Slocum and the Trick Shot Artist

by Jake Logan

  Both men seated there pushed away from the table and stood up. “Who the hell are you?” the gray-haired one asked.

  “I’ve heard you’ve been asking around about me,” the well-dressed man at the front of the saloon replied. “My name is Ferril Abernathy.”

  The other man who’d been seated at the table in Slocum’s sights hunched forward as if he was about to cover the distance between himself and the front door in one jump. “You’re Far Eye Abernathy?”

  “Yes,” the silver-haired man replied as if he’d been born for that moment. “I most certainly am. And I believe you two are Matt and Paul Southard?”

  By now, Slocum had circled around the table so he could get a better look at the men seated there. From his new vantage point, he could tell the second man was younger than the first but wasn’t Rob Bensonn.

  “I can tell you men are anxious,” Abernathy said. “Please know that I did not come here to fight. If you push me, however, I will defend myself.”

  “If you didn’t want a fight, you shouldn’t have called us out,” one of the Southards replied. The older one.

  “I came here to face you like a man. It is you who have been hunting me down like an animal.”

  “You are an animal! You killed a Kansas lawman in cold blood.”

  “I didn’t ask for that fight either,” Abernathy replied in a manner that was so flippant it grated against Slocum’s nerves. “I’m giving you this chance to leave me in peace.”

  “Just like you gave Sheriff Cass a chance?” the older Southard asked.

  “That’s right,” Abernathy said.

  The younger Southard gritted his teeth and snarled, “Fuck you and your goddamn chances!”

  Abernathy remained poised, even as his right hand snapped toward his holster and brought his gun up from its spot at his side. The pistol glinted in the sunlight pouring in through the door and window as it barked twice in quick succession. Both men at the table leapt aside, but the younger one tripped over his chair and fell to the floor. The older man dropped to one knee while flipping his table over. That way, a good portion of his body was shielded as he unleashed some return fire from his pistol.

  In this time, Slocum hadn’t stood idle. First, he dove for cover behind one of the other tables. He could hear the customers storming toward the rear of the saloon, where Jocelyn shouted for them to join her behind the bar. Slocum drew his Colt, but was unable to fire before a series of gunshots drove him behind cover. Peeking around the other side of the table, Slocum was just able to catch a glimpse of Abernathy before another round drilled through the table less than an inch away from his face.

  The silver-haired man at the front door stood his ground while wearing an expression that was so calm it bordered on being sleepy. Both of his hands were wrapped around a pistol. Normally, that kind of showboating was left for overeager kids who didn’t know any better or fools. Abernathy was neither. He surveyed the saloon like a man who’d cast his eyes upon a thousand battlefields and pulled his triggers to unleash a flurry of lead that somehow found its mark. Slocum may have taken action in the next fraction of a second, but that time was cut even shorter as more bullets chipped away at the table he used for cover.

  He’d seen plenty of men who were fast with their guns.

  He’d seen a few shooters who could accomplish feats with bullets that were damn near inspired.

  What Slocum hadn’t seen was someone who combined those two gifts as handily as Ferril Abernathy.

  The only thing that put a kink in the savvy shooter’s plan was a deafening roar from Haresh’s shotgun. A single blast ripped through the air, making Slocum wonder if the entire saloon had gone up in flames. Having reflexively dropped to the floor, Slocum picked himself up again as splintered fragments of the tables around him fluttered like insects on all sides.

  Abernathy had stopped firing, but not because he’d been dropped by the shotgun blast. He was gone. The front portion of the saloon was empty. Judging by where most of the damage had been inflicted, the shotgun had been pointed to the right and above the door instead of directly at it.

  “Damn!” Haresh snapped as he reloaded the shotgun. “There were too many of you in here to risk a straight shot. He got away.”

  “The hell he did,” Slocum said as he grabbed the table lying in front of him and used it to pull himself to his feet. Since he wasn’t about to underestimate someone with Abernathy’s skills, Slocum assumed charging out the front door would only give him a quick trip to the hereafter. So he set his sights on the closest wall, drew his knife from its scabbard at his boot, and used a powerful downward slash to cut through the canvas. The opening wasn’t quite big enough to accommodate him, but the momentum behind his body was enough to widen the tear as he shoved through.

  Slocum stepped outside with his gun at the ready to find Abernathy strolling casually away. The older man’s steps were confident, his back was straight, and he even paused to tip his hat to the occasional local woman gawking at him from a safe distance.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Slocum called out.

  Abernathy turned, narrowed his eyes, and fired twice. Slocum barely saw the other man’s arm rise, but he sure as hell felt the lead whip past him. Guessing that the other man’s impressive skills with a shooting iron hadn’t been pure luck, Slocum glanced back to see if Abernathy had been aiming at something behind him. Sure enough, the younger Southard gnashed his teeth while struggling to bring his pistol up to bear. Any strength he had to complete the motion leaked out through the fresh hole that had been blasted into his chest. He let out a pained grunt, dropped his gun, and keeled over.

  “What about me?” Slocum shouted.

  “Fight’s not with you, sir,” Abernathy replied. “I suggest you count that as a stroke of good luck and be on your way.”

  Slocum stood his ground as heavy steps thumped against the floor behind him. A few seconds later, Haresh stepped through the rip in the canvas wall and snarled, “You will just let him leave?”

  “He’ll be looking for me to follow him. Running after him now will only play into his strength.”

  “What strength?”

  “He killed that man pretty handily,” Slocum said while waving back toward the younger Southard’s body. “Expecting him to miss someone rushing after him is taking one hell of a stupid gamble if you ask me.”

  “What else is there?”

  “Any law around here?”

  “Volunteers. One old man and a fellow who won’t do anything if it involves taking him away from his family.”

  Slocum holstered his Colt. “Then let’s try to give him a surprise before he gets out of town.”

  Haresh grinned. “So you do mean to chase him?”

  “Of course. You think I’ll let someone kill another man right in front of me?”

  “Cut down that alley there,” Haresh said while pointing to the narrow passage between two nearby buildings. “I’ll circle around the other way.”

  All Slocum could do was take the path he’d been given and hope his partner wouldn’t let him down. The buildings across the street weren’t much more than large shacks and formed an awfully short alley. Slocum rushed through it in no time, and when he emerged at the other side, he came face to face with a familiar and very angry son of a bitch.

  “Howdy,” Rob Bensonn said as he fired a hasty shot from the Winchester in his hands.

  The shot went wide and Slocum drew his Colt. Less than a fraction of a second later, he fired from the hip. Not only did his bullet fail to draw blood, but it also failed to make Rob back off or even jump aside. Instead, the outlaw stood his ground wearing a wide, sloppy smile.

  “Should’ve left good enough alone,” Rob said while levering another round. “Just like in Tarnish Mills, huh? Guess you’re just the sort who keeps chasing after
things that don’t concern them. Do that too long and it’ll be the death of you. Just like today!”

  Slocum let the other man speak his piece. A small reason for that was the off chance that Rob might actually say something worth hearing. The biggest reason, however, was to give Slocum enough time to square his shoulders, line up his shot, and take a chance of his own. When he saw that Rob was about to fire his rifle, Slocum got ready to squeeze his own trigger, but before Rob’s Winchester had a chance to respond, another shot was fired from higher ground to drop Bensonn straight to the dirt.

  “Wh-What happened?” Rob stammered.

  Slocum kept the Colt aimed at him as he moved to Rob’s side. One boot lowered onto the Winchester to pin the rifle, along with one of the hands holding it, flat against the ground. Whoever had fired the final shot had been well hidden and was most definitely gone by now. Even though Slocum didn’t have a notion as to who’d pulled the trigger or where the shooter had been, there was no reason to tell Bensonn as much. “What happened?” Slocum growled. “You pushed your luck too damn far, you arrogant piece of shit. You think you could just stand there and talk me to death?”

  Rob’s eyes snapped around to look in every direction as if they were rattling in their sockets. “No. There was supposed to be . . . more.”

  “Yeah,” Slocum said. “Lots of men in your spot think the same thing. You’re riding with Abernathy?” When he didn’t get a response right away, Slocum lowered himself to one knee, grabbed Bensonn by the front of his shirt, and lifted his upper body an inch or two off the ground. “What was the purpose of shooting up that saloon? Talk to me!”

  “Why the . . . fuck would I talk to . . . you?”

  “Because you don’t have much time on this earth to talk to anyone else. Besides that, it ain’t as if the men you thought would back you up are going to show their faces anytime soon.” The look on Bensonn’s face was more than enough to let Slocum know he’d touched a nerve. “That’s right. I know you were expecting backup. The only other reason you’d stand there and lure me into one spot without taking any steps to defend yourself was if you were a damn fool who don’t mind dying. I can tell by the terror in your eyes that isn’t true.”

  “Go to hell.”

  “Not before you, asshole. And you’ll be seeing the devil’s face long before the men who left you swinging in the breeze are made to answer for what they’ve done. You want to have some measure of payback? Tell me where I can find your good-for-nothing partners.”

  Anger flashed across Rob’s face, and he tried in vain to lift his Winchester. When he couldn’t, his muscles slackened as if his entire body had suddenly given up its fight to survive. “Son of a bitch.”

  “You forced me into this, Rob.”

  “Not you!” he snapped. “Abernathy and that other one.”

  “What other one?”

  “Justin.”

  Slocum could feel the bite on his fishing line but didn’t want to pull too hard out of fear that he might lose his catch. Rather than press Rob further, he stood quietly and let the wounded man talk at his own pace.

  “That . . . arrogant prick,” Bensonn spat. “He was supposed to be here. I bet he . . . didn’t even want to . . . to cut me loose from that jail cell.”

  “Who’s Justin?” Slocum asked as a tentative prod to keep the conversation headed in the right direction.

  “We were supposed to be . . . working together. Working to . . .”

  Slocum recognized the light fading from Rob’s eyes and hunkered down to get closer to him as he spoke in a louder, clearer voice. “You were left here to die, Rob. Anyone looking out for you could have filled me full of lead five times by now. Abernathy was the one to bust you out of Tarnish Mills?”

  Rob nodded, which obviously caused him no small amount of pain.

  “Then I want to hunt him down,” Slocum said. “I’ll make him answer for what he did.”

  Fighting to keep his eyes open, Rob glared up at him and said, “You don’t give a shit about me dyin’. You don’t give . . . a shit about anyone killin’ me.”

  “You’re right. I don’t care about making him answer for killing you. I mean to make him regret killing the lawman who locked you up. From where you are right now, though, does it make a difference?” After that had soaked in for a second or two, Slocum added, “I aim to bring Abernathy to justice. Do you think he’ll come along quietly?”

  “Hell no!”

  “And what about this Justin who’s riding with him? Do you think—”

  That question didn’t even need to be fully formed before Bensonn laughed at it. “Justin would kill his own mama if he thought he could profit from it.”

  “There you go. Dead is dead. As long as them other two get put into the ground, what the hell difference does it make why they got there?”

  Rob started to talk, but winced and arched his back as a wave of pain shot through him. Blood soaked into his shirt from the wound in his chest to form a spreading crimson pattern in the material. Seeing that, Slocum was reminded of the wound that had ushered Sheriff Cass from this world and into the next.

  “They’re . . . going to Hollister,” Rob finally said.

  “Directly from here?”

  “Should be. That’s where . . . I was . . . supposed to meet . . .”

  As he watched the other man squirm, Slocum was tempted to fire one more bullet into the poor bastard just to put an end to him. It was the same courtesy he’d show to a wounded dog, which didn’t seem fitting for someone like Rob Bensonn. Any choice to be made on the matter was rendered pointless since Rob gave up his ghost with one last shudder that could be heard as his heel knocked against the ground.

  Slocum scooped up the Winchester and continued running along the path he’d chosen when he’d first dashed down that alley. Folks were moving here and there as they made their way down winding paths that cut through the little settlement. There were no more gunshots fired and no more familiar voices raised to catch his attention. It was as if Spencer Flats had simply opened its mouth and swallowed Abernathy whole.

  A few seconds later, Haresh wandered into Slocum’s line of sight. The bigger man held his gaze and shrugged.

  Since Haresh hadn’t had any better luck, Slocum was left with two choices. He could either continue scouring the settlement by looking under every tent flap and through every crooked doorway. or he could turn around and head back to the saloon.

  For the time being, Slocum gave in to the need for a stiff drink.

  9

  As Slocum approached Jocelyn’s, he was stopped by Haresh. “I wouldn’t advise anyone getting between me and another one of them beers,” Slocum warned. “Could prove fatal.”

  The big man didn’t budge. “Saloon’s closed.”

  “Why? Hasn’t the place ever gotten shot up before? Not much of a saloon if that’s the case.”

  “Jocelyn was hit.”

  The halfhearted grin Slocum had been wearing was brushed away in an instant. “How bad?”

  “She’s being tended now.”

  “Where?”

  “At her home. You,” Haresh said while pinning him in place using one massive hand, “should stay away from her.”

  “Those men weren’t after me.”

  “Just to be certain, you’ll stay away from her.”

  Slocum wanted to argue, but he didn’t have any pressing business with the bartender and Haresh was only acting as a cautious friend. “Just tell me how bad it was.”

  The big man sighed, which sounded like a massive wind flowing back and forth between them. “She was hit in the knee. Just below, actually. Looks like it was a ricochet or an accident. I don’t think anyone was aiming for her.”

  “That’s good to hear. What about the other man who confronted Abernathy? I saw the younger one com
e out here but lost track of the older fellow in all the commotion.”

  “He’s dead,” Haresh said with all the inflection of a slab of beef. “Shot through the head while we were jumping for cover.”

  “God damn it. Do you even know who they were?”

  “Lawmen.”

  Slocum felt something roll through him like a set of clawed, iron fingers raking beneath his skin. “Why didn’t you tell me that before?”

  “Because we didn’t know you. You came in asking about strangers and you’re the stranger to us. I don’t know what the hell happened. All I know is I feel damned useless. I don’t like feeling that way.”

  “Nobody does. Can I get a beer or not?”

  “You won’t bother Jocelyn?”

  “No,” Slocum replied. “Considering that I nearly got shot a few times myself, I’d say I’m entitled to at least get a look at her.”

  Reluctantly, the big man nodded.

  Inside, the saloon was a mess. Not as bad as it had been a few minutes ago, but a mess all the same. The tables had been set upright although a few of them had been shot up so badly they would need to be replaced. Both of the Southards lay on the floor. They’d been positioned side by side covered mostly by a tablecloth. Jocelyn was seated on the bar with her feet dangling over the side. A thin man tended to her leg and was already wrapping it in bandages. Slocum took that as a good sign.

  “What are you smiling at?” she asked.

  “Glad to see you’re still with us. How are you feeling?”

  Jocelyn patted the shoulder of the man in front of her. “This one was a medic. Judging by the way he handles my leg, I’d say he’s more used to dealing with corpses.”