Slocum and the Sawtooth Sirens

by Jake Logan

  Slocum knocked on the door. He listened for footsteps. Ronnie was still sound asleep, he figured. He knocked again, louder this time.

  “Who is it?” Ronnie called out from either her bedroom or the hallway.

  “Slocum.” Loud enough for her to hear him, but not loud enough to draw attention. Alvin fidgeted and looked around nervously.

  They heard the soft padding of slippered feet. The door opened. Ronnie stood there with a light blue robe covering her nakednesss.

  She stared at Slocum with startled wide eyes.

  “Well, well,” she said, “here’s the Slocum I remember. And Alvin. My, my, what brings you two here so blamed early?”

  “Best if we go inside, Ronnie,” Slocum said.

  “Oh, yes. Sure. Sorry. I’m still half asleep.”

  Alvin and Slocum entered the cabin. Ronnie closed the door, set the latch.

  “I’ll make coffee. God, it’s early.” Ronnie padded off toward her small kitchen.

  Alvin and Slocum sat down, took off their hats. Alvin looked around the room, seemingly dumbstruck.

  “I’ve never been here before,” he said. “Nobody has, far as I know.”

  Slocum said nothing. He leaned his rifle against the side of the divan. Alvin sat in the easy chair a few feet from him, gawking still.

  Slocum focused on Callaway’s face as they both listened to the clang and clunk of iron from the kitchen, common sounds of kindling tossed into the firebox. There was a glow of embers in the fireplace. Slocum got up and lifted fresh logs from the stack next to the hearth and put them on the grate. He took a poker and stirred the ashes. Soon the dry logs caught fire and flames licked the blackened walls of adobe brick and stretched fiery fingers up the chimney. The room filled with warmth after Slocum sat down.

  Callaway seemed lost in thought. He looked into the fire and his brow wrinkled. More clangs from the kitchen, the swish of water being poured into a pot, and the rattle of a can of Arbuckle’s on the kitchen counter. Alvin stopped peering into the fire and looked at Slocum, his face animated and covered with a soft orange glow. Neither man spoke.

  Then they heard the hiss of steam as the coffee water boiled and they heard a door slam on Ronnie’s bedroom. A few moments later, she appeared with a tray and three steaming tin cups of coffee. She was fully clothed in a modest pale green street dress with yellow polka dots, walking shoes, and a concave brooch hanging from a velvet band around her neck. Her hair was brushed to a high black sheen, and her blue eyes were clean of surrounding specks of night dust.

  Sunlight brushed against the front window, and the room danced with shadows that flickered with every lash of flame from the hearth.

  She set the tray down on the small table in front of the divan and handed a cup to Alvin, then one to Slocum. She sat next to him with her cup.

  “I can rustle up some breakfast after coffee,” she said. “I’ve got eggs and smoked ham, some new potatoes, and hominy grits.”

  Alvin grunted, and Slocum nodded.

  “Be fine,” Slocum said. “We may be here awhile.”

  He looked at Alvin, who held his cup to his lips and blew away the tendrils of steam before he drank.

  “I been thinkin’,” Alvin said. “About what you want to do, Slocum.”

  “So he knows who you are now, eh, John?” Ronnie said.

  Slocum nodded.

  “Go ahead,” he said to Callaway.

  “Tom Brody, for one. He’s the boss of all of us who pack guns for Hiram. He’s never far from Bledsoe, and he’s meaner than a grizzly bear with an empty gut.”

  “I’ve seen the man. Wears a badge on his vest,” Slocum said.

  “Yep. He’s a fast draw and a sure shooter. He don’t flinch from a fight and he don’t fight fair.”

  “He at the hotel?” Slocum asked.

  Ronnie’s eyes were bright with curiosity. She sipped her coffee and crossed her legs as if enjoying the talk of combat.

  “Yep, his room is next to Hiram’s and there’s a connecting door. Hiram, he sees boogermen in the dark and he sometimes calls out to Tom to come and watch over him.”

  “How do you know that?” Slocum asked.

  “Tom told me. He says Hiram sees enemies and assassins in every dark corner of a room and sometimes in broad daylight.”

  “Who’s the other man?” Slocum asked.

  “This I ain’t supposed to know, but Hiram’s pretty smart. When the miners lit a shuck out of town, he sent a sleeper with ’em.”

  “A sleeper?” Slocum asked.

  “A spy. He’s a hired gun with a reputation. Long time back, Hiram set him to work a claim just so’s he’d fit in. He knew the day was comin’ when the prospectors and miners would up and run for the high hills.”

  “So this man is up there now, with the miners?” Slocum asked.

  “Far as I know. Word come down that he cut the throat of the man who brung in them rifles.”

  “Jessie Nolan,” Slocum said.

  “Yeah, that’s the man. Tom said this man cut Nolan’s throat in the dead of night. Made him pay for haulin’ in the rifles.”

  “Well, he’ll know the miners are coming back with those rifles in a couple of days,” Slocum said. “Who is he? Do you know?”

  “I don’t know the name he’s usin’ as a sleeper, but his handle is Ralph Fossey.”

  Slocum let out a deep sigh. Batted his eyes open and shut.

  “You know him, Slocum?” Callaway asked.

  “I’ve heard of him. He’s got some notches on his guns. Wears a pair of them.”

  “That’s him,” Alvin said.

  “He’s a fast draw, and if he misses you with one, he gets you with the other.”

  “He don’t usually miss,” Alvin said.

  “John, you can’t go up against a man like that,” Ronnie said.

  “If he’s in the way, I do,” Slocum said.

  Then, he looked at Alvin after a taste of his coffee.

  “Do you know Reed Perkins, Alvin?” he asked, the taste of cinnamon from the Arbuckle’s lingering in his mouth.

  “Yeah, he’s got . . . he had, a claim here.”

  “Right about now, he’s probably telling Rod Scanlon to gather the men in two days to ride in here with their rifles and clean out the town.”

  Alvin let out a low whistle.

  “That means by tonight, Ralph Fossey will be bendin’ Hiram’s ear about that. So the gunnies here will have advance warning.”

  “That’s right. So we have to move fast,” Slocum said.

  “What are you going to do, John?” Ronnie asked.

  “I guess first off, I’ll have to go up against Hiram’s so-called marshal. Then it’s a matter of tracking each hired gun down and dusting them off.”

  “You mean kill them,” she said.

  “If they buck me, yes.”

  Alvin took a swig from his cup. Ronnie sat as if frozen, stiff against the back of the divan.

  Slocum drank and pulled his .45. He spun the cylinder, then returned it to his holster.

  “Will Brody be up and about at this hour, Alvin?” he asked.

  Callaway looked out the window. Although he could not see the sun, he could judge time by the slant of its rays.

  “He might be. If he is, his first stop is usually the café, where he’ll have strong coffee and a big breakfast.”

  “Will he be alone?” Slocum asked.

  “Sometimes he is. If not, there’ll be a man or two coming off watch who’ll sit up at the counter. Maybe another at his table.”

  “Is the café open now?” Slocum asked.

  “It opens every morning at sunup,” Alvin replied.

  “John, you’re not going there, are you?” Ronnie asked. She was leaning forward now, anxious.

  Slocum looked
at her, then at Alvin.

  “You’ll be with me, Alvin?” Slocum asked.

  “I’ll back you, Slocum. Maybe if I go in first, you’ll have a better chance at Tom. He won’t suspect nothin’.”

  “John, are you just going to shoot those men down?” Ronnie said.

  “Oh, I’ll give them fair warning. A chance. More than they give their victims.”

  Ronnie shuddered. She put her cup to her lips as if to drown out the taste of fear in her mouth.

  “You can’t give Tom much of a chance. He’s a stone-cold killer, Slocum.”

  Alvin drained his cup.

  “We’ll play it like it’s dealt,” Slocum said. He finished his coffee, set the cup down. “Let’s go. It might be a long day, Alvin.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” Alvin said and stood up after setting his cup on the tray atop the table.

  “You’re not going to eat breakfast if I fix it?” Ronnie asked.

  “I hunt better on an empty stomach,” Slocum said.

  “I got so many butterflies in my gut, I couldn’t feed ’em all,” Alvin said.

  Slocum rose from his chair. Ronnie slid off the couch. She went to him and wrapped her arms around him.

  “Be careful, John. I want you back when this is all over.”

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “I lead a charmed life.”

  Ronnie snorted in derision. She stood on tiptoes and kissed Slocum. He encased her in his arms and they locked lips for several seconds. Alvin turned away in embarrassment.

  “Let’s get to that café, Alvin,” Slocum said. Ronnie dropped her arms and he dropped his.

  “I’ll miss you,” she said to Slocum. “Alvin, good luck.”

  “Yes’m,” Alvin said and started for the door.

  “I hate to leave such good company, Ronnie.”

  “Thank you for last night,” she whispered, tugging on his arm as if to hold him back.

  But he followed Alvin out the door, into the mote-filled shafts of sunlight streaming down on the buildings, casting early morning shadows along the street. The breeze was fresh and brisk, and the town was still quiet.

  He and Alvin walked in silence toward the main street, sliding between two buildings, Alvin in the lead.

  “You nervous, Slocum?” he asked, just before they stepped onto Sawtooth’s main street. Most of the stores were closed, but there were gleams of light from the café, the saloon, and farther down, faintly from the hotel.

  “Not nervous, Alvin, just anxious to get another look at that badge on Brody’s chest.”

  “You give me the shivers, Slocum, I swear.”

  “We’re just going to the café for a second cup of coffee, Alvin.”

  Slocum grinned, but Alvin didn’t see it. He looked as if he was walking on eggshells as they turned toward the café.

  There was no one on the street. Slocum made sure before he stepped in Alvin’s wake to follow him. Maybe they’d get lucky and Brody would be all alone.

  But he had long since learned that nothing in life came easy. In his mind, he was already counting the six bullets in the cylinder of his Colt.

  Then, for good measure, he counted those in Alvin’s pistol. Five, if he kept one empty as a lot of men did. But maybe six.

  And they might have to use up every one of those shiny cartridges.

  There would be smoke and sparks and, he mused, blood.

  23

  The windows of the Sawtooth Café were steamed up and the men inside were visible only as blurred and distorted figures. A man was alone at a center table and two other men sat at the counter. A male server moved behind the counter, a phantom wearing a white apron and a small cap.

  Alvin opened the door and entered the café. Right behind him was Slocum, adjusting his eyes to the glare of lamplight.

  He looked first at the man sitting at the table, a scattergun laid upon the seat of an empty chair.

  The man wore a badge on his chest.

  “Howdy, Alvin,” Tom Brody said when he saw Callaway. “Who you got with you?”

  The two men at the counter turned around and looked at Alvin and Slocum. Then, they turned back to the coffee steaming in cups on the counter.

  “I’m still shiverin’ from bein’ on that roof,” one of them said. “Alvin.”

  Alvin said nothing. He stepped aside and Slocum moved within ten feet of Brody’s table.

  “The name’s Slocum,” Slocum said to Brody.

  “You a friend of Alvin’s just come to town?”

  “I’m a friend of his,” Slocum said.

  “Pull up a chair,” Brody said.

  Just then, outside the café, Jerry Bassett walked up to the door. He opened it a crack when he saw the blurred figure in black. One look at Slocum and he backed out, with a rapid thumping of his heart.

  “Good godamighty,” he muttered to himself and then strode quickly away toward the hotel.

  Slocum didn’t turn around when he heard the door open and close. Instead, he kept his gaze on Brody as Alvin moved toward the counter, his right hand on the grip of his pistol.

  “Set down, Alvin,” one of the men said. “Coffee’s hot and—”

  That was as far as he got, because Slocum cut him off.

  “Brody, you got a choice,” Slocum said.

  Tom stiffened his back as he sat upright in his chair.

  “Huh?”

  “You can saddle your horse and ride out of town, or have a lead breakfast.” Slocum’s right hand floated down to the butt of his .45 Colt.

  “What in hell’s wrong with you, man?” Brody snapped back. His chair scraped as he scooted away from the table.

  “Your marshaling days are over, Brody,” Slocum said. “Right now.”

  “Why, you sonofabitch. . . .” Brody said, and clawed for his six-gun in its holster.

  That was as far as he got.

  Slocum’s draw was smooth and lightning quick.

  The Colt jumped out of its holster in his hand. He thumbed the hammer back on the rise. The two men at the counter turned around. They faced Alvin with a pistol in his hand, the barrel leveled at the nearest man, Lew Crane, one of Bledsoe’s sentries. The man next to him, Barry Vernon, gaped at Alvin in disbelief.

  Brody’s hand gripped the butt of his pistol. He pulled on the gun, but Slocum squeezed the trigger of his Colt. The pistol bucked in his hand. A fiery orange jet and a plume of smoke shot from the muzzle as the noise of the explosion filled the room and bounced off the walls. The server dropped a plate of food and crouched down, his hands flying to his ears to shut off the boom of the pistol.

  Brody’s mouth hung open as the bullet from Slocum’s gun pierced the top of his breastbone just below the V of his throat. He gagged on blood. His hand went slack and his pistol hung halfway out of its holster. He toppled over, blood spurting from his wound. He gurgled as more blood poured from his mouth and slid over his lower lip. He kicked once or twice after his body hit the floor, and then lay still.

  Slocum swung his pistol toward the men at the counter.

  “You boys got the same choice,” Slocum said. “Ride out of town and no questions asked. Or we’ll drop you both where you sit.”

  “Alvin, what the hell’s goin’ on?” Barry Vernon asked.

  “You heard the man. Light a shuck and live, or die right here, Barry.”

  “You a turncoat, Alvin?” Lew Crane asked, a scratchy husk in his voice.

  “Your days of gunning for Bledsoe are over, boys,” Slocum said. They both heard the snick of his hammer as he thumbed his pistol to full cock.

  “I’ll be damned,” Barry said. “You’re the jasper what shot Carlos and Fidel, damned if you ain’t.”

  “That’s right,” Alvin said.

  “Just lay your guns on the counter and walk out of here,”
Slocum said. “I won’t shoot you when you go.”

  The two men looked at each other. They were outgunned and they knew it.

  “Just what is it you’re tryin’ to do, mister?” Vernon asked.

  “Clean the town of scum like you and that man on the floor,” Slocum said.

  “He means business,” Alvin said. “Better take him real serious.”

  Slowly, the two men slipped their pistols out of their holsters. They held them by the butts and lay them on the counter.

  “Leave your rifles, too,” Slocum said. “Just saddle up and skedaddle out of Sawtooth.”

  “Yes, sir,” the men chorused. They rose from their stools and walked past Alvin.

  “We’re goin’,” Vernon said, “but you’re buckin’ the odds with just you two.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Slocum said. His pistol swung toward them as they walked to the door and opened it.

  “Git!” Alvin barked and the two men jumped outside. The door swung closed.

  Slocum looked at the man behind the counter, who rose from his crouch, his hands in the air.

  “You’re closed for the day,” Slocum told him.

  “Yes, sir, we’re closing,” the man said, and went through the door into the kitchen. Slocum heard him tell the cook to shut down the stove fires and go home.

  “Collect their guns, Alvin, and put their pistols in a sack. Lug one of the rifles. I’ll tote the other one and that scattergun.”

  Slocum holstered his pistol and hefted his rifle to his right hand as he walked toward the chair where the scattergun lay. Alvin went behind the counter, rummaged around, and found an empty flour sack. He put the pistols in the sack and picked up one of the rifles that leaned against the lower face of the counter. Slocum took the other rifle and tucked the scattergun under his left arm.

  “What should we do with these?” Alvin asked Slocum.

  “Put them in my room for now. At the hotel. If we see any more of Bledsoe’s men, we’ll have to divest them of their hardware, too. Dead or alive.”