by Jake Logan
“You can fix yourself up, you know,” the medic said.
She ignored that and looked to Slocum. “I thought you just came in for a beer.” Nodding toward the front of the place, she added, “Mighty thin walls, you know.”
“Then you’ll also know Haresh is doing a good job watching out for your interests.”
“That’s what I pay him for.” Fixing her eyes upon the partially covered bodies, she asked, “Will you be tracking down the men who did this?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll also pay Haresh to go with you.”
“Why would you do something like that?” Slocum asked.
“Why would you do what you’ve been doing?”
Rather than go into lengthy explanations, Slocum reached into a pocket and produced the dented little deputy’s badge.
“Are you new to this territory?” Jocelyn asked.
“No.”
“Then you should know that the law is enforced differently around here than it is for states back East. We have to watch each other’s backs, and when you get someone who thinks they can stroll into a peaceful town and shoot it up like a madman, then you’ve got to convince them otherwise.”
“These parts are known for vigilantes,” Slocum said.
“I’m no vigilante. I’m a concerned citizen and so is Haresh. If he would like to accompany you in finding the man who killed those two in cold blood in my place of business, then I’ll be more than happy to pay for his expenses. It’s your prerogative to refuse our help, but I don’t see any good reason why you would do such a thing.”
After taking a moment, Slocum said, “I can only think of one good reason.”
Haresh stepped up to him and asked, “What is that?”
“I’ve already seen too many men die this week. I don’t want to have your name added to that list.”
“You won’t.”
“Ever fire a gun other than that cannon of a shotgun you use to frighten drunks?”
“Yes,” Haresh replied without hesitation.
“At a man?”
The big fellow’s eyes took on the intensity of coals that had been left at the bottom of a campfire for three days straight. “Yes,” he growled.
“Killed a man?”
“What’s this got to do with anything?” Jocelyn snapped. When she tried to scoot off the bar, she was held in place by the slender man who was almost finished tending to her wound. Leaning to one side so she could look around the medic, Jocelyn said, “Haresh will help you. Do you want his help or not?”
Shifting his attention fully to the bigger man, Slocum spoke as if they were the only ones inside the saloon. “I’ve never crossed paths with Abernathy before, but I’ve seen him shoot. He’s damned fast and accurate to boot. He’s also got an ace or two up his sleeve, which makes him even more dangerous. I’m going after him because I ain’t about to be frightened off. If we get a chance to take a shot at a killer like him, we’ll need to take it. No hesitation. No second thoughts. You pause one second to think about sending a man to meet his maker and that same man will burn a hole through you. Do you understand me?”
“Yes,” Haresh replied. The intensity was still in his voice, but without the menace.
“So answer my question. Have you ever killed a man?”
Slocum had asked plenty of men that same question. More often than not, the words spoken in the response never told him as much as how they were said. Those with something to prove, usually younger men or kids, would pipe up right away with some kind of boast or bloody story about a fight to the death. Usually, that was all those were. Stories. Some men tried to shake off the question without saying much. Others would get angry as a way to deflect the whole thing. Haresh stared at Slocum with cold detachment before telling him, “I can help you. That’s all you need to know.”
There was something else going on behind the bigger man’s eyes. Something haunted him, which was more than enough to answer Slocum’s question. “All right, then,” he said. “You can come along. Just do what I tell you and try not to get in my way.”
When Haresh looked over at Jocelyn, it was like a dog asking for permission from its master to rip someone’s throat out.
“You two try to get along,” she said. “I’d rather not have killers like this Abernathy fellow roaming free. Bad for business. Mr. Slocum, I appreciate what you’re doing and will help any way I can. Haresh . . .” What she said after that was in another language. Slocum thought it sounded like something from the Far East, but it wasn’t Chinese. Before he could deduce any more than that, she’d stopped talking and was getting a reluctant nod from Haresh.
“Now,” she said as the medic walked away to help himself to one of the bottles behind the bar, “if you’ll excuse me, I have a business to run. You men can either get about your hunt or roll up your sleeves and start straightening up my saloon.”
Judging by how quickly Haresh turned and stomped out the door, he’d had his fill of sweeping that floor and picking up those chairs.
Slocum followed him out. “I aim to get going as quickly as possible,” he said to the big man’s back. “We’ve already given Abernathy a head start, so—”
“He’s still in town.”
“What?”
Haresh stopped and turned around so quickly that Slocum almost ran into him. “I said he’s still in town.”
“Do you know that for certain?”
“No, but you should probably ride out and have a look for yourself just to be sure he didn’t make camp nearby.”
“Is that your way of getting rid of me?”
All it took was a sharp snap of his wrist for Haresh to point the shotgun up toward Slocum’s chin. He’d carried the weapon so naturally that Slocum had forgotten the big man still had it. “If I wanted to get rid of you, I could think of a much easier way.”
Slocum smirked and cocked his head. “Maybe not as easy as you might think.” Then he directed Haresh’s eyes down toward the Colt that had been drawn and aimed at the big man’s gut. Apparently Slocum hadn’t been the only one to underestimate someone’s ability to use his weapon.
Haresh nodded and took a step back. “Perhaps we can get this job done together after all,” he said while lowering the shotgun.
“I can do this job without you.”
“And if Far Eye Abernathy thinks that’s what you’re doing, we will have an advantage, no?”
“Maybe.” Slocum holstered the Colt. “Still think I should be the one to ride out and check the trails leaving town?”
“Yes. You were the one to charge after Abernathy and you were the one to shoot his partner, so you’ll be the one he’d expect to charge after him on horseback. I’m just supposed to be a fixture at the saloon. Nobody takes much notice of me no matter what, so I can have a look around town without raising suspicion. Also, I’m guessing that I know this town better than you.”
“You’d be guessing right. You still think I could catch sight of Abernathy after he’s had this much time to ride off?”
Haresh nodded. “One trail leading from town is down a stretch of land that goes for miles bordered with trees on both sides that are too dense for a horse to get through. The other trail is on an open stretch of a rocky pass. Any man with working eyes could catch sight of another rider two or three miles away. That is, if he knows what to look for.”
Although Slocum didn’t like being the one sent off on an errand, he had to admit that Haresh’s reasoning made sense. “Fine,” he grunted. “Since we’ve both wasted too much time, I’ll ride out and see what I can see while you have a look around town. I take it you know where a man might hole up around here?”
“I make my living chasing scum from a saloon,” he replied. “I know where a man might go to cool his heels and I know where he might go to f
ind someone else to come after me once he sobers up. Now why don’t you go and see if you can spot a man on horseback on a barren stretch of road from half a mile away?” With that, Haresh slapped Slocum on the shoulder and walked away. The gesture seemed friendly enough, but nearly knocked Slocum out of his boots.
Once Slocum climbed into his saddle, a sense of urgency washed through his blood to ignite it quicker than a match touched to a jug of kerosene. Having run plenty of gunmen out of plenty of towns, he knew that most of them tended to go in a straight line as quickly as they could. The ones that had a more intricate escape plan weren’t about to be caught even without a head start anyway. So Slocum tapped his heels against his stallion’s sides and followed the main street north out of Spencer Flats.
The town wasn’t given such a name by chance. It was situated on a flat plane of rock surrounded by jagged hills and thick clusters of trees that came together to form a wooded area just as Haresh had described. If anyone was going to travel off that trail, it wouldn’t be on horseback. Slocum rode for a ways before picking a spot and digging into his saddlebag for his field glasses. Having used that trail to enter town the first time, he knew it was more or less a straight shot. Gazing through the lenses of the glasses showed him only one horse-drawn cart that wouldn’t get to town in under an hour. Other than that, the trail was clear.
Slocum brought his horse around, raced to town, slowed enough to keep from trampling anyone, and was soon charging down the other trail that led toward a low range of mountains. He didn’t have to ride for long to see there was nobody on that trail. His view was so good that he wondered if Spencer Flats had started out as a military encampment. The positioning was perfect for keeping watch on any would-be invaders. Just to be certain, Slocum gazed through the field glasses once again. He found a few wildcats, but not much else.
When he rode back, the sun was on its way toward the western horizon. Thanks to all of the trees and mountains surrounding Spencer Flats, shadows crept across the shoddy town earlier than normal. Patches of darkness topped by slivers of brilliant orange and yellow sunlight gave the place a life of its own. Slocum tied his horse off in front of Jocelyn’s, but didn’t go into the saloon. Instead, he crossed the street and began walking. Along the way, he studied as many faces as he could, looking for someone who was either familiar or suspicious. As with most settlements that could be torn down or blown away by a stiff breeze, the latter wasn’t hard to find.
Montana was a beautiful territory protected by men who had the will and firepower to do the job. Vigilantes terrorized some towns worse than known outlaws, providing a system that was strangely balanced. Much like the system used in nature, Montana rewarded the strong and punished the weak. Slocum not only respected it, but saw a rough beauty to it all.
That system was in motion wherever he looked, even if it was down the unimpressive streets of Spencer Flats. For every storekeeper or pleasant local who returned his gaze with a friendly smile, there were men and women who shot him a threatening glare or looked away as quickly as they could. Slocum expected a hotter reception from Abernathy or anyone riding with him. Stumbling upon one of them would mean having to defend himself in the blink of an eye. After seeing Abernathy shoot, Slocum guessed he might not have any notice whatsoever before a bullet came for him. That wasn’t such a bad thing. If there was nothing to be done about some terrible looming thing, a man could just sit back and let it happen.
Slocum’s attention was so finely tuned that he saw the door to the boardinghouse directly in front of him start to open before the hinges began to creak. Then again, he would have had to be blind and deaf to miss the approach of the man who stepped outside once it was open.
“Back so soon?” Haresh asked as he shut the boardinghouse door behind him.
“There wasn’t much to see. What about you? Anything interesting?”
“Possibly.”
“If you’re going to make me dig for every answer, our conversations are going to be pretty damn cumbersome.”
“The woman who runs this place rented a room to Far Eye Abernathy.”
“You described him to her?” Slocum asked.
“Didn’t have to. He signed her register.”
“As Far Eye Abernathy?”
Haresh grinned. “No. As F. Abernathy. Want to go see for yourself?”
Although he considered it, Slocum decided to give the man some slack until he proved unworthy of it. “What should we do next?”
“Wait here. He’ll be back.”
“You sure?”
“Yes. His things are still in the room.”
Slocum studied Haresh’s face before questioning him again. He may have only known the big man a short time, but there was nothing in his features to make Slocum think he was lying. “Where should we wait?”
“In the other room to rent. One of us can sit there as long as we don’t make a mess and I didn’t have to sign the register.”
“And the other keeps watch from somewhere else?”
“I thought that might be a good plan.”
“So it is,” Slocum said. “Perhaps we might be able to get this job done after all.”
10
Slocum took first watch inside the boardinghouse. A few minutes after Haresh disappeared around a corner, Slocum verified the big man’s story. The first part was easy enough to check. After introducing himself to the plump woman who owned the place, he was allowed to take a quick look at the register. Sure enough, F. Abernathy was scrawled right where it was supposed to be.
Next, he went upstairs to the room they were allowed to use. Everything was neat and tidy. So much so that Slocum felt bad about sitting in the small chair with the padded seat situated in a corner next to a window. Fortunately, he didn’t intend on sitting very long. Although the woman who owned the place was friendly and had a wide, beaming smile, she was heavier than Slocum and walked with a slow, plodding waddle that bent the floorboards with every step. The house was one of the few permanent structures in town, but wasn’t put together any better than the frame that held the roof of Jocelyn’s saloon off the ground. When he heard the stout woman head into the kitchen, Slocum crossed the upstairs hallway and tested the knob to Abernathy’s room.
The door was locked.
Slocum gnawed on the inside of one cheek while thinking about how he might get into that room. Actually, getting in wasn’t such a big problem. Getting in without being kicked out or raising unneeded suspicion was where it got tricky. To solve that problem, he took a second to think about the house itself. All Slocum had to do was smell the musty air or listen to the dozens of creaks accompanying every movement within to know the house had been in town longer than most of its residents. He ran a finger along the doorframe, picking up a splinter for his trouble. That sharp sting brought a smile to his face.
He prodded the frame a bit harder and was almost able to pry away a sizable chunk of wood. Nodding to himself, Slocum grabbed the handle and placed one shoulder against the door. He waited for the next series of creaks before leaning his weight against it and pushing until some more of the wood gave way. It took less effort than he’d anticipated, meaning the house was even older than he’d thought. Either that, or this wasn’t the first time the door had been forced open. Considering some of the things that Haresh had told him about the type of men that came through Spencer Flats, he figured the latter could have been just as likely as the former.
Whatever the reason, the door came open with a subtle crunch and Slocum was glad for it. He stepped inside with one hand resting upon the Colt at his hip. The room was a little messy, but not dangerous. Slocum kept his hand on his gun as he walked around the room, peeking under the bed and into a narrow closet.
A carpetbag sat on the floor at the foot of the bed. It was halfway full with neatly folded clothes. A waistcoat lay across the back of a chair. When Slocum
picked it up to see if it could have fit Abernathy, he found a holster made from expensive, perfectly maintained leather. The gun inside was a pearl-handled .32. Small enough to be concealed and large enough to get the job done. Suddenly, the house creaked and something scraped against the wall from the outside.
Freezing in place, Slocum shifted his eyes to the window. Since there was no movement outside and he was pretty sure there was no balcony out there, he wondered if sound echoed differently in that room than it had in the hall. Leaning toward the door, he listened for any hint that the owner of the place could be on her way to check on him. After a few seconds, he heard her singing to herself as she continued to shuffle noisily in the kitchen.
He also heard another, louder scrape against the wall.
As Slocum turned back around, the window was lifted up an inch or two by a set of pale, bony fingers. Rather than approach the window, Slocum took a quiet step back and eased his Colt from its holster.
The fingers wrapped around the edge of the sill, grabbed it tightly, and whitened as a strained grunt came from outside. Soon, another set of fingers slid over the sill and the top of a hat began to rise above the lower edge of the window.
Even though he was seeing someone pull himself up the side of the house, Slocum was having a hard time believing it. Mainly, he was impressed by how quiet the other man was being. Sure, he’d heard enough to catch his attention, but the floor creaked every time he shifted his weight and the walls groaned whenever a bird flew too damn close. Having someone scale the wall without making enough ruckus to raise the dead was one hell of a feat.
The hat came up a bit more until a set of narrowed eyes made it over the top of the sill. When they focused on him, Slocum smirked at the eyes and gave an offhanded wave.
“Evenin’,” he said.
With a strained groan, the man outside let go with one set of fingers. Before he could drop out of sight, Slocum rushed forward to get a look at who’d made the ascent. Whoever the man was, his intention wasn’t to let go and drop back to street level. When Slocum took a look down at the man, he found himself gazing into the wrong end of a pistol barrel.
