawson, and I know you will sooner or later, be careful. She’s a witch. And she’s very beautiful.”

  “Beauty is only skin deep,” he said.

  “I’m serious.”

  “Except in your case, Abby. Beauty goes all the way through you.”

  Smiling, she reached over, grabbed his hand, and squeezed it.

  They needed no words to express their feelings, but Slocum thought that he was seeing the first wisp of jealousy flashing from Abby’s inner fire.

  14

  The Jubilee Saloon was next door to the Polygon House. It had a gaudy false front with its name emblazoned in gold lettering framed by paintings of two nearly naked voluptuous women whose large eyes seemed to be staring down at passersby on the street.

  Below the sign there was this legend: come inside and meet the golden gals!

  Slocum noticed that there was a framed walkway leading from the second story to one wing of the hotel.

  Very convenient, he thought as he looked up at the two buildings.

  There were horses tied to the hitch rail. Slocum had walked there from The Excelsior. Abby had arranged for him to have an inside room to store his possessions and said she would stay at her cabin that night after buying more groceries for her brother. She said she would take these to him the next day and meet him in the afternoon. He was still on the first floor
and workmen had repaired his former room, but now he was nearer the lobby and the dining hall and his room had no windows.

  Night came quickly in the mountains and it was full dark when Slocum came to the Jubilee. He knew he had to go there and learn all he could, not only about Ruby Dawson, but about the Golden Gals and the patrons, some of whom might be men who worked for Cordwainer.

  Two of the horses at the hitch rail interested him. He had seen them before, when the three men on Cactus Flat had ridden off after burning Lonnie Taylor. He looked at the tracks they made as they stood there, hipshot. He struck a match and found clear hoof marks. The two horses were the same ones that had been in the alley when his room had been shotgunned. No mistake about it. He even lifted their hooves to see the distinctive marks they had made in the dirt.

  So, he thought, in all likelihood, Hutch and his partner were probably inside the Jubilee. If so, he would have to be very careful and keep them in sight at all times.

  There were a dozen horses at the hitch rail. He did not recognize any of the others, but he wasn’t checking brands either. The two men who had tried to kill him were there, and that was all he cared about just then.

  As he stood outside the saloon, he heard a small band strike up with a lively tune. Music floated out onto the street. Slocum walked toward the batwing doors. Just before he pushed them open, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

  He pushed both doors aside and strode into the saloon. Men and women were clutching one another and prancing around the dance floor. One or two men at the bar looked his way, then went back to staring at the dancers.

  The long bar was on his left and Slocum went to the end of the L where his back would be to the wall. He pulled out a tall stool and sat down. There were two barkeeps on duty. One of them looked over at him and sauntered to his place at the bar.

  “Good evenin’,” the man said. He wiped a spot on the bar in front of Slocum with a scrap of a towel. “I’m Duke,” he said. “What’s your pleasure, mister?”

  “You have any Kentucky bourbon?” Slocum asked.

  “Why, shore. Six bits.”

  “That’s what I’ll have then,” Slocum said.

  “Comin’ right up,” Duke said and sauntered back down the bar.

  Slocum, now that his eyes had adjusted to the dim light inside the saloon, scanned the tables with patrons. He saw women dressed in gold lamé costumes sitting with some of the male customers. One or two were dancing. They wore short skirts, black silk stockings, and tight, low-cut bodices with thin golden stripes from bosom to waist.

  Duke brought a bottle of Kentucky’s Finest and a shot glass. He poured the glass nearly full and recorked the bottle.

  Slocum looked at the label.

  “That’s a new one on me,” he said to the barkeep.

  “It’s all we have. Don’t get much call for bourbon, Kentucky or Tennessee. Mostly whiskey. It’s still six bits.”

  Slocum laid a silver dollar on the bar.

  Duke looked at it.

  “I’ll bring your change,” he said.

  “Keep it,” Slocum said.

  “Thanks. Should I leave the bottle?”

  “I’ll let you know after I have a taste,” Slocum said. “Got a glass of water in case I catch fire?”

  Duke grinned. “Sure. That’ll be two bits extry.”

  “Like I said, Duke, keep the change after you bring the water.”

  Duke frowned. He poured water from a pitcher into a tumbler and brought it to Slocum, set it down.

  “You just come to town?” Duke asked.

  “Yes.” Slocum swallowed half of the whiskey and didn’t tear up or blink.

  “That suit you?”

  “It’ll do. You can leave the bottle. I might want another.”

  Duke set the bottle next to the tumbler of water.

  “I didn’t get your name,” the bartender said.

  “Didn’t give it.”

  “Is it a secret?”

  “The name’s Slocum. John Slocum.”

  “Here on business? Maybe lookin’ for gold.”

  “No. Just moseying around. I came up here for the fresh air.”

  “Well, we got plenty of that,” Duke said. “But if you want more than air, I can have one of the golden gals come over and keep you company.”

  “That would be fine. Find me the youngest and prettiest, will you, Duke?”

  Duke smiled indulgently.

  “Sure, that would be Linda Lee. She ain’t been here long and she’s mighty pretty. Can’t be more’n nineteen or twenty.”

  Slocum downed the rest of his drink and poured another. He set another silver dollar on the bar and watched as Duke beckoned to a girl who was sitting next to the wall as if she were at a town dance and waiting for someone to ask her out onto the floor.

  The girl rose up and went to the bar. Duke whispered something to her and pointed to Slocum. She fluffed her blond hair and walked to the end of the bar. Slocum stood up and pulled a stool out for her. He helped her onto it and she smiled at him.

  “I’m Linda Lee,” she said. “Buy me a drink?”

  “I’m John,” he said. “What would you like?”

  “Duke knows. Just lift a finger and he’ll bring it.”

  Slocum wondered what kind of tea they used for the glitter gals’ drinks. Orange Pekoe & Pekoe or some cheap domestic brand.

  Duke brought Linda Lee a dark drink with a cherry on a stem dangling down the inside of the glass.

  “That’ll be two bucks, Mr. Slocum,” Duke said, picking up the silver dollar.

  Slocum fished out a folded wad of bills, peeled off two ones, and laid them on the bartop.

  “I know,” Duke said. “Keep the change.” There was just the slightest bit of sarcasm to his tone. Slocum poured himself another shot and drank water from his glass.

  Linda sipped her drink. It smelled faintly of whiskey, but Slocum knew that it was mostly tea in her glass.

  “Where are you from, Linda?” he asked.

  “Barstow,” she said.

  “What brings you to Halcyon Valley?”

  “I—uh—I just come up here on the stage. To meet somebody.”

  “Look,” he said, “I’m not the law and I don’t work for Cordwainer. I’m just interested in what a nice girl like you is doing in a place like this.”

  “I get that a lot,” she said. “I’ve only been here a week, and Miss Ruby, she tells me I got to be nice to the gents who come in here. She pays my room and board and maybe I’ll meet a nice feller and go live in Los Angeles one of these days.”

  “Can you leave anytime you want?”

  Linda’s face froze as if she had been slapped. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she said through rigid and tight lips. “Please, mister, I don’t want to get in trouble.”

  “Where do you stay when you’re not here?” he asked.

  “I have a room at the Polygon,” she said.

  “What would you charge me if I went to visit you in your room?”

  She looked at him, wide-eyed. Her eyes were dark blue, with long groomed lashes. She had an oval face, a pert button nose, and wore a black velvet choker around her neck. She looked very young. And very innocent.

  “You have to get your own room at the hotel,” she said. “I come to you. It’s a sawbuck for an hour, fifty for all night.”

  “How much of that do you keep, Linda?”

  “I give it all to Miss Ruby. She gives me what I need for spending money. She pays for my clothes, manicure, and hairdo. She does that for all the girls.”

  “Well, do I just tell the desk clerk at the Polygon that I want to see you?”

  “Yes. He’ll bring me a key to your room. You have to buy whiskey there and pay for one night at least.”

  Slocum glanced over the room. The small band, which consisted of a fiddler, a guitarist, a drummer, and a bassist, were playing a Viennese waltz, and the song was generating several catcalls from grizzled patrons who wanted them to
play something more to their liking.

  “Is Ruby Dawson anywhere around?” Slocum asked.

  “No. She doesn’t usually show up here until after ten or eleven o’clock at night.”

  “Do you know a man named Hutch?” he asked.

  Again, that frozen look on Linda’s face.

  “I don’t know him,” she said, her voice pitched low, “but I know who he is.”

  “Is he here?” Slocum asked. “You don’t have to point, just tell me where he might be sitting.”

  “He’s here,” she whispered. She looked down the bar to see if anyone was close enough to hear her. “He come in with a man named Joe Creek. If you look in the far corner, over to the right, you might see them. They’re drinking beer and smoking cigarettes. I think they’re waiting for somebody.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “They asked Duke if somebody named Cory had come in yet. Duke told them no and they walked back to that table and ordered beers. They ain’t been here long.”

  “Do you know this Cory they asked about?”

  “Just that he works for Mr. Jess Cordwainer. His name’s Cory Windom, I think. He don’t come in here much.”

  “Did you know Lonnie Taylor?” Slocum asked.

  Linda’s body jerked as if she had been electrocuted. She reared back on her stool and blinked her eyes several times.

  “Mr. Slocum, you ask too many questions. Are you sure you ain’t the law?”

  “I’m not the law,” he said. “I just wondered if you had met or knew Lonnie Taylor.”

  “I—I can’t talk about that.”

  “He’s dead, you know,” Slocum said.

  Linda became very nervous. Her hand shook when she lifted her glass. She looked as if she wanted to run and never stop running.

  She lowered her head and then looked up at Slocum.

  “You kin to Lonnie?” she asked.

  “No. I didn’t know him. But I saw him burn up like a human torch down on Cactus Flat. Three men rode away from there. One of them was Hutch. He’s the man I want to see.”

  “He—He’ll kill you,” she whispered, so low he could barely hear her.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because of what the other women here have said about him. They knew that something was going to happen to Lonnie. He kept coming here and sparking Miss Ruby. That’s all I know. Somebody told him to stay away from Miss Ruby, but he didn’t listen.”