Slocum and the Sawtooth Sirens

by Jake Logan

  He and Rod had eaten elk meat and beans at supper, and Doc Livingston had stopped by to say that Jessie Nolan was wide awake and doing fine.

  “After the meeting tonight, I’d like to talk to you in private, Slocum,” Doc Livingston said.

  “Sure,” Slocum said. He was puzzled by the doctor’s request, but was a patient man. Whatever the physician had to say could wait until after the meeting.

  It was dark at the meeting place behind the huge wall of granite and sandstone boulders, but there was starlight and the nearly full moon on the rise high above the jagged peaks that made up the Sawtooth Range, as the miners called it.

  The men huddled close together around a large rock that stood in the center of the holes being dug behind the massive boulders. Rod stood in front of it.

  Slocum sat apart from the cluster of men so that he could judge their reactions to Rod’s speech. He could not see their faces well. All wore heavy beards and their eyes were sunk in darkness. But he saw that they seemed to be of one mind, determined to hear what Rod had to say.

  Slocum listened, along with the rest.

  “Men, we got rifles now. We have plenty of ammunition.” Rod paused and let his words sink in.

  “But,” he said, “we’re not rushin’ into anything. Each of you must clean the lubricant out of your rifle barrels, and then oil the actions. There’s oil, too.”

  Many of the men laughed.

  “For the next two days, we’re all going to sight in those rifles. Reed Perkins is settin’ up a range in that meadow that lies beyond the tree line at your backs. Plenty of air tights to plunk at. You’ll sight your rifles in at twenty-five yards. That will allow you to hit a target at a hundred yards. Don’t try to figger it out, it’s just what I know.”

  Some of the men laughed again. Others chuckled.

  “When your rifles are sighted in and I’m satisfied that you can shoot straight, I’ll go over the plan to take the town back. We have enough men to shoot every one of Hiram’s marshals if we keep our heads and shoot straight.”

  Rod paused again.

  Some of the men began to fidget and squirm. Slocum watched them closely. One man, tall and lean, sat behind the others. His hat was pulled down and the bent brim shaded his bearded face. But he seemed to be slightly apart from the others and there was something about him that Slocum could sense. It was nothing he could put his finger on or describe, but he vowed to watch the man more closely in daylight. He sat straight, while others slumped. Straight back, rigid head. Like a soldier, he thought. Like a cadet on parade. The man was different somehow, but he could not fault him for how he sat or carried himself. No, it was more than that. Perhaps Rod could tell him who he was and how he came to be part of this group of miners.

  “Get a good night’s sleep, but stay on the alert. We’ll post our usual guards, of course, but I don’t expect any of Bledsoe’s men to find us in the dark. Good night.”

  The men all laughed at Rod’s last statement. All but the man who sat slightly apart with his face concealed behind his hat brim.

  Slocum stood up and shook out the stiffness in his leg joints. He turned his head to look at some of the men who were walking away and talking to one another in low guttural tones. Then he felt that someone was watching him and turned quickly. The man he had eyed before at the edge of the group dipped his head and turned away. Had he been staring at Slocum? Slocum wasn’t sure, but he’d always had an instinct that told him someone was staring at him behind his back. Ever since he was a boy in school back in Calhoun County, Georgia, he had relied on that sharp sense. He was seldom wrong.

  The man melted into a clutch of miners walking around the other side of the rocky outcropping and disappeared into the darkness.

  Slocum waited until all the men arose from their sitting positions and walked away. Rod stayed in front of the rock, and Doc Livingston strolled over to Slocum and spoke to him in a whisper.

  “Rod wants to talk to you, Slocum,” Doc said, “but before he does, I wanted to tell you something about Hiram Bledsoe, the man who built and runs Sawtooth.”

  “Why?” Slocum asked. “I’m not part of this.”

  “No, but you might be, after Rod makes you a proposition.”

  “I didn’t know he had a proposition for me.”

  “He does, but listen to me first.”

  “I’m listening,” Slocum said. He towered over Livingston, and his dark clothes made him seem part of the night, part of the darkness. Only a faint spray of moonlight illuminated his features. His head seemed to rise out of deep shadow and disappear under the crown of his hat.

  “I’ve been observing Hiram Bledsoe for several months now, and he exhibits certain traits that make me think he’s mentally unstable. To say the least.”

  “Like what?” Slocum said.

  “When he’s walking alone down through town, if he sees someone walking toward him on his side of the street, he’ll cross over and hide his face. He hides his face, but he’s observing the other person out of the corner of his eye.”

  “That makes him unstable?” Slocum asked.

  Livingston shook his head.

  “Not by itself, but I’ve also noticed that sometimes he’s afraid to enter a doorway. He’ll stand there and look at an open or closed door for a long time before he makes a move to go up to it and either open it or walk through it.”

  “I guess I don’t follow you, Doc.”

  “I’ve had patients before when I was in practice who exhibited the same behavior. They told me that the person in their path changed form, turned into some kind of slavering animal, and they were afraid of such a creature.”

  “What about the doors?” Slocum asked.

  “These people, who were more than a little unhinged, said that the doorway appeared to them as a huge mouth or some kind of cavernous orifice that was threatening and dangerous. They believed that if they went through a door like that, they would be eaten alive.”

  Slocum’s expression went blank.

  “I never heard tell of people like that,” he said.

  “Medicine does not yet recognize the disorder,” the doctor said, “but there has been some literature in my profession that mentions this condition. Some believe that such people either have a split personality or their minds slip from one viewpoint to another. It’s as if such people have a brain carved into two parts.”

  “And what does it all mean?” Slocum asked. “I mean, how does this affect Bledsoe?”

  “I don’t know for sure. But some of my patients with this condition, the two separate brains, have turned homicidal. They said they heard voices.”

  “Voices?”

  “In their heads,” Livingston said. “Or at least in one half of their brains.”

  “What kind of voices?” Slocum’s curiosity was rising as Livingston spoke of a condition he had never heard of before.

  “Some say the voices are coming from demons, or angels. These voices tell them to kill. And some of them do just that. They kill. They murder their wives, their gal friends, their kids, their parents, or complete strangers.”

  “I’ve heard of such men,” Slocum said. “And a few women, too. You think Bledsoe is one of these who hear voices from on high?”

  “I do,” Livingston said.

  Slocum drew in a breath, closed his eyes for a second or two.

  “You tell anybody else about this?” Slocum asked.

  “Who would l tell? Most of the miners wouldn’t understand. They’d think I was the loony.”

  “Why me?”

  “You’re not the average man, Slocum. You’ve survived a tough old world out here in the West and kept yourself above most of the horror you’ve had to deal with. Oh, yes, I’ve heard of you. Heard of you long before I came to Sawtooth. Admired you from a distance, in a way. As a physician, I got word of shootings an
d murders from my colleagues. There is a grapevine among doctors that might surprise you.”

  “It does surprise me. I’ve had little to do with doctors.”

  Slocum looked up and saw Rod approaching at a slow amble. Doc looked around, too, and then patted Slocum on the chest.

  “Let me know what you decide, Slocum. I’ll be off now.”

  Livingston walked away without another word.

  Rod came up close to Slocum.

  “Got a minute?” he asked.

  “All the time you need, Rod,” Slocum said.

  “I have a favor to ask,” Rod said.

  “I don’t do many favors,” Slocum said.

  “A paid favor,” Rod said.

  “I’m listening.”

  “We want you to be our eyes and ears in Sawtooth, Slocum. We’ll pay you fifty dollars in gold per day and a bonus of three hundred dollars if we take back the town.”

  “What do I have to do exactly?” Slocum asked.

  “For one thing, you can’t wear those black clothes, nor ride your horse there. You have to pose as just another prospector coming into town to dig or pan for gold. We’ll give you some old clothes, some equipment, and a horse that won’t be recognized. You’ll find out where Hiram is posting his men, how many there are, and see if there’s a way to get to him when we make our move to take back the town. It might take you a week, or a month, but we must know the odds against us.”

  “I don’t have to kill anybody?” Slocum asked.

  Rod shook his head.

  “Not if you don’t want to. Just roam around town and count heads.”

  “What about this Hiram? Will he put a price on my head? After all, I think he had a couple of your bunch killed already.”

  “No, not if he thinks you’re a prospector. He only killed those men because they had struck gold and he wanted to jump their claims.”

  Slocum pursed his lips and blew a stream of breath into the night air.

  “I don’t much like being a sneak,” Slocum said. “Or a spy.”

  “It will help us a lot and you’ll be well paid.”

  “I don’t hire out my gun,” Slocum said.

  “And I’m not asking you to, Slocum. Just tell us what you see and hear, what you think.”

  “How will I get the information to you? I can’t be riding in and out every day or so. Someone is bound to get suspicious.”

  “At the far end of the valley, past the last diggings, there’s a little rise in the land. We’ll send someone to wait there, out of sight. That will be near where you’ll be panning the creek and digging into the limestone outcroppings. Nobody’s worked that part of the valley. You wait until dark and give out two short whistles and a long one. If you hear an answer, that’ll be one of us.”

  “It might work,” Slocum said.

  “It will work. Hiram’s men will be watching you, but they will be some distance away. It’ll be dark when you make contact, so no one will see you walk a few yards from your diggings and they probably won’t even hear you whistle. Those gunslingers will be looking through binoculars only in daylight and—”

  “I get the picture,” Slocum said.

  “Will you do it, then?”

  “I’ll think on it tonight and let you know in the morning.”

  “Fair enough,” Rod said.

  He slapped Slocum on the back.

  Slocum looked at him for a long moment. He could hear men saying good night to each other and the low mutterings of horses in the rope corral.

  “Can I just ride into town and pick a spot to pan or dig, or do I have to get permission from anyone?” Slocum asked.

  “Just ask someone where there’s a place you can prospect. They’ll tell you to go past the last diggings. Anywhere there’s no stakes laying claim to a mining operation.”

  “And that will be at the far end of the valley,” Slocum said.

  “Yep. Most likely.”

  “See you in the morning, Rod,” Slocum said and walked away.

  When he passed the outcropping, Madge ran up to him.

  “John,” she said, “I was looking for you. Pa and me want you to camp with us tonight. Just get your bedroll and follow me.”

  “How’s Jessie doing?” he asked.

  “Oh, he’s much better. A little woozy, but he downed some broth and fresh elk meat. Soon as he gets his blood back, he’ll be all right.”

  “Thanks for the invitation,” he said. “I was wondering where to lay out my bedroll tonight.”

  Madge laughed and put her arm in his and they walked to where Slocum had left his gear.

  He liked the smell of her. She smelled of smoke and wildflowers, and her hair was shiny, so he figured she had just washed it. She squeezed his hand before he picked up his bedroll, saddlebags, and rifle.

  He walked with her to the camp, where she and her father had settled. The sky was dark and sprinkled with billions of shining stars. Venus and Mars shone bright, and the moon cast a silvery glow on the jagged Sawtooth Range with its snowy peaks and black mass.

  Her father was resting against a pine next to a lean-to with spruce boughs for a roof. There was a small fire ring in front of the shelter, and it glowed and pulsed with dying coals and small winking embers.

  Bullbats knifed the air overhead, away from the pines and spruce trees, and their wings, with the silver dollars on them, made whispering sounds as they flew in eccentric circles and intricate arabesques.

  In the distance, a wolf howled and the sound echoed long after its voice had died away in the darkness.

  Jessie’s eyes were closed and his white bandage shone like a patch of snow.

  “Where do I lay my bedroll?” Slocum asked, his voice barely audible.

  “In the lean-to, next to mine,” Madge said in her soft voice. “If you help me, I’ll put Pa in his blankets.”

  Slocum smiled.

  At least, he thought, he would not sleep alone.

  6

  Jessie Nolan looked up and saw his daughter and the man in black.

  “Meetin’ over?” he said.

  “Yes,” Madge replied. “You didn’t miss anything, Pa. How do you feel?”

  “Tip-top,” Jessie lied. His shoulder ached like fire and his stomach seemed as hollow as a drum. “You see Paul Welch, honey? He was supposed to bring me one of those rifles. Said he’d help me clean it. “

  Slocum squatted down next to Nolan.

  “You’d better take it easy for a while, Jessie,” he said in his low sonorous voice.

  Madge sat down next to her father on the ground.

  “I saw Paul,” she said. “He said he’d stop by in the morning to see how you were.” She patted her father on the calf of his leg.

  “He said I could bunk with him tonight,” Jessie said. “He’s got him a fine big lean-to and laid down spruce boughs under a bearskin that makes a bed like it has springs. I tried lyin’ on my own bedroll and it was like a bed of twenty-penny nails.”

  “Pa . . .” Madge stiffened her back as she sat up straight.

  He waved a hand at his daughter.

  “Now, now, you don’t need to say nothin’, honey. I’m bunkin’ with Paul tonight. I aim to sight in my own rifle and . . .”

  “And what?” she said.

  “I ain’t missin’ the party when we go to take over Sawtooth,” Jessie said, his voice full of stubbornness and determination.

  “Now, Pa, you don’t need to . . .”

  Nolan brushed her away with his good hand and stood up. She looked up at him as if he had lost his senses.

  “Madge, just sling my gun belt over my good shoulder. I’ll camp with Paul tonight. You got company and I’d just be in the way.”

  Jessie stood up on shaky legs, braced himself with an outstretched hand to the tree. Slocum stoo
d up, too, then Madge.

  She pulled his buckled gun belt from under the lean-to and slipped it over his good arm onto his shoulder.

  “Want us to walk you over to Paul’s digs, Pa?” she asked.

  Jessie shook his head.

  “I want to go on my own, darlin’,” he said, and started back up the slope toward the rocky outcropping. He seemed to walk well enough as Madge watched him leave.

  After he had gone, she looked at Slocum.

  “Well, I guess we’re alone, John,” she said.

  “Your pa’s got iron in his muscles,” he said.

  “He’s stubborn as a Missouri mule.”

  “Good trait in a father,” he said.

  “It—I mean, I just feel so lost without him. And he’s hurt.”

  “He’s tough, Madge.”

  “Like you, John?”

  “Like a man I’d ride the river with,” he said.

  She put her arm in his and squeezed him on the biceps with her hand.

  “So,” she said. “What do we do now? It’s early still, and I’m not sleepy.”

  “We can sit and talk and enjoy the evening and the stars,” he said.

  “I’ve got just the spot,” she said and slid her arm from his and took him by the hand. She led him a few yards from the lean-to and pushed him gently toward a large log from a fallen pine.

  The two sat down on the fallen log.

  They did not speak for a few seconds. Both looked up at the night sky. The stars seemed close and the jagged mountain peaks stood out in stark silhouette, with the moon full above them like a shimmering beacon of light.

  Madge reached over and placed a hand on Slocum’s, which was cupping his right knee.

  “Have you ever been in love, John?” she said.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “You’re alone. There is something distant about you. I mean, you don’t say much about yourself. I think you’re a man of many secrets.”

  “I know what love is,” he said.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Love is that devotion to another person, or animal, that binds you to that person, or pet, if not forever, for a long, long time.”