Slocum at Hangdog

by Jake Logan

  “Going somewhere?” he asked.

  “One of that bunch just rode out of town by himself,” said Slocum. “I aim to follow him.”

  “Want me to ride along?”

  “I’d rather you keep watching to see if the others do anything.”

  Stumpy stood up and stretched. He yawned. “All right,” he said. “I’ll do’er. You be careful, though, pard. You know what happened the last time you follered one of them bastards.”

  Slocum grinned. “I’ll watch myself,” he said. He went out the door and headed for the livery. Soon he was riding after Rat’s Ass.

  Rat’s Ass had gotten about three miles out of Hangdog when he stopped his horse. He reached down into one of his saddlebags and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. He uncorked the bottle and took a long slug. Then he replaced the cork, dropped the bottle into his coat pocket, and started riding again. That son of a bitch Rowland, he was thinking. He promised us all kinds of money and a hell of a good time, and look how he done me. Son of a bitch.

  Slocum was in no hurry to catch Rat’s Ass. He was curious about where Rat’s Ass might be going and what he was up to. He was not headed toward either Ritchie’s or Mix’s place. Slocum wondered what other kind of errand Rowland might have sent him on. He did not want to surprise Rat’s Ass too soon to find out, though, so he continued, curious, following Rat’s Ass’s tracks.

  Up ahead, Rat’s Ass stopped beside the road. He took another slug of whiskey, and he took a leak. He felt like he was well enough out of Hangdog that he did not have to worry any longer about Rowland and the others. In the first place, even if they knew which way he had gone, they wouldn’t likely catch up with him. They probably wouldn’t even try. Good riddance, they would say. He hoped that they would get into a hell of a fight and Rowland would be wishing he’d treated Rat’s Ass better because he would need another gun. That would serve him right, the son of a bitch. He decided that he could spare the time to rest a spell. His horse could use a little rest too. He looked around for a likely spot, and then he sat down on the ground. He took another drink. Pretty soon he stretched out on his back. Soon, in spite of his intentions, he was fast asleep.

  Slocum rode up on the sleeping Rat’s Ass. He thought about kicking the bastard awake, but he decided against it. Keeping his eyes on the sleeping wretch, Slocum dismounted and took the saddle off his horse. He staked it out to let it graze. He noticed that Rat’s Ass’s mount was still saddled. It wasn’t the horse’s fault that it had a shit-ass for a rider. Slocum unsaddled it. He kept watching Rat’s Ass, but Rat’s Ass still snored. Slocum gathered up some wood and built a small fire. It would be daylight soon, and coffee would be damn good. The morning was just a bit chilly. When he had the fire going, he put together a pot of coffee and set it on to boil. Then he sat down, facing Rat’s Ass, and lit a cigar. He would wait for the coffee to be ready and for Rat’s Ass to wake up. He wondered if he should walk over there and take the six-gun out of the holster at Rat’s Ass’s side. He decided he should.

  He stood up and walked quietly over to the side of the sleeping outlaw. Rat’s Ass snuffled and shifted his weight, but he did not open his eyes. Slocum reached down and carefully slipped the gun out of the holster. He walked back to his place beside the fire. The coffee was about ready, and he poured himself a cup. It was hot, and it was good. He was still curious about Rat’s Ass’s intentions. What he was doing just didn’t make any sense to Slocum. He sipped his coffee and put down the cup. It was a wonder that the fire, the cigar, and the coffee had not wakened Rat’s Ass. The fire was crackling, and the aromas of cigar and coffee were powerful. He stared at Rat’s Ass through clouds of circling cigar smoke.

  At last Rat’s Ass stirred. He rolled over on his side. He rolled back and stretched his arms, moaning out loud at the same time. He rubbed his eyes with his fists. Finally, he sat up and looked around. When he saw Slocum and the fire, he slapped at his side. He looked down in disbelief at the empty holster. Slocum held up the confiscated weapon.

  “You looking for this?” he asked.

  “What—what the hell?” said Rat’s Ass.

  Slocum took a sip of coffee. Then he picked up a second cup. “Have some coffee,” he said. He poured the cup full, reached across the fire, and set it on the ground. Cautiously, Rat’s Ass got onto his hands and knees and reached the cup. Taking it up, he retreated back to his original spot. He held the cup in both hands and took a sip, staring wide-eyed at Slocum the whole time. He took another sip. Then he pulled the whiskey bottle out of his coat pocket and poured some into the coffee. He started to put the bottle back into his pocket, but he hesitated. He held it out toward Slocum.

  “You want some?” he asked.

  “No, thanks,” Slocum said.

  Rat’s Ass took another sip. “You meaning to do me like we done you?” he asked.

  “What do you mean?” Slocum said.

  “You know, tie me to a tree. Leave me without no guns, no horse, no boots.”

  “Kick in your ribs and bash your face?”

  “Yeah. Like that.”

  “That ain’t my style,” Slocum said. “If I was to leave you tied to a tree, it would be hanging by your neck from a branch.” He looked around. “I don’t see a real good branch nearby.”

  “No,” said Rat’s Ass. “There ain’t none. I done looked.”

  “Why would you have been looking for a hanging tree?”

  “I wasn’t. I was just, you know, checking my surroundings.”

  “I want to know something,” Slocum said.

  “Yeah? What’s that?”

  “Where you headed?”

  “I’m just leaving,” said Rat’s Ass. “I quit Rowland.”

  “Oh? How come?”

  “He pissed me off, the son of a bitch.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “He knocked me on my ass. Twice. Right in front of the other fellas. Son of a bitch.”

  “What did he do that for?” Slocum asked.

  Rat’s Ass grinned, showing his broken and yellow teeth. “You know that little ole gal that cooks back there in Hangdog?”

  “I know her,” said Slocum.

  “All I done was to just ask her for a kiss. That’s all. She didn’t mind none either. If I hadn’t a had them others with me, I bet she’d a give me a lot more than just a kiss.”

  You dirty little shit-face, Slocum thought, but he didn’t say it. Instead, he said, “And he hit you just for that?”

  “That’s all. That was it.”

  “So you ran out on him?”

  “I sure as hell did.”

  “Did you help him steal those cattle and kill those two cowboys? Burn the barn?”

  Rat’s Ass shifted nervously. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “What was your job with Rowland?”

  “I—I don’t know nothing.”

  “Who hired Rowland?”

  “He never told us that. I don’t know.”

  “Well, now, I don’t know,” Slocum said, “but it seems to me that if you helped a man do some rustling and killing and barn burning, he might not want you running around loose. He might come after you to kill you to make sure you keep your mouth shut.”

  “I mean to get far away from here,” Rat’s Ass said.

  “So you did help him with that job?”

  “I didn’t say that. I just mean to get away. I don’t like that damn Rowland.”

  “Scared of him, are you?”

  “No. I ain’t scared,” Rat’s Ass lied. “I just don’t want to be around him no more. Nor them others neither. I don’t need them. Maybe they did kill them cowboys and steal them cattle. Maybe they burned the barn too. They could’ve done it.”

  “All five of you were seen riding back into town that night,” Slocum said. “Where had you been?”

  “Who says he seen us? You can’t prove that. Maybe he seen four riders and not five. It being dark like that. Maybe he made a mistake.”

 
“I don’t think so.”

  “You thinking it don’t make it so.”

  Slocum took a sip of coffee and put the cup down again. He puffed on his cigar. “You want some more coffee?” he asked.

  Rat’s Ass sneaked back to where he had picked up the cup and put it on the ground. Slocum reached over and refilled it, and Rat’s Ass sneaked back for it and back to his place. He sipped it down a little and poured some more whiskey into the cup.

  “Look,” said Slocum, “I’m trying to make this easy on you. All I want is a little information.”

  “If I tell you what you want to know, will you let me go?”

  “Not if you killed those cowboys.”

  “I never.”

  “You’ll get a fair trial.”

  “Rowland and them’d kill me first.”

  “Not if they’re locked up in jail.”

  “Yeah? Well, what if they didn’t get locked up? What if they was to kill you and the sheriff? And I had told on them? They’d come after me then.”

  “You’ve been lying to me,” Slocum said. “If you didn’t help do that job, then Rowland wouldn’t have any reason to come after you. Would he?”

  “You’re putting words into my mouth.”

  Slocum heaved a heavy sigh and tossed what was left of his cigar into the fire. Then he tossed the contents of his cup. He dropped the cup on the ground and stood up, leaving Rat’s Ass’s gun lying on the ground. He stepped around the fire moving toward Rat’s Ass. Rat’s Ass scooted back.

  “What’re you going to do?” he asked.

  “I want to know who hired Rowland,” Slocum said, “and I want to know who did that job at Mix’s ranch. I mean to find out one way or another.”

  “I tell you, I don’t know nothing.”

  Slocum grabbed Rat’s Ass by the shirtfront and dragged him to his feet. He slapped him hard across the face. He slapped him again.

  “Leave me go,” whined Rat’s Ass. “Leave me go.”

  He raised a knee, trying to drive it into Slocum’s crotch, but Slocum blocked it with his leg. It pissed him off, though, and he slugged Rat’s Ass, causing him to sprawl back in the dirt.

  “Get up, you little shit,” he said.

  Rat’s Ass turned onto his hands and knees, and he clutched a handful of grass and dirt in his right hand. He stood up and flung the dirt and grass into Slocum’s face. Slocum’s hands went to his face, rubbing his eyes. He staggered back a few steps, and Rat’s Ass ran at him, throwing his arms around Slocum and shoving him back onto the ground. They rolled over two or three times. At last, Slocum wound up on top of Rat’s Ass, and he grabbed the shirtfront once more and stood up, dragging Rat’s Ass with him. Rat’s Ass swung wildly with both fists, most of his blows landing on Slocum’s back. Slocum delivered a hard uppercut to Rat’s Ass’s jaw that caused him to stagger back.

  “Talk to me,” Slocum said.

  “I can’t. I don’t know nothing.”

  “Tell me what I want to know, and we can stop this bullshit here.”

  “I don’t know nothing,” Rat’s Ass screamed, and he ran at Slocum again with his arms flailing. Slocum stepped aside and flung Rat’s Ass as he passed him by, sending him sprawling on his face. Rat’s Ass put both hands on the ground to push himself up to his feet, and he saw his gun lying there beside him. He hesitated a moment. Then he reached for the gun and spun around, cocking back the hammer as he turned. He was sitting on the ground as he pointed the gun at Slocum. Slocum flung himself to one side pulling his Colt as he did so, and he squeezed the trigger. The report was loud in the still night. The smell of gunpowder replaced the other odors that had filled the air. Rat’s Ass jerked as the bullet tore into his sternum. His hand went limp, and his gun fell. He looked down at his chest and saw the spreading blood.

  “Oh,” he said. “Oh, God.”

  He fell back and lay still. Slocum walked over to him and knelt on one knee. He picked up the gun and tossed it aside. Then he holstered his Colt.

  “You shouldn’t have tried that,” he said.

  “Can you get me to a doctor?” Rat’s Ass asked in a weak voice.

  Slocum shook his head. “There’s not time enough,” he said. “You’d be dead a mile down the road.”

  “I’m dying then.”

  “Yep.”

  “We was trying to start a range war,” said Rat’s Ass. “I don’t know how come. I don’t know who hired Rowland. We did steal them cattle. Well, we run them onto the other fella’s range, and we burned the barn. It was Beebe and Cowley what killed the cowboys.”

  “Do you know anything about what Rowland did before he brought you four in on the game?”

  “No. I told you everything I know,” said Rat’s Ass. “Can you get me my bottle out of my pocket?”

  Slocum reached into Rat’s Ass’s pocket and pulled out the bottle. Miraculously, it was unbroken. He uncorked it and held it toward Rat’s Ass, but just as he did, Rat’s Ass died. Slocum tossed the bottle aside. He rolled Rat’s Ass up in his blanket. Then he caught up both horses and saddled them. He tossed Rat’s Ass across his saddle, mounted his own horse, and headed back toward Hangdog, leading the horse that was carrying the grisly load. He had learned everything he needed to know about Rowland except who had hired him. There was still that nagging problem.

  17

  Rowland woke up and stretched. He got out of the bed and walked over to the table with the bowl and pitcher of water on it, stepping over the bodies on the floor as he did so. He poured some water into the bowl and sloshed some on his face, reached for the towel, and dabbed his face dry. Stepping back over the bodies on his way to his britches, he noticed that something was missing. He looked down at the sleeping forms of Beebe, Cowley, and Zeb Naylor.

  “What the fuck?” he roared.

  He kicked Beebe in the ass. Beebe sprang up.

  “What?” he said. “What is it?”

  Rowland was kicking Cowley and Naylor by then. Both of them sat up, Cowley rubbing his eyes and Naylor looking stupidly at Rowland with wide eyes.

  “Where the hell is Rat’s Ass?” Rowland demanded.

  The three men on the floor looked around as if they might find the missing Rat’s Ass.

  “I don’t see him, Boss,” said Beebe.

  “Well, no shit, you don’t see him,” said Rowland. “He ain’t here. I didn’t ask you if you seen him. I said, where the hell is he at?”

  “I don’t know,” Zeb Naylor said. “We all went to sleep last night at the same time.”

  “He was right there,” said Cowley, pointing to a spot on the floor.

  “Well, he ain’t there now,” said Rowland.

  “He ain’t there,” said Cowley.

  “He must a got up and gone somewhere,” said Beebe.

  Cowley stood up and walked around the room. “His stuff’s all gone,” he said.

  “He’s run out on us,” said Naylor.

  “Well, by God,” said Rowland, “we can’t have that.”

  “No,” said Beebe.

  “We sure as hell can’t have that,” said Rowland. “You three dumb asses get up and get dressed. We’re going to find the little chickenshit.”

  “We going to have breakfast first?” Cowley asked.

  “There ain’t time for that,” said Rowland. “Hurry it up.”

  “One of them four bums that Rowland brought in rode out of town last night,” Stumpy was saying. “Slocum rode after him.”

  He was sitting in Brenda’s Place with Speer having breakfast. They had a table by the front window, which gave Stumpy a clear view of the front door of the hotel. He was still on duty, still watching for any movement from the others.

  “What was Slocum riding after him for?” Speer asked. “Just to see what he was up to?”

  “He didn’t jaw about it much,” Stumpy said, “but that was about the way it sounded to me.”

  “Well, by God,” said Speer, “I hope he’s careful. You know what happened the last time he rode out
after someone.”

  “I reminded him of that,” Stumpy said.

  “I wonder if we had ought to ride out after him.”

  “He told me to keep an eye on them others. They ain’t come out of the hotel yet.”

  “What could that one have been up to?” Speer said.

  “That’s just what Slocum was wondering.”

  Brenda came out of the kitchen with the coffeepot and refilled their cups. “Anything else I can get for you boys?” she asked.

  “No, ma’am,” said Stumpy. “This here coffee is just what I was craving.”

  “I’m satisfied, Brenda,” said Speer.

  “Just holler if you change your mind,” she said, and she hustled off to tend to some other customers.

  “Hey, Speer,” said Stumpy. “Take a gander out the window.”

  Speer turned his head to look. He saw Slocum riding into town, leading a horse. A body was slung across the saddle of the extra horse. Speer raised his coffee cup and took a quick slug. “Ow,” he said. “Goddamn. That’s hot.” He stood up and tossed his napkin down on the table. “Stay here and guard our place,” he said. “I’ll be right back.” He hurried on out to the street and over to where Slocum was just dismounting. “Hey,” he said. “Who you got there?”

  “It’s the one they call Rat’s Ass,” said Slocum. He lifted the head by the hair for Speer to get a look.

  “Let’s go down to the livery with the horses,” said Speer. “I’ve got a cup of coffee getting cold.”

  They walked to the livery, where Speer told Dyer to take the body to the undertaker’s and then put up the horses. Dyer grumbled about the extra duty, but Speer ignored him, and he and Slocum walked back to Brenda’s Place. They went inside and sat down with Stumpy. Brenda brought Slocum some coffee. Then Stumpy saw what he had been watching for. Rowland and the other three men came walking out of the hotel.