“Hold it, Lola!” one of the men yelled. “He’s just bringin’ our mule back. He’da done shot us, if he was of a mind to.” When the woman eased the rifle down, the man turned back toward Slater. “Come on in, mister. You kinda surprised us there. My wife thought you was an Injun.” He forced a chuckle. “Can’t blame her none, can you? And the best rule when you see an Injun is shoot him first, then decide if he’s friendly or not, right?”
Slater was undecided; their reaction seemed strange. They had obviously not been concerned about their mule escaping, based on what he had seen when he first rode up. He wondered if they had even been aware that the mule was loose. “I’ll just leave you your mule, and I’ll be on my way,” he said, and dismounted to untie the mule.
“Why, we wouldn’t be very neighborly if we didn’t show a little appreciation for you goin’ to the trouble of catchin’ that mule.” He took the reins from Slater and handed them to his partner, a gaunt-looking man with an oversized head and narrow shoulders. “Here, Slim, lead this critter over there with the horses.” Back to Slater, he said, “My name’s Tom Leach. He’s Slim Posey. . . . Oh, and that’s my wife, Lola.” The woman, a large buxom woman with long red hair, and still standing by the tent flap, responded with a bored nod. Leach continued. “Where’s the rest of your party?”
“I reckon I’m the whole party,” Slater answered.
Leach affected a huge laugh. “He says he’s the whole party, Slim.” Their laugh seemed out of proportion to the comment. “Well, Mr. . . . I didn’t catch your name.”
“Slater,” he said.
“Well, Slater,” Leach went on, “my wife was just fixin’ to cook us up somethin’ to eat.” He shot a quick glance in her direction. “Weren’t you, honey?” With a wide smile on his heavily whiskered face, he turned back to Slater. “Least we can do is have you share some supper with us.”
“If I can find somethin’ to cook,” Lola complained.
“There’s side meat in a sack up there,” Leach shot back. “Look for it.”
“I’ll not put you to the trouble,” Slater said. He had no desire to spend any more time in their camp. “I’d best be headin’ on back toward Fort Ellis.”
“It’s a long way from here to Fort Ellis,” Posey offered, having just come back from hobbling the mule. “You might as well take supper with us and camp here tonight—get you a fresh start in the mornin’.”
“Slim’s right,” Leach said. “Too late to get very far tonight before you’ll have to stop anyway, and we don’t get many chances at havin’ visitors. Ain’t that right, Lola?”
Lola took a moment to look the tall, broad-shouldered young man up and down before replying, “Yeah, we don’t get much company up here in these miserable mountains. I’ll get some side meat cookin’, if I can find the fryin’ pan.”
“It’s over there by the fire,” Slim said.
Slater was already wishing that he had taken some other trail into the mountains. These folks seemed genuinely interested in being hospitable, but they were an odd bunch. To begin with, how could they not know their mule was gone when it most likely walked right by the two men at the sluice box? And the woman, Lola, was just about as scatterbrained. She couldn’t seem to remember where anything was. He wondered if they had found any gold, and if they would even know it when they saw it. Maybe, he thought, they had spent too many lonely days in the mountains without having contact with other folks.
Well, he thought, I reckon it wouldn’t hurt to eat with them, since they seem to want some company.
“Well, if you’re sure it won’t be too much bother,” he said.
“No trouble atall,” Lola spoke up then. “It’ll be nice to have somebody to talk to besides these two.”
While Lola was cooking what would turn out to be a basic meal of beans, bacon, and coffee, Leach and Posey were busy questioning Slater about any possible Indian threats he might have heard about in this part of the territory.
After that, their questions were mostly about whether or not he had been working a claim. When he said that he was not a miner, they seemed to lose much of their interest in him. They found that he was not much fun as far as drinking and gambling were concerned.
In fact, they soon realized what Teddy Lightfoot had found about his young friend—he had never developed the capacity to have fun. It was still an early hour when Slater thanked them for the meal, said good night, and left to make his bed a short way back down the stream.
He lay back and pulled his blanket over him, thinking what an odd trio of people he had encountered. He realized that he had no experience in dealing with everyday white people. Not since he was a boy in his father’s home had he even talked to anyone other than Teddy, Greeley, or lately, a soldier. He decided he was not good at it. He also decided that he would leave early in the morning, as he had done when he left Lame Elk’s village. It was his way—when he was uncomfortable with a situation, he removed himself from it.
His thoughts were interrupted then by the sound of something pushing through the chokecherry bushes that shielded his camp.
Instantly alert, he rested his hand on the Henry rifle by his side. In a moment, he heard her voice. “Slater, you awake?” He answered yes, and she said, “It’s just me, Lola. I just came to see if you’re all settled for the night.”
“Yes,” he said. “I’m all right. Is there something wrong?”
“No, no,” she said, “nothin’ wrong. It’s just that I ain’t sleepy, and Tom and Slim are already snorin’ away. And a woman like me, I don’t get to talk to anybody new very often, so I thought if you were awake, too, you might wanna talk.”
He was dumbfounded, for he had no idea what the woman wanted to talk about. It was time for sleep now. “I’m afraid I ain’t much for talkin’,” he said.
She recognized at once how naïve the young man was. “You know, all the talkin’ that went on at supper was just Tom’s and Slim’s mouths flappin’. You hardly said nothin’ at all. I’d like to know about you.”
Totally confused now, he answered simply, “There ain’t nothin’ to know about me.”
“Come on, now,” she teased. “A big, strong, handsome man like you, I’ll bet you’ve got a little bit of money, too. Am I right?”
“Well, I’ve got a little bit,” he answered foolishly, “enough to get by on, I reckon.”
She knelt down beside him. “What would you like to spend some of it on, if you could? You know, I’m married, but Tom Leach don’t own me, and I like to have a good time once in a while.”
At last it registered in his innocent brain what she had in mind, and he was immediately disgusted with the idea. He felt the blood in his veins turn to ice.
“You’re barkin’ up the wrong tree, lady,” he blurted. “You’d best go on back to your husband now. And don’t expect to see me here when you get up in the mornin’.”
Inflamed, she got to her feet. “You dumb jackass!” she bellowed. “You ain’t got sense enough to know what you just missed.” She spun on her heel and added, “And you probably ain’t man enough to handle it, anyway!” Then she pushed her way violently through the branches of the chokecherries and was gone. The boy and young man who had been sorely deficient in the education that most boys gained in the towns and saloons at a much earlier age was now a much wiser man—although he felt like the dumbest man on the earth.
There were other things to think about, now that he had belatedly realized the larcenous intentions of the woman. She had been more interested in whether or not he had any money than actually seeking to share his bed. More than likely she was intended to be the distraction while Leach and Posey went through his packs. He figured they were just thieves, but there was also the possibility that they were more than that. So he decided it was in his best interest to saddle up and be on his way.
Working quickly, in case he would have more visit
ors when the woman went back to report her failure, he threw his saddle on the paint. After he made sure his rifle was in the saddle sling and his bow securely tied on, he started to load his packs on the sorrel. He didn’t get very far before he heard the voice behind him.
“You fixin’ to go somewhere, partner?”
He turned to face a Winchester ’66 leveled at him.
“I swear, Tom,” Slim Posey said as he stepped out of the bushes on the other side of the paint, “I believe ol’ Slater here was gonna run right off without so much as a fare-thee-well.”
“Yeah,” Leach drawled, “and after we showed him so much hospitality.”
Stepping out from behind her husband, a revolver in her hand, Lola commanded impatiently, “Quit your japin’ and cut him down so we can see that little bit of money he’s carryin’.”
“I’d like to see what he’s totin’ in those packs, too,” Posey said. Still somewhat reluctant to end the enjoyment of watching a man squirm when he was about to die, both men waited, hoping he would make a move in desperation.
Caught by surprise, Slater found he had few options. He stood silently waiting while the two miscreants amused themselves at his expense. It did no good at all to chide himself for not finding cover to defend himself, instead of trying to run.
In the few moments he had to act before one of the three pulled a trigger, he saw no way he could get out of his predicament without getting shot by one or more of the three. He saw his odds improve, however, when Posey stepped up to the paint gelding.
“I’ve been admirin’ that horse of your’n ever since you rode up. I’ll most likely keep my saddle, though.”
“Don’t go puttin’ your brand on that horse just yet,” Leach said. “I been admirin’ that paint myself.”
“Kill the son of a bitch,” Lola demanded, tired of hearing the bickering between the two men, and still smoldering from Slater’s rejection.
“We will, darlin’,” Leach said, and started to raise the Winchester, then hesitated when the thought struck him. “You wanna shoot him?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Let me do it, since it don’t look like you’re gonna get it done.”
Posey laughed at her response. Still more interested in the paint gelding, he reached for the horse’s bridle. It was Slater’s signal to act, and the only one he was likely to get.
Faithful to its reputation, the cantankerous horse took a bite out of Posey’s hand, causing him to yell out in pain, dropping his .44 as he jumped back, jolting Lola in the process. The result of the collision between the two resulted in Lola squeezing the trigger and firing a bullet into the ground.
Like a great cat, Slater sprang for his horse. With one foot in the stirrup, he flailed the horse for speed, and the paint did not fail him. Lola was unfortunate to be directly in the horse’s way and was consequently knocked to the ground as horse and rider galloped away down the stream.
In all the chaos of the moment, one remained clear of the confusion. Leach raised his rifle to draw a bead on the fleeing man. Knowing he was not safe yet, Slater threw his leg over the saddle and dropped down to cling to the paint’s other side in an effort to present a smaller target and put the horse between him and Leach. He felt the impact of the bullet behind his shoulder as he switched over, and he grabbed the saddle horn to keep from falling. There were two more shots fired after him, both misses. They told him that Leach and one of the others had shot at him, either Lola or Posey; his money was on Lola.
As soon as he felt it was safe, he pulled himself up to sit in the saddle, and reined the paint back to a lope. After a short distance, he reined the horse back further to a fast walk. He wasn’t sure how bad he was hurt. The pain was intense, but not debilitating. He felt that he would be all right once he stopped the bleeding. He had been right when he figured that there were long odds on getting away without being shot.
Damn lucky it was my shoulder, he thought.
But he had left his packhorse and all of his supplies behind, and that would be the next order of business. He had no intention of losing them.
Chapter 9
“Boy, he lit outta here like a rabbit with a bobcat on his tail,” Slim Posey crowed. “We ain’t gonna see that jasper again. He left damn near all his possibles and a right fine horse to boot. I’d say it was a pretty good night’s work.”
Tom Leach continued to stare in the direction of Slater’s departure. “Maybe he’ll keep on runnin’ and maybe he won’t. I ain’t willin’ to take a chance on him sneakin’ back here.”
“Hell, you shot him,” Slim said. “I saw him when the bullet hit him. He liked to fell outta the saddle then.”
“I know I hit him,” Leach insisted, “but I’d still like to know he’s hurt too bad to cause us any trouble.”
“He might already be dead,” Slim said. “But I reckon you’re right, we oughta see if we can find out. Why don’t we walk on down this stream a ways and see if he’s fell off his horse? Hell, he was just hangin’ on when he rode outta here.”
“That sounds like a good idea to me,” Leach said. “I know I’d feel a lot easier if we was to find his body deader’n hell.” He looked at Lola then, who was busy pulling Slater’s packs apart, looking for anything of value. “You stay here. Me and Slim are gonna walk down this stream a ways till we find him, or know pretty sure he’s gone from these mountains.”
“If you find him, just make sure he’s dead. I don’t want him sneakin’ around here. He looks like a damn Injun, anyway. He’s liable to try to steal his things back if he ain’t dead.” She returned to her search of Slater’s packs.
As the two outlaws made their way carefully down the stream, a full moon rose over the mountain to shine its light on the steep gulch, making it much easier to see what lay ahead of them. It caused them to proceed with even more caution, for they were aware that they would be more easily seen as well.
“Keep your eyes sharp,” Leach whispered as they approached a bend in the stream where it worked around a stone column protruding from the spruce trees that lined the bank. Not willing to take a chance on being ambushed, Leach flattened his back against the stone column and eased his body around the bend. “Well, lookee yonder,” he exclaimed. “I got him, all right.”
Posey eased himself around behind Leach to see what he had seen. There, about thirty yards down the stream, the paint gelding stood close to the bank, its reins hanging down in the water, the saddle empty.
“Ha,” Slim barked triumphantly. “I reckon you did.” They hurried then to find the body, splashing through the cold mountain water. The paint moved its hindquarters around nervously as they ran up to it, looking right and left.
“He couldn’ta got far,” Leach said, straining to look downstream. He heard a solid sound like the thump of an ax on a stump, and turned back to discover that Posey had dropped to his knees in the water.
“Slim, what the hell—” he started, but was stopped by the gleam of the moonlight on the smooth shaft of the arrow protruding from Posey’s chest. “Wah!” Leach wailed fearfully, and turned to run, only to be stopped by the solid blow of an arrow when it struck his stomach.
Staggering backward, he gawked in disbelief at the cruel shaft buried almost to the feathers in his stomach. A fearful whine issued from his lips as he struggled to turn away, grunting painfully when a second arrow, this one in his back, dropped him into the water.
Slater climbed down from the columnlike stone outcropping where he had waited for the pursuers he had felt sure would follow him. With no feelings of compassion for the two would-be murderers, he waded out into the stream to confirm their deaths.
Reaching Posey first, he saw that he was not dead yet, although he was losing his battle with the devil. Slater put his foot on Posey’s back and pinned him under the water until no more bubbles came to the surface. Then he tried to pull his arrow out but broke it off in the pr
ocess. It had buried itself too deep, a result of the close range of the shot.
He then checked Leach but found him already dead. He pinned him underwater for a while anyway, just to be sure. He had similar results with those two arrows to what he had had with Posey. He had decided it best to use his bow when the two men came without the woman. Rifle shots would have given her warning, and he still had to deal with her.
He rearranged the bandanna he had stuffed in his shirt to slow the bleeding from his shoulder before rescuing the weapons now lying on the bottom of the stream. Then he pulled the bodies out of the water and left them on the bank to make it easier for the buzzards to feed on them. It would also improve the quality of the drinking water.
He took the cartridge belts from each body, then started back toward the camp.
* * *
When within about fifty yards below the little clearing where he had made his camp before, he tied the paint to a bush on the side of the stream. Then he went the rest of the way on foot, holding close to the shadows near the bank. When he reached the spot where he had left his packhorse, he found the sorrel still there. His packs were strewn about, evidence of the woman’s frantic search for money, but she was not there. Figuring she had gone back to her camp to wait for the men to return, he decided it best to circle around the tent and approach the camp from above it.
Placing each step carefully on the rocky sides of the gulch, his wet moccasins leaving tracks in the moonlight, he dropped down into a narrow gully to keep from casting a shadow near the tent. The bottom of the gully was dark, making it difficult to see where to place his feet, and as he moved past the tent, he tripped over a mound of what he guessed was dirt, causing him to drop to his knees.
Feeling around in the darkness of the gully bottom, he tried to determine how wide the mound was. Suddenly he groped something that felt like a hand, but it was cold and rigid. Confused, he pulled on it and discovered it was still attached to an arm, and he realized at once that he had stumbled upon the original owner of the mining claim.
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