Slocum in Shot Creek

by Jake Logan

  Down the road, Church and his men heard the shots.

  “Will,” said Fall. “What do you think that’s all about?”

  “Sounds to me like Bartlet and his boys ran into Oates and his crew,” said Church.

  “What are we going to do?”

  “Not a damn thing,” said Church. “They’re outside of our jurisdiction, you know.”

  He stepped out into the road with a grin on his face, looking in the direction of the shots. Gradually, the others stepped out with him. They all stared toward the shooting. Fall and Church looked at one another.

  “Maybe they’ll wind up the war right now,” Fall said.

  “Which side are you rooting for, Mike?” said Church.

  “I’m kind of hoping they’ll wipe each other out,” Fall said.

  Two of the other men were whispering to one another in the background. One of them stepped up to Mayor Church and said, “It don’t look to me like you need us no more. I think we’ll head back into town.”

  “Go ahead, Purdy,” said Church. “And thanks.”

  “Sure thing, Mr. Mayor,” said Purdy. Then he led the way back to their horses, leaving Church and Fall to guard the road. Purdy and the other two mounted up. They rode a short distance through the brush and stopped.

  “Now what were you saying back there, Purdy?” asked one.

  “I said that Oates and Bartlet’s been causing our town all kinds of problems for a long time now,” Purdy said. “Well, ain’t they?”

  “I don’t reckon anyone could argue with that.”

  “Me neither.”

  “Did you hear what our councilman said back there?” Purdy added. “He’s hoping that Bartlet and Oates will wipe each other out.”

  “Yeah. Not a bad idea.”

  “Well, I say, let’s go help them.”

  “Oh, yeah. I get it.”

  “Let’s go then.”

  They rode farther away from the road through the brush and thicket and then turned away from town. Then they traveled parallel to the road for some distance until they came to a small outcropping of hills. They rode up to the hilltop and moved along the ridge until they could see the battling ranchers down below.

  “Get off your horses,” Purdy ordered. “Hide them down on the hillside.”

  The three men dismounted and tied their horses down on the far side of the hill. Then they scampered back to the top and lay down with their rifles in their hands. Each man cranked a shell into the chamber of his weapon. One of the men looked at Purdy.

  “Which side do we shoot at?” he asked.

  “Shoot anyone who shows himself,” Purdy said. “We don’t give a damn which side we shoot.”

  Just then, a man showed himself from behind a tree. He leaned out looking for a shot, and Purdy snapped off a round and dropped him.

  “I think that was an Oates hand,” he said. “I ain’t sure.”

  The other two grinned, raised their rifles to their shoulders, and started looking for targets.

  Down below, Bartlet was taking a bead on an Oates hand when the cowboy behind the tree next to him was stopped by a rifle shot. Down the road, Oates stood up from behind the huge rock where he was hidden and raised his rifle to his shoulder. There was another man just beside him. Oates fired and missed, and the other man stood up. Just as he did, a shot was fired and a bullet smashed into his chest. He fell back dead. Oates dropped quickly back behind the rock.

  “You son of a bitch,” he shouted at Bartlet.

  “You dirty rotten bastard,” Bartlet shouted back.

  “Chickenshit.”

  “Scurvy shithead.”

  “Donkey dicks,” shouted a third voice. All of a sudden, everyone on each side was screaming obscenities at everyone on the other side. Then someone fired a shot, and then everyone was shooting—everyone on both sides as well as the three men on top of the hill.

  Back up the road, Church and Fall seemed to be enjoying the show. “It sounds to me,” Fall said, “like they are just about to wipe each other out.”

  “For sure,” said Church.

  “You suppose we should ride up there and see what’s happening?”

  “After the gunshots have stopped, Mike. When everything has quieted down.”

  19

  Tommy could stand it no longer. He picked up his shotgun and stomped out of the office, leaving the prisoners alone in the jailhouse. He walked to the Fancy Pants saloon. He saw Red and Melvin standing at the bar. He did not want to be seen talking to them, but he felt like he had no choice. Looking around the room nervously, he walked to the bar, stood close to Red, and ordered a drink. With the drink on the bar in front of him, he lifted it and took a sip. Then he put it back down. Talking out of the side of his mouth, he said to Red, “What the hell are you two doing in here?”

  “Just wetting our whistles, Tommy,” was the answer.

  “Why ain’t you over to the jailhouse?”

  “We’re waiting till dark. We just come in a little early so we could have a drink or two. We’ll be over there all right. Don’t worry about us none.”

  “Right now is the best time,” Tommy said. “Slocum’s out of town somewhere. Far as I know, he might’ve left town for good with all this trouble coming up.”

  “He’s out of town?” said Melvin. “Come on, Red. Let’s go.”

  “Hold on,” said Tommy. “We can’t leave here together. Wait about five minutes after I leave.”

  “Okay,” said Red. He picked up his glass.

  Tommy downed his drink, turned, and left the bar.

  Tommy walked out on the street, stood for a moment looking around, then headed back for the marshal’s office. His heart was pounding in anticipation of the coming events. He had not yet decided what he was going to do. All he knew was that Red and Melvin were going to come into the jailhouse to get Sammy Hyde and to let their Bartlet companions out of jail. He gripped his shotgun tightly as he headed back.

  Slocum was closer to town than were Church and Fall, but he, too, could hear the gunshots down the road. He knew what was happening. He had planned it, and it was working. The range war had started, and it had started outside of town, just as he wanted. He paused and looked back over his shoulder. Of course, he could not see anything. He rode on slowly, and he rode with mixed feelings. He had planned this battle. He had planned for a bunch of men to kill each other. He had never done that before. They weren’t outlaws or particularly bad people. They were mostly a bunch of cowboys. But if he had not done what he had done, the fight would most likely have begun in town, and people who were even more innocent could have been hurt or killed. He rode on toward town.

  Back down the road, behind Slocum, behind Church and Fall, the gunfight raged on. Oates glanced to his right just in time to see another of his men fall. This time, though, he could tell that the bullet came from above. He looked up toward the ridge and caught sight of a man with a rifle. He kept looking. Soon he had discerned that there were three men up there. He called out to one of his men hidden not far away from him.

  “What is it, boss?” the man answered.

  “They’ve got three men up on that ridge. We’re easy targets for them.”

  The man looked up and saw some movement. “Yeah,” he said. “I see where they are.”

  “Can you take a couple of men and go up there and get them?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  In another couple of minutes, three Oates men were snaking their way through the brush and up the hillside. Gunshots continued around them. On the other side, Bartlet had a dead man on each side of him. He looked for a target. An Oates man peeked from behind a tree to shoot, and Bartlet picked him off. As he did, a rifle bullet smacked into the tree beside him, too close for comfort. He ducked to safety. He looked up at the tree. Then he looked toward the ridge.

  “Goddamn it,” he said. “Oates has got men up yonder.”

  “What was that?” said a cowhand.

  Bartlet gestured toward the ridge.
“He’s got men up there shooting down at us,” he said.

  “I can go get them,” said the cowhand.

  “Take someone with you.”

  “You bet, boss.”

  Two Bartlet hands began working their way toward the ridge. A rifle shot from above knocked down another Oates man below. Now all rifles, Oates’s men and Bartlet’s, were pointed toward the ridge and firing. Purdy and the other two men ducked down low with bullets pinging around them.

  “Goddamn,” said one of them. “What do we do now?”

  “Follow me,” said Purdy. “We’ll work our way down a little to the right.”

  He began creeping along the far side of the ridge, and the other two followed. Then an Oates man dropped over the ridge.

  “Watch it,” shouted Purdy.

  One of his pards whirled, but the Oates man shot him first. Purdy fired, his bullet thudding into the Oates man’s forehead. A second cowboy appeared on the ridge, and Purdy’s remaining companion dropped him with a shot. A third cowboy came over the edge, and the man with Purdy stood up to shoot him dead. Just as he did, the first Bartlet hand, coming over the ridge, jerked out his six-gun and fired. The man with Purdy clutched his chest and toppled over the edge. Purdy made a sudden appearance just then. With his six-gun, he shot the Bartlet man, sending him sliding back down the hillside. The remaining Bartlet hand jerked off a quick shot that caught Purdy in the side. Purdy howled and twisted, and the man shot again, knocking Purdy down the far side of the ridge. Everything grew quiet. The Bartlet hand, the one man remaining up on the ridge, stood up and waved down toward Bartlet.

  “I got them, Mr. Bartlet,” he shouted.

  From down below, Oates took careful aim with his rifle and squeezed the trigger. The man disappeared from sight. Everyone left alive commenced firing once more. This time, though, all the shots were from the road. The fight was fast and furious now. Oates and Bartlet had been after one another for some time, but now every cowboy there on both sides had lost good friends. Everyone was thoroughly pissed off. Everyone involved wanted everyone on the other side dead.

  Tommy Howard settled back down behind the big desk in the office and waited nervously for Red and Melvin to make their appearance. They weren’t moving fast enough for him. He wanted to get this over with and done. He had thought for a time that when Red and Melvin poked their noses into the jail, he would blast them with his shotgun and claim that he had stopped another jailbreak attempt. But there would be the four Bartlet hands already in jail. They would be witnesses, unless he killed them, too. And how would he explain that?

  Red and Melvin downed the rest of their whiskey, looked at one another, and headed for the batwing doors. They were about to cross the street and head for the jail when they saw Slocum come riding in.

  “Slocum,” said Melvin.

  “I see him,” said Red. “Get out of sight.”

  They turned and went back inside to stand by the window and watch. Slocum pulled up in front of the jail, dismounted, and went inside.

  “What now?” said Melvin.

  “We keep out of sight of that son of a bitch,” Red answered. “He can’t stay up all night. When he goes to his room, we go to the jail.”

  Tommy jumped up when Slocum walked into the office. His eyes were wide. “Slocum!” he said.

  “Who were you expecting?” said Slocum.

  “Well, no one, I just-just didn’t expect you so soon. That’s all.

  “Well, I’m back. Go on. Take yourself a break.”

  “I-I don’t need—”

  “Go on. Get yourself something to eat.”

  “Well, yeah. Okay. I will.” He picked up the shotgun and left the jailhouse. Slocum settled down in a chair against the wall.

  “Slocum,” called Hyde.

  “What do you want?”

  “Can I have some coffee?”

  Slocum got up and walked to the coffeepot. He opened the lid and took a sniff.

  “It don’t smell none too good,” he said, “but you can have some if you want it.”

  “I don’t want to smell it,” said Hyde. “I want to drink it.”

  Slocum poured a cup and carried it over to Hyde. He looked into the next cell. “What about you boys?” he asked.

  “Unless you’ve got some whiskey,” said one of them, “I’ll pass.”

  “Suit yourself,” said Slocum.

  Tommy walked into the Fancy Pants saloon again. Red and Melvin were still standing by the window. He stopped not far from them. Red moved over close to Tommy.

  “You said he wouldn’t be there,” he said.

  “Well, I was wrong, wasn’t I? How the hell was I to know he’d be coming back this soon?”

  “Goddamn it. We believed you. We—”

  “Oh, shut up, will you? Just wait till after dark like you planned in the first place. He’ll go to his room after a while and leave everything to me. Then you can take care of it.”

  “All we got to do in the meantime,” said Melvin, “is just keep our asses out of sight.”

  “Yeah,” said Tommy. “That’s right.”

  In his office, Slocum lit a cigar. He sent up a couple of puffs, and then he looked over into the cells. He stood up and walked to the desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. Then he walked to the coffeepot, where there were several cups around. He poured six of the cups full of the whiskey. Then he carried five of them to the cells. He gave one to each of the prisoners.

  “What is this, Slocum?” said one of the Bartlet boys.

  “I got to thinking about it,” Slocum said. “You all don’t know it yet, but your bosses and their crews, all except you, are out on the road wiping each other out. The range war started without you. So let’s all have a drink on it.”

  “Are you sure about that?” asked Hyde.

  “There won’t be anyone left to break you out of jail, Sammy,” Slocum said.

  “Why ain’t you out there stopping it?” said one of the Bartlet boys.

  “It’s outside my jurisdiction,” Slocum said. He took a drink of the whiskey. “Bottoms up, boys.”

  They all drank.

  “How come they start fighting out yonder?” said Hyde.

  “What?” said Slocum. “You want them to come into town and bust you out of jail?”

  “Well, I—”

  “Hell,” said a Bartlet hand, “ain’t no one coming in here to break you out. You’re going to trial in the morning, and then you’re going to hang.”

  The other Bartlets joined in laughing, and Sammy shouted at them, “You don’t know that. Why, hell, I might be found innocent at the trial—if there’s a trial. You don’t know what the hell’s going to happen. None of you do.”

  “You’re going to hang all right,” said another.

  “I wish I had my gun,” said Hyde. “I’d blast your asses all to hell.”

  “That’s right,” said a Bartlet hand. “That’s your style, ain’t it? We’re in here without guns. That’s the way you like to shoot people.”

  “Fuck you Bartlet bastards,” said Hyde.

  “Ain’t no one getting a refill if you mean to carry on like this.”

  Sammy Hyde chugged down his share of the whiskey and held out his cup. “Hell, Slocum,” he said. “We ain’t carrying on about nothing. Are we, fellows?”

  “No. Hell no,” said the others.

  Slocum laughed and poured drinks all around again. Then he sat back down.

  Out on the road, Church and Fall still stood listening to the gunshots. They were fewer and further between now.

  “The ranks must be thinned out somewhat by now,” said Fall.

  “I would imagine so,” said Church.

  “How much longer do we want to stay here?”

  “I’d say till the shots quit altogether.”

  Down the road, Oates called his men around him. There were not nearly as many as there had been when the shooting started. They clustered around their boss, staying low behind boulde
rs and trees.

  “Men,” Oates said, “this is getting to be boring. I say, let’s stand up and meet them face-to-face in the middle of the road.”

  20

  Church and Fall looked at one another. The shooting had stopped. It had been quiet for a few minutes now. “You think it’s over?” Fall asked.

  “Sounds like it,” said Church. “Let’s get our horses and take a little ride.”

  “Up ahead?” said Fall. “See what happened?”

  “That’s the general idea,” said Church.

  They walked to where their horses were tethered, got them loose, and mounted up.

  “Come on,” said Church.

  They kicked their horses into a trot and headed up the road. It was still quiet. They moved faster. Coming on a curve, suddenly a shot was fired, then more. They stopped, dismounted, and ran for cover. Fall looked at Church.

  “It’s not over,” he said.

  “Obviously,” said Church.

  Around the curve, what was left of the two ranch crews was out in the middle of the road facing one another. Everyone on both sides was blasting away. Two of Bartlet’s men went down, then one of Oates’s. Bartlet took careful aim at Oates with his rifle and pulled the trigger, but the hammer just clicked. The rifle was empty. He tossed it aside angrily and pulled out his revolver. He snapped off two quick shots. One of them hit Oates in the left shoulder.

  Oates cursed and raised his own rifle to his shoulder. Bartlet fired again, hitting Oates in the right thigh. Oates dropped to his knee. He raised the rifle again. This time he managed to get off a shot that tore through Bartlet’s right biceps.

  Back in the town, Slocum was beginning to feel a little buzz. He didn’t mind. He figured the Oates and Bartlet boys were wiping each other out outside of town, if they hadn’t already done so. He had no more worries. There would be a trial in the morning, and Hyde would be sentenced to hang. The Bartlet boys would likely get a slap on the wrist and be turned loose. It would all be over, and Slocum could get the hell out of Shit Creek. Besides all that, the bottle was empty, and the four prisoners were at least as drunk as he was. He stood up and headed for the door.