by Jake Logan
“I’m not a boy you can shoot in the back like the coward you are,” Slocum said.
“Wolf will tack up your hide on the barn door and set it afire,” Whit said.
“He’d better have a big hammer,” Slocum said.
“You just goin’ to let me die like this?” Whit asked. There was an urgent pleading tone in his voice.
“How do you want to die?” Slocum asked.
“Not slow. Not like this.”
“Sometimes a man doesn’t have a choice,” Slocum said.
He listened to the sound of Jasper’s groans a few feet away.
“You gutshot me,” Whit said. “No man should have to die like this.”
“You’re not a man,” Slocum said. “More of a snake, likely.”
“You rotten sonofabitch,” Whit said.
Slocum kicked Whit’s pistol away with the toe of his boot. Whit saw it slide through the dirt, out of reach.
“It takes one to know one,” Slocum said. He cocked his pistol.
“You goin’ to shoot me again?” Whit gasped as a ripple of pain coursed through his body.
“I’m wondering if you’re worth another bullet,” Slocum said.
“Oh God, the pain,” Whit said. His body vibrated with a wave of pain. His abdomen continued to pump blood and his back constricted in the pain from the exit wound.
“Maybe the pain will make you think of that kid you shot in the back,” Slocum said. “Why did you do it?”
“I ain’t talkin’ to you,” Whit said.
“No last words?”
“Go straight to hell, mister.”
“You give me orders you can’t back up,” Slocum said.
He didn’t know how long the man could live, but his guess was that if he didn’t see a surgeon real soon, he would slowly bleed to death and his heart would stop.
He eased the trigger back to half cock and holstered his pistol.
Whit let out a sigh.
Slocum walked over to where Jasper lay. He was writhing in agony.
He knelt down beside the young man.
“Help me,” Jasper whispered.
Slocum put a hand on Jasper’s shoulder. “Do you know who shot you?” he asked.
“No,” Jasper grunted. “N-Never saw him before.”
Slocum looked at the two wounds. One was a flesh wound in the young man’s side. The other was more serious.
“Get me a doc?” Jasper wheezed.
“Is there one close?” Slocum asked.
“No. Not close. Six, seven blocks, on Arroyo Street.”
“I don’t think you have that much time, Jasper. I can’t stop the bleeding and you’ve got some damage to your innards.”
“I know. I’m real woozy.”
Slocum knew, from the pool of blood beneath Jasper, that he had lost a couple of pints. Blood was no longer reaching his brain.
The young man was dying.
“If you know any good prayers, Jasper,” Slocum said, “this might be the time to start saying one of them.”
“I—I’m dyin’, ain’t I?”
“You’ve lost a lot of blood and there’s no way to get it back in you.”
“I’m dyin’, then.”
“Yes. I’m sorry, son.”
Jasper started to cry. Slocum squeezed his shoulder.
“It’s gettin’ kind of dark,” Jasper said.
“You got any kin in Durango?”
“No. My brother. He was the onliest one.”
“Well, maybe you’ll see him soon,” Slocum said.
He didn’t know what else to say. There was no saving the young man. He was pumping out blood in smaller and smaller flows now. His face was blanched almost pure white. His eyes were glazing over, wet with tears.
Jasper tried to turn over to look up at Slocum, but the pain was too great. He slumped even closer to the ground and one of his hands made a fist. A pitiful fist, as if he was trying to hang on a little while longer.
Jasper gasped something, but Slocum could not understand what he was trying to say. The young man closed his eyes and shuddered.
Then he was still.
Slocum leaned down close to Jasper’s mouth to listen for signs that he was breathing. Jasper’s mouth was closed and so, now, were his eyes. Slocum could feel no pulse when he touched a finger to the big vein in his neck.
Jasper was dead.
Slocum stood up and looked toward the man he had shot.
“Is he dead?” Whit asked.
Slocum did not give him the satisfaction of an answer.
Lou Darvin stirred. He pushed up with both arms and looked over at the dead man nearby.
Slocum heard the sound of a loud grunt and turned to see Lou struggling to get to his feet.
“Mr. Slocum, that you?” Lou called out. He stood up and swayed on his feet. He gingerly rubbed the top of his head and staggered toward Slocum.
“Take it easy,” Slocum said.
Whit groaned in pain.
“What the hell happened here?” Lou asked when he saw Jasper lying there and another man lying on his back, bleeding from a hole in his abdomen.
“That man there shot and killed Jasper,” Slocum said.
“That’s Whit Grummon,” Lou said. “We boarded his horse for a few days.”
“He’s one of Wolf’s men,” Slocum said.
“Wolf?”
“An outlaw in town.”
Lou walked over to Jasper, looked down at him with sad eyes.
“I got jumped,” he said. “I wish I could have—”
“Not your fault, Lou,” Slocum said. “Jasper never had a chance either. He was backshot.”
Lou turned and looked at Whit. Then he strode over to him and glared down at him.
“You’re a worthless chunk of shit, Grummon,” Lou said.
Slocum walked over to stand beside Lou.
Whit’s eyes closed tight in pain. He did not have the strength to reply.
“Let me have your gun, Mr. Slocum. I’ll kill this no-good sonofabitch.”
“No need, Lou. This sonofabitch is just a sliver and a slice from being cold meat.”
Whit’s eyes opened.
They were already glazed over and wide with fear. More blood oozed from his wound. Then his eyes closed and he quivered a moment and stopped breathing. His legs shook for a few seconds and then were still.
“He’s gone,” Slocum said. “There was another man with him. He ran off, but he’s toting a lead slug in his leg.”
“Somebody’s got to pay for what was done to Jasper,” Lou said.
“Somebody will,” Slocum said.
Lou turned his head and looked into Slocum’s green eyes.
“Promise?” he said.
Slocum nodded.
“I promise, Lou.”
Then he put an arm around Lou’s back and held the swaying man, who seemed about to crumple.
The stench of death was in the air, heavy as a coastal fog.
Slocum knew why they had come after Jasper and killed him.
The young man was the only living heir to his brother’s mine.
Now Wolf would have a clear path to ownership of Wilbur’s mine. With forged transfer papers, of course.
Slocum vowed that Wolf would never lay claim to that mine or to anything else.
It was just a matter of time.
But he would hunt the man down and call him out.
That, too, was a promise.
10
Wolfgang Steiner listened to Bert Loomis talk about his encounter with a man dressed in black. Bert spoke through clenched teeth while the local doctor, Herman Alcorn, cleaned the wound in his leg.
“The man ain’t human,” Bert said.
“Ho
ld your leg still,” Doc Alcorn said. He held a reeking wad of cotton in one hand, a long slender probe in the other.
“He’s human,” Wolf said. “And I know who the bastard is, I think.”
“Who in hell is he?” Bert asked as he winced in pain.
“According to Abel Fogarty, the man’s name is John Slocum. He’s been snoopin’ around, checking on that claim transfer I filed.”
“Never heard of him,” Bert said as Doc Alcorn swabbed his wound and poured some yellowish fluid into it.
They were in Wolf’s house, a log cabin that had once been the town’s first small boardinghouse. Bert lay flat on his back atop a long table in the center of the front room. Tony Hobart sat in a chair by the window nearest the front door. He was on watch, and most of his attention was focused on the front yard and the street outside. The room was Spartan, with no pictures on the walls, a cold fireplace swept clean of ashes, three empty cane chairs, and a sofa where Wolf sat, spinning the cylinder on his converted Remington New Model Army in .44 caliber.
Wolf was hard-muscled and lean, with no fat on his bones. He had a chiseled, square-jawed face, high cheekbones, and a Roman nose. His eyes were wide-set, brown as agates, and seemed to glow with his inner avarice. He was a greedy man and had attained dominance over lesser men because of his willingness to kill anyone who stood in his way. He craved power and money and gathered around him the kind of men who had no conscience and little brain power.
He was already concentrating on how to find this Slocum feller who had killed two of his men and was butting into his business.
The doctor finished cleaning Bert’s wound and pushed a salve into both holes in his calf, then wrapped the leg with a soft bandage, tied it tight.
“Stay off that leg for a week or so, Mr. Loomis,” Alcorn advised. “If it starts to bleed again, come see me.”
“Can you give me something for the pain, Doc?” Loomis asked.
“You shouldn’t have more pain than you can bear once the swelling goes down. If your wound doesn’t get an infection, you should heal pretty fast. I can give you some pills that will tone down the immediate pain, but take them sparingly.”
“It burns like hell, Doc,” Bert said.
“That’s because I reamed it all out. The pain will go away by tomorrow morning.”
“Jesus,” Bert said.
The doctor rummaged in his bag and found a small box of aspirin. He poured a dozen pills out and placed them in Bert’s hand.
“Take one or two now. Drink lots of water. No whiskey for a week, and stay off that leg.”
Alcorn closed his leather bag and walked over to Wolf.
“Two dollars for the visit and the doctoring,” Alcorn said.
Wolf dug into his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. He peeled off two one-dollar bills and handed them to Alcorn.
“Thanks, Mr. Steiner. If he starts to bleed or screams out in pain, you know where to find me.”
“Okay, Doc,” Wolf said. “I’m betting Bert’s not going to need you no more.”
“I’ll take a look in a few days and change his bandage. See that he stays off his leg as much as possible.”
“Will do,” Wolf said and holstered his pistol.
Alcorn left and Hobart watched him walk away as he gazed out the window.
“Quack,” Wolf said.
“What do you mean?” Bert asked. He turned over on his side to look at Steiner.
“Them sawbones. They’re all the same. They act high and mighty, dab on some liniment, and give you some pills that don’t do a damned thing.”
“You sound like you got some experience with doctors, boss,” Bert said.
“I’ve patched myself up a time or two,” Wolf said. “I got no use for a quack sawbones.”
“Somebody’s coming,” Hobart said from his perch by the front window.
“Who is it?” Wolf asked.
“Clemson, I think.”
“That peckerhead,” Wolf said. “He’s got the spine of a jellyfish. I can’t stand his constant whining about one thing or another.”
“He looks like he’s got a weight on his mind,” Hobart said.
“Yeah, his hat,” Wolf said. “He has the brains of a pissant.”
Hobart laughed. Loomis grimaced in pain as he tried to sit up.
“Hobart, help Bert get off that table and into a chair.”
Hobart got up and walked to where Loomis was struggling to sit up. He helped him down from the table. Bert leaned on Hobart’s shoulder as they walked to a chair. Bert groaned as he sat down. He was out of breath from the effort.
There was a knock on the door.
“Let Clemson in,” Wolf said.
Hobart opened the door. Clemson walked in, adjusting his eyes to the dimmer light inside the room.
“What you got on your mind?” Wolf asked.
“That man what’s been pokin’ around at the claims office, Slocum. I got a way to get to him, Wolf.”
“Set down and let’s hear it,” Wolf said.
“Well, sir, I got my two gals. And they’re willin’ to put that jasper into, what shall I say, a compromisin’ position over at the hotel. Clara’s willin’ and she’ll point him out when he gets back to the hotel.”
“Did you know Slocum kilt two of my best men? Put a slug into Bert’s leg to boot?”
“Naw, who’d he kill?”
“That’s beside the point. Like you said, Slocum’s puttin’ his nose where it don’t belong. So you aim to put your twins up to what? Seducin’ that sidewinder?”
“Well, it worked before. My gals are willin’ and able.”
“Then what? You goin’ to shoot Slocum while he’s dallyin’ with your gals?”
“Well, no. Not me personally. Maybe, when the time’s right . . .”
“I don’t want to get my hands dirty just yet, Clemson,” Wolf said. “There’s a man or two I can send over with you.”
“That would work,” Clemson said. He kept shifting his weight from one foot to another. And his hands trembled slightly as he stood before Steiner.
“When?” Wolf asked.
“Clara wants to do it tonight. When Slocum comes back to the hotel.”
“What if he don’t?” Wolf said.
“I reckon he has to sleep somewhere. Clara’s goin’ to find out which room he’s in. Then she’ll plant my girls in the lobby, all prettied up. Believe me, no man could turn them down.”
“You’re pretty free with them gals,” Wolf said.
“All in your service, Wolf. That’s the way we planned it and it’s worked so far.”
“You got the conscience of a snail,” Wolf said. “And the morals of an alley cat.”
“Yes, sir. I want to get rich, same as you.”
“I’ll send Rafe Overton and Jake Snowden with you. But this better work. Slocum’s one big pain in my ass.”
“Oh, it’ll work all right. Just make sure them boys don’t shoot my girls.”
“Haw,” Wolf laughed. “You tell ’em to keep out of the way.”
“Oh, I will.”
“What are you goin’ to do?” Wolf asked.
“I’ll keep watch out front of the hotel, and when the gals walk to Slocum’s room, I’ll send Rafe and Jake after him. After a little wait, of course.”
“You go with them, Clemson. Make sure they got the right man. I want Slocum dead as a stone, hear?”
“I hear you, Wolf,” Clemson said. “Uh, should I wait around for Jake and Rafe?”
“No, go on over to the hotel. I’ll send ’em by after the sun goes down.”
“I reckon that’s when Slocum will be comin’ in,” Clemson said. “I don’t know where he is right now, but he’ll want to clean hisself up some before he hits the saloon after dark.”
“You got him
figured, have you?” Wolf said.
“No, but Clara has. She knows men like she knows the back of her hand.”
“Well, she didn’t learn about ’em from you, did she?”
Clemson’s face flushed a soft rose and he looked sheepish.
“Clara’s had some experiences here and there.”
“Yeah, I imagine she has. She’s smart, I’ll say that for her. Cagey, even.”
“Yeah, she is that,” Clemson said.
“Well, you better hightail it. Won’t be long before that sun drops behind the mountains. You’d better be right about this. I don’t want to lose any more men and I don’t want Slocum stirrin’ up trouble while I’m grabbin’ up minin’ claims.”
Clemson left then, and Wolf snorted as the door closed behind him.
“What do you think, Hobart?” Wolf asked.
“Clemson ain’t the brightest spoon in the drawer, but his old lady’s smart as a whip.”
“I agree. I think Clara just stays with him because she can boss him around. She looks quiet, but that woman’s got more balls than a Brahma bull.”
“Yeah. She gives me the willies sometimes. She can tame Clemson with just one look. A look like a damned dagger.”
“That’s why she’s at the center of this whole claims thing. Did you know she killed her first husband?”
“No, Wolf, I didn’t.”
“He cheated on her. She cut him up with a butcher knife.”
“How do you know all this?” Hobart asked.
“My older brother, Hans, was married to her.”
“Did she get arrested and thrown in the hoosegow?”
Wolf rose from his seat and walked to the window. He looked out at all the buildings across the street, the dark corridors in between.
“No, she didn’t,” Wolf said as he watched the shadows gather and crawl up the sides of the cabins across the way.
“How so?” Hobart asked.
“She claimed self-defense,” Wolf said.
“But . . .”
“It was self-defense. Hans made the mistake of hitting her in the mouth. Puffed up her lips. He hit her again and split her cheek. That’s when Clara charged straight at him and buried a knife in his gut, clear to the hilt.”
“And you don’t hold no grudge against her?”
Wolf laughed.
