Slocum and the Golden Girls

by Jake Logan

  “Why, Jess Cordwainer owns the saloon and this hotel, why?”

  “So, Cordwainer is your boss?”

  “Yes. He takes care of me,” she said.

  “Are you in love with him?” Slocum asked bluntly.

  Ruby stiffened for a split second. Then she ground her hips in a circular motion.

  “He thinks I am,” she moaned.

  “But you’re not.”

  “My, you ask the most delicate questions, John. Delicate and personal. I work for Jess. He doesn’t own me. He hasn’t put a ring on my finger.”

  No, Slocum thought, but he’s put a ring through your nose and leads you around like a trained monkey. He was forming a picture of Ruby in his mind. She seemed to be an ambitious woman who was drawn to powerful men like Cordwainer. She feathered her own nest and, like Cordwainer, seemed not to have any empathy for other people. As long as they were making money and there was a chance to make more from innocent people, they were happy. And they would thrive. Ruby was no better than Cordwainer or the men he hired. She was a hired gun herself, only she preyed on young women, teaching them things they should have learned from decent men, not in a saloon or whorehouse.

  Suddenly, he began to lose all desire for Ruby’s body. She hadn’t come to his room out of passion or personal interest in him, but to seduce him for her own, and Cordwainer’s, gain.

  He stopped pumping in and out of Ruby’s sheath. He started to pull out when she grabbed his hips and pulled him hard against her.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked. “You’re not finished yet.”

  “Yes I am, Ruby.”

  “But I want your seed. I want you to shoot your jism inside me. I want you to feel what I feel.”

  “It’s useless,” he said. “I’ve lost all feeling for you.”

  Her face contorted in anger.

  “Why, you bastard,” she said. “How dare you stop right in the middle of something good.”

  “It’s not good anymore, Ruby.”

  He pushed her arms down and withdrew. That was when Ruby turned into a fighting tigress. She flailed both arms, striking his shoulders with her hands. He backed off her and slid from the bed. His penis lost its rigidity and she looked at him with contempt and fury.

  Then she turned over and her hands slid under his pillow. She dragged his holster and gun belt out and started to draw his .45.

  Slocum stepped over to her and jerked the rig from her hands. She kicked him in the crotch and he doubled over in pain.

  “You bastard,” she hissed, seething with fury.

  “Lady, you’ve worn out your welcome. Now get dressed and walk out of here or I’ll kick you out buck naked.”

  “You lousy sonofabitch,” Ruby spat. “I gave you my body and this is the thanks I get.”

  “Your body’s not worth much,” he said. “It’s been around the horn too many times.”

  He stepped away, picked up her clothes, and threw them on the bed. She kicked and thrashed, her face livid with anger.

  Slocum reached down and picked up his shorts and pulled them on while Ruby glared at him.

  “No man has ever done this to me, Slocum,” she said as she began to dress while still lying down.

  “Then, it’s about time,” he said. He finished dressing and strapped on his gun belt. Then he filched a cheroot from his pocket, stuck it in his mouth, and lit it as he sat down at the table to watch Ruby finish dressing.

  “You’ll pay for killing Al Hutchins,” she warned as she stalked over to him. “You shot him down in cold blood.”

  “He was drawing his own pistol when I shot him,” Slocum corrected her.

  “Constable Mayfair will have you locked up before you can say ‘Jack Robinson,’” she sneered.

  “You know where the door is, Ruby. Get your ass out of here before I throw you out.”

  She snorted and walked to the door.

  He watched as she turned the key. She went out and he heard her heavy footsteps as she stomped down the hall.

  Slocum waited several minutes. He smoked his cheroot down to the halfway mark, then got up and left the room.

  He had found out what he needed to know without Linda Lee providing him with her services.

  The more he thought about the Jubilee and the Polygon House and the stranglehold that Cordwainer had on the town, the more determined Slocum was to go after him and his men. He would either drive them out of Halcyon Valley or kill them.

  First on his list was Joe Creek. Slocum knew what he looked like and he knew which horse he rode.

  He shouldn’t be hard to find.

  Slocum didn’t see anyone at the desk when he walked down to the lobby. He tossed his key on the counter and went out the back door.

  It was a good thing that he did, for waiting just outside the hotel, in the shadows, were two men, their pistols drawn and cocked.

  They were both looking through the front windows of the hotel.

  “Who was that?” Cory Windom asked when they saw a man throw a key on the counter then walk away down the hall to the back door. “Was that Slocum?”“

  Joe Creek nodded and let out a breath.

  “It sure looked like the bastard,” he said. “Black hat, black shirt, black pants.”

  “Damn. He outsmarted us, Joe.”

  “I reckon he ain’t goin’ to be easy to kill, Cory.”

  “Well, we can’t go chasin’ him down the alley this time of night. It’s pitch dark and he might just be waitin’ for us.”

  “We’ll get him some other time,” Creek said.

  “You should have braced him when he was in the Jubilee.”

  Creek shook his head.

  “You didn’t see what I saw, Cory. When he killed Hutch, he was just as cool and smooth as a coiled snake.”

  “Well, if he’s a snake, we got to take a hoe to that bastard and cut off his head.”

  “Ruby wants his balls cut off,” Creek said.

  “Fuck Ruby,” Windom scoffed.

  “I think Slocum already did,” Creek remarked.

  Windom laughed and holstered his pistol.

  Music from the Jubilee poured into the street. The band was playing “Polly Wolly Doodle.”

  The street was empty.

  Halcyon Valley was full of ghosts and a man dressed all in black.

  17

  The Jubilee Saloon was closed at that hour of the morning. The sun was shining on the snow-capped peaks of the mountains, but the little village of Halcyon Valley was still filled with shadows, and the air still bore the night chill. The arrastre was silent and deserted while the rest of the town seemed abandoned of all life, except for the Valley General Store, where Mexicans were unloading groceries hauled up from Grizzly Lake during the night.

  Inside the Jubilee, Cordwainer sat at one of the tables, his cold eyes glaring at the two men who sat opposite him. All had cups of steaming coffee in front of them. Nearby, at another table, sat Ruby Dawson, dipping a teaspoonful of sugar into her cup. A cigarette was burning in the tin ashtray next to her cup, and her eyes were as cold as Codwainer’s.

  Lou Jessup toyed with a .45-caliber bullet, while Pat Morris blew steam from the rim of his coffee cup before taking his first sip.

  “We’ve got a wolf in our sheep camp,” Cordwainer said. He bit off the end of a fat cigar and stuck the other end in his mouth. He picked up a match, struck it on the sandpaper strip glued to the side of the matchbox. He lit his cigar and drew on it. A wreath of blue smoke encircled his hatless head. “Slocum has made fools of us, and he’s only been here a couple of days.”

  “Well, Joe should have stood up to him,” Jessup said. “He’s a damned coward.”

  “And what about Windom? He stood outside the hotel with Joe last night and let Slocum walk right out of the hotel,” Morris said.

  “Mistakes were made,” Cordwainer said. “No doubt about it. I thought Hutch would have more sense, but he let himself get shot dead in front of everybody who was here last night.”
>
  Then he turned to Ruby, who was sipping her coffee.

  “And you,” he said, “you should have taken that little .38 up to Slocum’s room and put his lamp out. Instead, you let the bastard—”

  “Jess,” she said, setting her cup down on the table, “I didn’t know anything about John Slocum when I went up there. Only that he had shot Hutch and I wanted to find out what made his clock tick.”

  “And did you?” Cordwainer snarled. His eyes bulged out and the veins in his neck strained against his skin like purple worms burrowing through sand.

  “He’s a dangerous man, I grant you, Jess. I’d hate to go up against him.”

  “But you did go up against him, Ruby, like the slut you are.”

  She jerked her head back as if she had been slapped. There were dark circles under her eyes and they all could tell she had been crying.

  “I made a mistake. Like you said. I thought I could charm him, make him tell me what he was doing up here in the valley.”

  “You know what I think?” Cordwainer said.

  Ruby, Lou, and Pat all looked at him with blank faces.

  Finally, Lou said, “What’s that, boss?”

  “I think Slocum came up here because he was invited. Someone, some bastard, sent for him, and I think I know who it was.”

  “Who?” Ruby asked, her voice scratching from taking a drag on her cigarette.

  “Wally Newman. Nobody’s seen hide nor hair of him in weeks. His sister, Abigail, knows where he is and I think, no, I know damned well she’s carryin’ food and such out to wherever he’s holed up.”

  “We follered that gal all over,” Pat said, “and she always gives us the slip.”

  “Well, you’re going to follow her again, Pat, and you, Lou, and find out where Newman is hiding. And maybe you’ll find his claim while you’re at it.”

  “So when do we do that?” Lou asked. “Hell, she was gone the other day and we couldn’t even track her.”

  “Mayfair just left here ten minutes before you came. He camped out at her cabin last night and then followed her to Canby’s General Store. She’s riding that dun. Herb’s back at the store now, waiting for Arnie Canby to open up. He’s sure she’s going to buy food and pack it out to her brother’s digs.”

  “Herb’s going to follow her?” Pat asked.

  “No, you goose. You and Lou are. But you’ve got to be real careful this time. Split up, and if she sees one of you, the other’n will take up her trail. I want you both to find Wally Newman and bring him back here.”

  “And if we don’t?” Lou asked.

  “You get that woman. Tie her up and bring her to me at my cabin. Either she’ll tell me where her brother is holed up, or he’ll come looking for her.”

  “You want us to maybe kidnap that Abigail woman?” Pat said.

  There was a silence as Cordwainer glared at the two men.

  “If you don’t bring either Wally or Abigail back today, then don’t come back here yourselves. If you do, and you’re empty-handed, I’ll shoot you myself, or tell Windom to put lead in your damned bellies.”

  “Jesus, boss, that’s pretty harsh,” Pat said.

  “Slocum is a thorn in my side. Windom and Creek are lookin’ for him up here, but in case they don’t find him and kill him, next best thing is to haul Wally and his sister back up here. Slocum will have hell to pay getting to me at my cabin. He’ll run into a storm of bullets if he even comes near all them rocks on Union Flat.”

  Cordwainer drained his coffee cup and slammed the cup down on the table. The sound of the tin striking wood made the others jump in their chairs.

  He blew smoke at Lou and Pat, and another stream in Ruby’s direction.

  He balled up his fists.

  “Do I make myself clear?” Cordwainer said.

  “Yeah, you do,” Pat said.

  “Real perfect-like,” Lou said.

  “Now, get on your horses and down to Canby’s. You stay out of sight and track that gal to Wally’s digs. If you find his claim, I’ll pay you a bonus of one hundred dollars apiece.”

  “What about if we bring him and his sis back?” Lou asked. “Do we get a bonus?”

  “Yeah,” Cordwainer grumbled, “half that. Fifty bucks apiece.”

  “Well, shit fire,” Pat said, “let’s get to it, Lou.”

  Both men got up and left the saloon. They took long strides to go out the back door, where their saddled horses were hitched to a post.

  Ruby picked up her cup and moved over to the table vacated by the two men.

  “You think they’ll find Newman?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. He’s pretty cagey. But if not, they’d better bring that girl back here. She’s the bait.”

  “The bait?”

  “Yeah, like honey to a bear, Ruby. If I’ve got her, either Newman or Slocum will come after her. It don’t matter which.”

  “You know, Jess,” she said. “You’re a pretty smart man. Maybe the smartest I’ve ever known.”

  “And you, Ruby,” he said, “you’re the prettiest whore I ever saw.”

  “Don’t call me that,” she snapped at him. “Don’t you ever call me a whore.”

  “I’ll call you whatever I want, Ruby, and you know it,” he said.

  She dipped her head and struggled to hold back the tears as she squeezed both eyes shut.

  Cordwainer shot her a scornful look and pushed away from the table.

  “But I like you, Ruby,” he said before he walked away. “I like you a lot.”

  He left her there and walked out through the back door.

  “You bastard,” Ruby muttered. “You dirty rotten bastard.”

  Then crumpling, she laid her head on the table and began to cry.

  Sunlight streamed through the windows, and dust motes danced like fireflies in the beams. The sound of her sobbing was the only sign of life in the empty saloon.

  18

  Canby finished totaling up the figures for Abby while she stuffed canned goods, fresh celery, onions, beans, and tobacco into her oversized saddlebags on the counter.

  “Not so much this time,” he said. He was a blubbery little fat man with at least three chins and a bloated tire around his belly. He was balding and wore small rimless eyeglasses that rested on his mushroom nose. His wife helped him in the store since he couldn’t afford to hire outside help on his meager business earnings. They had come out from Iowa and found too much competition both in San Bernardino and Grizzly Lake, so they had taken over a failed business in a log building in Halcyon Valley. His wholesaler down in San Bernardino shipped his orders up by wagon every two weeks.

  Abby opened her purse and drew out several bills. She peeled off a twenty and handed it to Canby.

  “I’ll get your change,” he said.

  He walked to the cash register, pressed some buttons that showed the amount in a small glass window. He put the bill in the drawer and took out two one-dollar bills, a quarter, a dime, and two pennies.

  “There you are, Miss Abby,” he said.

  “Thanks, Mr. Canby.”

  “You in some kind of trouble?” Canby asked.

  “Not that I know of. Why?”

  “I saw you through the shutters when you rode up on that dun horse of yours. I started to go to the back and supervise the unloading of the supply wagon, but something caught my eye.”

  “Oh?” Abby’s eyebrows arched as she stuffed the change back in her purse.

  “I saw Constable Mayfair on his horse. He looked like he was following you. I thought he might ride up to the hitch rail, but he stopped down the street for a minute, then rode off toward the north end of town, where the Polygon and Jubilee are.”

  “I didn’t see him. Are you sure he was following me?”

  “You and he were the only ones I saw. And a little later, I saw him again. He rode up between two buildings across the street. Like he was hiding or something.”

  “Hmm. Sounds very mysterious.”

  “Miss Abby
, when I looked again, he was standin’ just inside the shadows twixt them two buildings, just a-watchin’ the front of my store and your horse out there.”

  “Are you sure, Mr. Canby?”

  “Sure. So before you go, I think I’ll take another look if you don’t mind. You stay right where you are.”

  She turned toward the door and the front window. Canby walked to the shutters and opened them slightly.

  He looked both ways up the street, then closed the shutters and walked back to where Abby waited.

  “He seems to be gone, Miss Abby.”

  “Good,” she said. “I hope the constable found what he was looking for.”

  “Did you hear the news?” he asked. “What happened last night up at the Jubilee?”

  “Why no, Mr. Canby. What happened?”

  “There was a shooting. A man was killed.”

  “Oh? Who? Do you know?”

  “They said it was a man who worked for Mr. Cordwainer. I think his name was Hutchins. They’re buryin’ him and poor Caleb Butterbean out to the cemetery today.”

  “That’s interesting,” she said as she hefted the saddlebags off the counter. “Who shot Hutch?”

  “I dunno. Some stranger. He was all dressed in black. Soon as Hutchins was dead, he lit a shuck.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Canby. That was no great loss.”

  “No’m, it wasn’t, I reckon.”

  She walked outside and looked around before loading her saddlebags in back of her saddle. She saw no one. She unwrapped her reins and stepped into her saddle. She looked up and down the street, but saw no other person at that hour. The sun had cleared the high peaks and was scraping away the puddles of shadows from the foundations of some of the buildings. She raised the collar of her jacket to block the breeze from blowing on her neck.

  She turned the dun away from the hitch rail and rode up the street so that she would pass the constable’s small office. She felt satisfied when she saw Mayfair’s horse at the hitch rail out front. Nothing to worry about, she thought. She guided her horse past the arrastre, into the open. She looked back when she reached a fringe of timber. The town gleamed brown and gray in the rising sun and seemed deserted.

  “Nothing to worry about,” she said to herself as she waited in the timber and looked back toward town.