Slocum at Hangdog

by Jake Logan

  “Yep.”

  “Mind some company?”

  “Nope.”

  Slocum rode slowly keeping beside Speer till they reached the restaurant. Then he dismounted and slapped the reins of his mount around the hitch rail. He walked inside with Speer. There were a few people in already, the local early birds. Brenda spotted Slocum and Speer and smiled. “I’ll be right with you,” she said. They took a table, and in another moment, Brenda put coffee on the table in front of them. “What’ll you boys have this morning?” she asked.

  “Eggs and ham,” said Slocum. “Taters, biscuits, and gravy. The works.”

  “I’ll have the same,” said Speer.

  “I’ll have it right out,” Brenda said, and she turned and walked away.

  “So where the hell’ve you been?” Speer asked.

  “You know those three rustlers?”

  “Sure I do.”

  “I was riding herd at Davey’s place when they hit. I dropped one of them right there. The other two took off, and I chased them. Up in the hills, one of them tried to ambush me. I killed him. The other one had run off and left him. I followed him all the way to a little place called Slapdash. Found him having a drink in the saloon. The place was full of cowhands. I pulled on the bastard and told him we was heading back here together, and he appealed to the cowboys for help. So I told them why I was after him. For rustling cattle, stealing horses, and killing a cowboy. They took over then. Wasn’t nothing I could do about it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They took the son of a bitch out in the street and strung him up.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Just like that.”

  “I’ll be damned.”

  “Anyhow, that oughta be the end of the rustling problems around here. At least for a while.”

  Slocum picked up his cup and took a long slurp of coffee. It sure tasted good. He had needed it. He also needed the good food that Brenda was bringing out just then. “Eat it up,” she said. “If you’re still hungry after that, there’s more.”

  After Brenda was gone again, Speer asked Slocum, “Have you had any more thoughts about that other problem?”

  “Who shot Davey?”

  “Yeah. And wrecked his wagon and burned his store. That little problem. The thing that brought you to town, if you told me right.”

  “I keep thinking about that small boot print,” Slocum said.

  “Oh, that. Yeah.”

  “I ain’t seen a man that little around here.”

  “You think it was a woman?”

  Slocum shrugged.

  “It’s kinda hard to think about a woman laying in ambush like that and shooting a man down.”

  “Helen told me she rides every day,” Slocum said. “Said she can shoot too.”

  “Helen and Dave Mix just got hitched,” said Speer, astonished at the suggestion.

  “I didn’t say she done it,” Slocum said. “I just used her as an example. If she can ride and shoot like a man, there may be others that can do the same. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “That ain’t all you’re saying. You suspect her, don’t you? You’re thinking she might come in here to get that will changed too. And about her not waiting for Dave to heal all up before they got hitched. You’re thinking about all that stuff, and you’re suspicioning her of trying to kill Dave so she can inherit everything from him. That’s what you’re thinking, ain’t it?”

  “Speer,” said Slocum, “all I said was I was thinking about that small boot print. You said all the rest of that.”

  “Yeah, all right, but what about that goddamned gunfighter fellow, that Bart Rowland? What about him?”

  “I’d say he was involved some way. Didn’t you say that he admitted coming here in someone’s employ?”

  “That’s right, and he won’t say who the hell it is either.”

  “We’d better watch him,” said Slocum.

  “He said that he ain’t got no reason to see his employer till his job’s done.”

  “We need to watch him anyhow,” Slocum said.

  Helen sat up on the edge of the bed and pulled her nightdress on over her head. As it draped down over her upper body, she said casually to her husband, “Your friend thinks that I’m the one that shot you.”

  “Who are you talking about?” said Mix.

  “That Slocum,” she said. “He thinks I shot you.”

  “He can’t think that,” said Mix. “You misunderstood something he said.”

  “I understood him clearly all right,” she said. “He found a small boot print at the scene of the shooting, a woman’s size.”

  “That don’t prove anything. Hell, I’ve seen men with feet that small.”

  “Seen any around here lately?”

  “Well, no, but it still don’t prove nothing. As far as that goes, you ain’t the only woman around here either.”

  “But who else would have a reason to kill you, darling?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “With you dead, I inherit everything. And Slocum did see me out riding, carrying my guns.”

  Dave Mix sat up quickly and grabbed up his bathrobe. He was walking toward the door as he pulled it on. “I’ll straighten out his ass, that son of a bitch,” he said.

  Charley Hill was riding the range where Mix’s land adjoined Ritchie’s. Unknown to Hill, not far away on the Ritchie side, Jay Everett was riding the fence. On a knoll not far away, Bart Rowland lay on his belly with a pair of binoculars. He was watching Hill. Hill was riding directly toward him. Rowland waited a space, then set aside his glasses and picked up his rifle, a .38-caliber Volcanic, and took careful aim. He squeezed the trigger. The roar of the shot and the smell of burnt powder filled the air, and a puff of smoke rose up from the spot where Rowland lay. Down below, Hill jerked in his saddle. His head tilted as he looked down at his chest. Then he went limp all over at once and fell back out of the saddle. At his secluded spot on the knoll, Rowland cranked another round into the Volcanic.

  Jay Everett heard the shot. He turned his horse and rode toward the noise of the report. The first thing he saw was the loose horse, saddled but riderless. He knew that something was wrong. He pulled the rifle out of his saddle boot and cranked a shell into the chamber. He rode more slowly along the fence, looking to the other side, Mix’s side, the side where the loose horse wandered. Then he saw the body. He looked around quickly, but he could see no one. He dismounted and scrambled over the fence, taking his rifle with him. He ran over to the body and recognized it as Charley Hill. He checked it quickly and saw that Charley was gone from this world. Still down on one knee beside the remains of Hill, Everett held his rifle ready and looked around. Still, he could see no one. He did see the tree and brush-covered knoll. Someone could be up there. He was looking at it when he saw the puff of smoke. Then he felt the slug slap into his chest. He sat down hard on his butt and rocked there a moment. Then he fell forward on his face, his legs still doubled up grotesquely beneath him.

  Dave Mix stepped out onto his porch and shouted for someone, anyone. A cowhand came running up to the house. “Find Charley for me,” Mix said. “And hurry it up. Get someone to saddle me a horse.”

  “I’ll get your horse, Boss,” the cowboy said, “but it’ll take a while to round up Charley. He rode out to the east range a little while ago.”

  “Never mind then,” said Mix. “Just bring me the horse. I’ll ride out after him myself.”

  Helen stepped out on the porch as the cowboy headed for the corral. “Dave,” she said. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “I’m going to ride out and get Charley to go to town with me,” he said. “I mean to see Slocum and straighten this shit out.”

  “You’re not fit to ride,” she said.

  “I was fit enough last night, wasn’t I?” he said.

  “I just think it’s too early for you to—”

  “Never mind all that,” Mix said. “I’m all right.”
<
br />   Just then the cowhand came back leading a fresh, saddled horse. Mix went down off the porch and mounted up. Without another word, he turned the animal and lashed at it, kicking its flanks at the same time. He rode hard and fast away from the house.

  Rowland made his way back into Hangdog the back way, avoiding being seen. He left his horse at the livery, with instructions to unsaddle it, rub it down, and feed it well, and special instructions to Dyer to keep his mouth shut. Then he walked the distance to the hotel in the back of the buildings and went inside by the back door. He went quietly up to his room.

  Mix rode out to the fence on the east side of his property. It didn’t take him long to spot the loose horse, and it wasn’t much longer when he came across the two bodies lying there together. He looked around and spotted the other horse on the other side of the fence. He stood over the bodies for a long moment, hat in hand. Then he mounted up and rode back to the house. He found a hand and ordered him to hitch up the wagon and drive it out there. He sent another two cowboys along to gather up the horses and to help load the bodies into the wagon. His instructions were then to take the bodies into town. He sent one cowhand to find Ritchie and inform him of the news. Then he rode toward Hangdog alone.

  It was nearly midday by the time Mix reached Hangdog. He stopped in front of the sheriff’s office, dismounted, tied his horse to the rail, and went inside. Speer was seated behind his desk. He looked up when Mix walked in.

  “Dave,” he said, surprise evident in his voice, “I’m surprised to see you up and around so soon.”

  “I’m all right,” said Mix. “I found Charley Hill and Jay Everett dead on my range this morning.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me right. Charley’s horse was wandering on my side of the fence, and Jay’s on the other side, but both bodies were on my property.”

  “Did they kill each other?”

  “Neither one of their guns had been fired. Someone else got them both.”

  “Well, was there any evidence of rustling or anything like that?”

  “No. Someone just rode out there and shot them both. That’s all. I’ve sent one of my boys to tell Ritchie about it. I’ve got another one bringing in the bodies.”

  “Goddamn,” said Speer.

  “You know, Slocum said something about someone trying to stir up trouble between me and Ritchie. The only thing I can figure is that this is part of that scheme.”

  “But who the hell could it be?”

  “I don’t know, Thad,” said Mix, “but it reminds me. Where the hell is that damned Slocum?”

  “My guess, this time of day, is that he’s over to Brenda’s Place. Either that or he will be right soon.”

  “I’ll find him,” said Mix, and he turned and walked out the door. As he aimed himself for Brenda’s Place, he spotted Slocum walking in that direction. “Hey! Slocum!” he called out.

  Slocum stopped and turned to see Mix. He changed his direction and walked to meet Mix. He had a smile on his face, but he soon saw that Mix did not. His own expression turned serious then.

  “What is it, Davey?” he said.

  “Slocum,” said Mix, “you son of a bitch. We need to talk.”

  12

  “Goddamn you, Slocum,” said Mix, “what the hell do you mean by accusing my wife of shooting me?”

  “Now, Davey, I—”

  “What reason could she have for shooting me? For trying to kill me? She’s been working her ass off nursing me. If she shot me, why would she do that? Answer me that one, will you?”

  “Davey, if you’ll just shut up for a minute, I’ll try to explain things to you.”

  “All right. Let me hear it. Let me hear it, you bastard.”

  “I never accused her. I just said that I found a small boot print, like a woman’s, and then I saw her out riding and carrying guns. Then she went into the lawyer’s office to see about your will, and—”

  “Hell, I was damn near dead. She ought to be checking on that will.”

  “Yeah. I reckon so. Davey, I—”

  “Slocum, you ain’t working for me no more. Here.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a roll of bills. Holding them out toward Slocum, he said, “This will cover your expenses, and more. Take it. Come on, take it and ride out of here.”

  “Davey, I don’t want your money. Not till this is all cleared up.”

  “Take it, goddamn you,” said Mix.

  When Slocum still kept his hands down at his sides, Mix stuffed the money into Slocum’s shirt pocket. “There,” he said. “We’re finished. There’s nothing to keep you around here now.”

  Mix spun on his heel and walked back toward Speer’s office. Slocum stood staring after him, wondering what the hell he should do. He really knew what he should do. He should pack up and ride out, the way Mix told him to. He knew better than to hang around where he wasn’t wanted. It would be by far the safest thing for him to do. So why the hell did he not do it? He had gotten into something that wasn’t finished, and he hated to ride away from it. He told himself he would just have to stay out of Mix’s way. That’s all. Avoid Mix but continue to watch, continue to investigate. He could still confide in Speer. He could keep his eye out for that gunfighter Rowland.

  Rowland. There was the joker in the deck. Who had brought in that son of a bitch? And for what? To kill Slocum? To heat up the war between Mix and Ritchie? Or was Ritchie really guilty as hell after all, and had he brought Rowland in? Slocum might have thought that the problems were all solved with the killing of the three rustlers if it had not been for the boot print. Just then he saw the wagon come into town with the two bodies. He watched as the wagon drew up in front of Speer’s office. In a moment, Speer came out with Davey. He looked at the bodies. Then he gave some instructions, and the wagon pulled on down the street toward the undertaker’s parlor. Speer and Mix walked toward Ritchie’s hotel. Slocum wondered what was going on, but it was not the time to question Speer, not with Mix in his company. He walked over to Brenda’s Place and ordered some coffee.

  Brenda wasn’t busy. She poured two cups and sat down with Slocum. “You’re wearing a long face,” she said. “Something bothering you?”

  “Yeah,” said Slocum. “Davey’s run me out of town.”

  “What for? I thought you two were good friends.”

  “Yeah. I did too. But I quizzed up his wife about his shooting. She must have told him.”

  “You mean you—”

  “I saw a woman’s boot print where the shooter was standing,” Slocum said. “Then I saw her in riding gear packing irons. I questioned her. Davey didn’t take too kindly to that.”

  “Well, he just married her. You can’t expect him to.”

  “That was another thing. She got hitched up to him before he was well enough to stand up. She was in an awful hurry. Then she hurried into town to get the will changed.”

  “Hmm. That is suspicious-looking.”

  “Don’t say that to Davey,” Slocum warned. “He’ll run you out of town too.”

  “I’ll keep it to myself,” she said.

  “Have you seen that Rowland around?”

  “He came in here once,” she said. “That’s all. He’s a mean-looking jasper. But his feet are bigger than a woman’s.”

  “He showed up after Davey got shot too. No. I don’t think he shot Davey, but I think that whoever it is stirring up trouble likely brought him in. I’d sure like to know what he’s up to.”

  “If I hear anything, I’ll let you know.”

  “I appreciate it,” said Slocum.

  Slocum lifted his coffee cup for a long slurp, and just then Speer came walking in. He went straight to the table where Slocum and Brenda were sitting and pulled out a chair.

  “Mind if I join you?” he said, sitting down.

  Slocum said, “What if I said yes?”

  Brenda said, “Not at all. You want some coffee?”

  “Sure.”

  She got up and went for another cup, brin
ging the pot back with her.

  “Jay Everett and Charley Hill have been killed,” said Speer. “Shot to death in the same spot. Right by the fence line between Ritchie’s and Mix’s.”

  “Oh, no,” said Brenda.

  Slocum took out a cigar and lit it, sending smoke spiraling toward the ceiling.

  “Any evidence?” he asked.

  “I ain’t been out to the scene yet,” said Speer, “but Mix says that it looks like one man done the shooting.”

  “But why would anyone shoot Dave’s and James’s foremen?” asked Brenda. “Both of them?”

  “Stirring up the trouble,” said Slocum.

  “Yeah,” said Speer. “Say, Dave just told me that he fired you.”

  “That’s right.”

  “How come?”

  Slocum told the tale again about his questioning of Helen. “She told on me, I guess,” he concluded.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Stick around,” said Slocum. “I feel like I’ve got unfinished business here.”

  “I’m glad to hear you say that. We still have that Rowland to worry about.”

  “Do you think maybe he killed those two?” asked Brenda.

  “That’d be my guess,” Slocum said. “Sheriff, you want to ride out and look over the scene?”

  “I was hoping you’d offer to go with me,” said Speer.

  Slocum drained his coffee cup. “Then let’s go for a ride. Thanks for the coffee, Brenda, and the company.”

  In his apartment in the hotel, James Ritchie sat deep in thought. His wife, Margaret, brought him a drink and then sat down across the room from him. “It had to be Mix,” she said. “Who else could it be?”

  “Why would he kill Charley Hill?”

  “To cover his tracks maybe,” she said. “He might have figured that anyone would ask that question. Who else could have a reason to keep the trouble going between you two?”

  Ritchie took a drink, then shook his head. “I don’t know, Margaret. I just can’t think of anyone who could gain anything from it.”

  “You said that he patched things up with you. Well, that was just an act. That’s all. He’s still blaming you for all his trouble, and now he’s trying to get even.”