Slocum and the Bad-News Brothers

by Jake Logan

  No one said anything. No one stepped forward.

  “What do you say?”

  Randy Self took a step forward and looked up at Tipton. “Mr. Tipton,” he said, “there ain’t a one going to quit on you, and, well, I’ll take that foreman’s job.”

  “Good,” said Tipton. “The next thing I’m going to do is to ask Slocum to talk to you. He’s the gunman around here, and he’s going to take charge as long as this damned war keeps on. Slocum?”

  Slocum stood up slowly and walked to the front of the porch. At the same time, Tipton turned away and found himself a chair.

  “Men,” said Slocum, “from now on go armed. Wear your revolvers and carry your rifles. If anyone goes out to the pasture or out fixing fence, anything like that, go in twos at least. I don’t want no one getting caught out alone. The same things goes for any trips you might make into town. At least two of you go together. You got that, Randy?”

  “Yes, sir,” Randy said. “I’ll see to it.”

  “All right. I want two men down there at the main gate watching for any sign of trouble. I want two men at the house around the clock. Randy, you can work out the schedules. And I want at least a couple of men riding fence constant, patrolling the borders of this ranch. Now if any of you see any sign of trouble, and it’s just the two of you, hightail it back here to let the rest know what’s up. I don’t want two men trying to fight it out with ten Beamers. Well, I reckon that’s about all I got to say.”

  “Take over, Randy!” Tipton shouted.

  The cowhands gathered around Randy to see what he had to say, and he immediately began making assignments to follow the instructions Slocum had given. In almost no time, two cowhands with rifles and revolvers mounted up and headed for the main gate. Two more positioned themselves there at the house, and four men went out in two different directions to begin the fence riding. Slocum pulled a chair up next to Tipton and sat down, puffing his cigar.

  “Well, Slocum,” said Tipton, “what do you think?”

  “We’ll handle them all right, Carl,” Slocum said. “You got too many men here for us to lose.”

  “Yeah, but I can’t live here the rest of my life like a goddamned prisoner.”

  “Didn’t the judge say that he’d wrote a letter to the U.S. marshal?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “We can hold out till the marshal gets here. Then all we have to do is to just accuse the Beamers of those killings. We’ve got Brace already on attempted murder and jailbreaking. It likely won’t take much to set them crazy bastards off. With the U.S. marshal on our side, we can go wipe them out if we have to.”

  “I guess so,” Tipton said.

  The ladies had walked up close behind the two chairs where Tipton and Slocum were sitting and had been listening to the conversation.

  “Carl,” said Myrtle, “you pay attention to what Slocum’s saying. It makes good sense.”

  “Yes, Daddy,” said Jamie. “After all, it’s what you’re paying him for, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” Tipton said. “You’re right. All of you.”

  Ace and Trotter were riding herd later that evening. The sun was about to go down beyond the horizon. The cattle were a bit restless, but the two hands were able to keep them calm with no trouble. Suddenly a group of riders appeared not too far away.

  “Hey, Trotter,” said Ace. “See that?”

  “Beamers?” said Trotter.

  “Who else?”

  “What do we do?”

  “Just what Slocum said. We ride like hell for help.”

  One of the riders in the far group raised a rifle to his shoulder and fired a shot. It was a long shot, but it hit its mark. Ace jerked and pitched forward, falling from his saddle. His horse nickered and bolted.

  “Ace,” said Trotter. He started to dismount, but a second shot sounded, and Trotter felt it bite his left shoulder. He looked frantically in the direction of the gang of riders and saw that they were riding toward him. He looked down at Ace, wondering if he were dead or alive. He looked back at the riders coming fast. With his right hand, he pulled his revolver and fired off a couple of quick shots. He saw a horse stumble and fall, throwing its rider. Then he kicked hard at his own horse’s sides and rode fast for the ranch house.

  Hump Beamer called a halt and rode over to the side of his fallen brother, Butcher. Butcher got slowly up to his feet. “Goddamn,” he said.

  “You hurt?” said Hump.

  “No, but my goddamn horse sure as hell is.”

  “He looks like he’s killed to me,” Hump said.

  “Well, goddamn it, what am I going to ride on?”

  “Shit,” said Hump. “Get up behind Skinny, but you two can’t ride on with the rest of us double like that. Just go on back to the house.”

  “Ah, damn it,” said Butcher.

  “Why me?” said Skinny.

  “Because I said so, and I’m the oldest,” Hump said. “Now just get on and do it.”

  Skinny rode his horse over close to Butcher, and Butcher climbed on the back still grumbling. Skinny did not bother to turn his horse around just yet. He and Butcher sat there watching the others.

  “All right, the rest of you, come on and follow me,” Hump said, and he started to ride toward the ranch house of the Tipton spread. Skinny and Butcher watched them go.

  “I don’t want to go on back home,” said Butcher. “Not just on account of losing my damn horse.”

  “Well, what’ll we do?” said Skinny.

  “Say, where’s the horse of that ole boy we shot down?”

  “It’s got to be around here somewheres.”

  “Let’s ride around a little bit and see can we spot it.”

  “All right.”

  Skinny rode his horse forward toward the cattle herd, toward the place where Ace was when he was shot. The cattle stirred uneasily. Skinny kept going right toward them.

  “Hey,” said Butcher. “Over there.”

  He pointed off to his right, and Skinny turned his head to look.

  “What is it?” he said.

  “Look there on the ground. There’s that one we shot.”

  Skinny spotted the body on the ground. He turned his horse to ride over to it. When they got there, he stopped, and Butcher jumped down off the horse. He unbuckled Ace’s gun belt and jerked it loose from the body, throwing it over his shoulder. Then he rummaged through all of the pockets, taking any money he found. He also took a pocket-knife. Last of all, he pulled the boots off the dead feet. Tucking the boots into the saddle-bags on Skinny’s horse, he climbed back on.

  “That horse’s got to be around here somewhere,” he said.

  “Loose like that and still saddled. Hell,” said Skinny, “he might’ve gone straight on back to the corral.”

  “He might,” said Butcher, “but he might could still be around. Let’s look some more.”

  They rode to the rear of the cattle herd. Skinny was about to turn his horse to ride around to the other side when Butcher stopped him. There, a little further off to his right, stood the loose horse, grazing contentedly.

  “Ride up to him real easy,” Butcher said. “Don’t take no chances of scaring him off.”

  “I can catch a horse,” said Skinny. He eased his own mount forward edging closer to the loose Tipton horse. It raised its head nickered, then moved and nickered, then moved a few feet farther away.

  “Go easy, I said.”

  “Hush up, Butcher.”

  Skinny stopped his horse, and they sat there for a couple of minutes. Then he urged it forward again, slowly. The loose horse kept grazing. Skinny eased up close. Both men talked soft to the horse. Skinny scooched in close beside it and reached down for the reins. He got hold of one. “Hot damn,” said Butcher, sliding off the back end of Skinny’s horse. He ran around and climbed up onto the other horse, catching up the reins.

  “I reckon it’s too late to catch up to Hump and them,” he said.

  “I’d say so.”

  �
�Well, then,” said Butcher, “let’s just see how many of these damned Tipton cows we can drive over onto our own range.”

  “That suits me,” said Skinny.

  They took loose their ropes and began riding around the herd swinging them and calling out to the cattle. The already high-strung beasts were not hard to get moving. A few straggled off to either side, but the majority of the herd headed out in the direction the two thieves wanted.

  “Yeah,” hollered Butcher. “Keep them moving.”

  “Woo ha!” shouted Skinny. “Get along there. Get along.”

  Moving along at a slow run, some of the cattle trampled over the body of Ace. They kept going. Butcher suddenly had a thought, an unusual occurrence for him. He called out at the top of his lungs to Skinny, “Hey, there’s a fence up yonder.”

  “I’ll cut it,” shouted Skinny, spurring his horse ahead. He had soon disappeared from Butcher’s view, and Butcher did what he could to keep the herd moving along at a steady pace. He lost a few more, especially from the side of the herd that Skinny had been riding.

  “Yow. Yow,” he shouted. A big bull turned and ran out of the herd, and Butcher rode to head him off. The bull turned in the nick of time, just bashing his side into the side of Butcher’s mount. The bull turned back into the herd, but Butcher’s horse stumbled and almost fell down, Butcher sliding halfway out of the saddle.

  “Hell damn!” he shouted, as he fought to regain his seat. “Son of a bitch,” he said, drawing out his six-gun and riding up alongside the bull. He cocked the revolver and fired into the bull’s side. He fired again. The bull stumbled over its front knees and crashed into the ground. The rest of the herd kept moving, but they moved faster than ever now. Butcher knew that the fence was dead ahead. He kept the herd moving fast, hoping that Skinny had done his job. Hell, he thought, even if he ain’t, it ain’t no skin off me. They ain’t my damn cows.

  When the bawling herd reached the fence, Skinny had already removed a long section of the vicious barbed wire, and the cattle moved through the fence with no problem. Once the last one was through, Butcher stopped riding so hard. He had them where he wanted them. Skinny rode up beside him. They sat at the rear of the herd and watched them run.

  “Where they going to wind up?” Skinny asked.

  “Damned if I know,” said Butcher. “They might run right up onto the house if they keep going like that.”

  “What’ll your maw say?”

  “I don’t think she’ll mind too much,” Butcher said. “You know that beef we had at Harman’s funeral?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Was it good?”

  “It was pretty damn good.”

  “Well, hell, it was Tipton beef.”

  10

  Trotter made it to the ranch house, but he was about to fall out of the saddle. Charlie Hope and another cowhand were guarding the house. Everyone but the guards on duty had gone to bed. The house was dark. Charlie came running when he heard the horse. As he got close, he thought that he could recognize the rider in the dark, but he also thought that something looked wrong.

  “Trotter?” he said. “That you?”

  “Charlie,” said Trotter. “Yeah, it’s me.”

  Charlie ran on over to the horse. He saw that Trotter was sagging in the saddle. He leaned his rifle against the hitch rail and reached up to give Trotter a hand.

  “Charlie,” said Trotter. “Wake everyone up. They’re coming. They killed Ace. Shot me. I knocked down one of their horses and slowed them up a little, but they won’t be far behind.”

  “Joe,” yelled Charlie, as he helped Trotter down. “Joe. Come a running.”

  Trotter got his feet on the ground and an arm around Charlie’s shoulder. They were moving toward the porch when Joe came around a corner of the house.

  “What is it?” he said.

  “Trotter’s been shot. Ace is killed. The Beamers is on the way here. Wake everyone up.”

  Joe ran up on the porch and began pounding on the door. Slocum was there in a flash, and old Tipton was not far behind. Joe gave a quick explanation of what was going on, and Tipton had Charlie take the wounded Trotter into the house. Then he sent Joe scurrying to the bunkhouse to wake up the whole crew. In a short time, everyone was gathered around the house fully armed. Myrtle and Jamie were tending to Trotter’s wound inside. Quickly, Slocum spotted men around he house and at strategic locations in the yard. He told them to be ready. “Those bastards mean business,” he said.

  Out on the range, Hump Beamer led his riotous gang toward the ranch house at breakneck speed. When they got close, he slowed them down. Finally he stopped. He sat still in the saddle for a moment studying the situation. At last he spoke in a low voice, but loud enough for all to hear. “It looks quiet,” he said. “Everyone’s gone to bed. That’s good. We’ll ride in real close, and you Hiram and you Jeff get off your horses and go right up to the house and start it on fire. Then run back to your horses and join up with the rest of us. We’ll let the fire get going. That’ll make the folks inside come a running out, and when they do, we’ll cut loose on them. Kill everyone you can.”

  “Except the women,” said Brace. He had an evil leer on his face.

  “Yeah,” said Hump. “Save the women if you can. We’ll kill them later.”

  “When we’re all done with them,” said Brace.

  “All right now,” said Hump. “Let’s get our minds on our business. Everyone know what to do?”

  “Hell, yes,” Brace said. “We’re raring to go.”

  “Let’s do it then,” said Hump. “Hiram, Jeff, get a move on.”

  Hiram and Jeff rode in yet closer before they dismounted. They stood still for a moment looking at the house. Then they looked at one another.

  “You got matches?” Hiram asked.

  “Yeah. You?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well then,” said Jefferson Davis Beamer, “let’s go do it.”

  “Well,” Hiram stammered, “what’ll we use to start the fire with?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You can’t just hold a match to a house and start it a burning, can you?”

  “No, you silly shit. What you do is you gather up some trash. You know, some dry grass and such, and you pile it against the side of the house and set it on fire.”

  “Oh. Say, there’s a haystack over yonder.”

  “Good idea. Let’s go get us each a handful of that hay.”

  They crouched down and started moving stealthily toward the haystack. They had made it about halfway when a shot was fired. Hiram yelped fearfully and slapped a hand to the side of his head.

  “Someone’s went and shot my left ear off,” he yowled.

  “Let’s get out of here,” said Jefferson Davis.

  The two of them turned to run for their horses. Another shot was fired that ripped the heel off of Jefferson Davis’s right boot. Jefferson Davis was running lopsided. He stumbled and rolled in the ground. Terrified, he scrambled to his feet and continued to run with a stupid-looking limp. More shots sounded as the two reached their horses. Mounting hurriedly, they rode back to where Hump and the others waited.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Jefferson Davis hollered.

  “My fucking ear’s shot off,” whimpered Hiram.

  “Come on,” Hump said, turning his horse. “The bastards was laying for us.”

  “That’s a dirty damn trick,” said Brace.

  The entire gang turned their horses and headed back across the open range the way they had come. A few shots were fired from behind them, but none of them found a mark.

  “I’m bleeding to death,” Hiram roared.

  “Well, shut up and ride,” said Hump.

  Slocum stepped down off the porch. He surveyed the situation as he holstered his Colt. “They’re gone, boys,” he called. “Come on out.” The cowhands all appeared in the yard around Slocum.

  “Should we go after them?” Randy Self asked.

  “No. It wouldn�
�t do any good in this dark,” Slocum said. “You did good. All of you. Those of you that got rousted out of bed, go on back. Those of you that was on guard duty get back to your posts. Randy, you’ll have to replace Ace and Trotter. And whoever you pick, tell them to watch out. We don’t want anyone else shot up if we can avoid it.”

  “Yes sir, Slocum,” Randy said.

  Slocum turned and walked back up onto the porch. He sat down heavily in a chair. Carl Tipton sat down next to him.

  “Good job, Slocum,” he said. “You want a drink?”

  “I’ll take one,” said Slocum.

  Tipton got up and went into the house. A moment later he reappeared with a bottle and two glasses. He sat down again and poured the glasses full, handing one to Slocum.

  “Thanks,” Slocum said.

  “Hell,” said Tipton, “you earned it. That and more.”

  They finished off the first glass, and Tipton poured them both refills.

  “You’ve got good taste in whiskey,” Slocum said. “That’s how come I’m hanging around here.”

  Tipton chuckled. “So what do we do from here?” he asked. “Attack the Beamers at their place and wipe them out?”

  “That’s what I feel like doing,” Slocum said, “but I don’t believe it would look very good. You remember what the judge said.”

  “Wait for the U.S. marshal,” said Tipton, disgust sounding in his voice.

  “How long can we hold out here at the ranch without anyone going into town for anything?”

  “Well, let’s see now,” said Tipton. “I think we could last a week. Maybe more. We’ve got plenty of grub and coffee. Tobacco. I can’t think what else we need to go to town for.”

  “Ammunition?” Slocum asked.

  “Got enough to finish off a war with,” Tipton said.

  “All right then,” said Slocum. “Let’s just lay low, keep our guards out. See if they try to pull anything else. As long as they’re attacking us, we’re in the clear.”

  “Okay,” said Tipton. “Well, I’ve got to go on back to bed. I’m getting too old for this.”

  Slocum thought about Tipton’s turn in town with Bonita. “I don’t think you’re acting none too old,” he said.