Slocum's Close Call

by Jake Logan

  “I know,” Joiner said. “And we haven’t even had time to think about it, to grieve over her.”

  “And John,” she said, “he’s out there all by himself after three men?”

  “He insisted,” said Joiner. “I tried to go along with him. Eddie too. But he insisted that we come back here.”

  “I’m all done here,” Cobb said, pushing back from his desk. “The telegram’s been sent and the paperwork’s all done. Now I’m riding after Slocum. Ain’t nothing to keep me here.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Joiner said. He looked into Julia’s eyes. “All right?”

  “Go on,” she said, “but be careful.”

  The sun was almost directly overhead, and Axel was now staggering. He was not used to long walking, and a throbbing pain shot through his body from his left ear, and another from where his right thumb should have been. His entire body felt as if it had been beaten up one side and down the other with a length of two-by-four. He was hungry, and he desperately wanted a drink of water. And to compound all his other problems, he had completely lost his sense of direction. He had begun to feel such deep self-pity that he was no longer even angry. He no longer wanted to kill Harman. He no longer thought about the money. He wanted to find a house where he could beg for a drink of water and then a bit of food. That was all. It was all, and it was everything.

  Slocum had not ridden far from the site of his first stop when he saw the body of the black horse in the road ahead. So both survivors were on foot, he mused. A bunch of damn fools, he thought, to kill all the horses. He moved ahead slowly watching the sides of the road. Soon he was there beside the remains of the black horse. A shame, he thought, it had been a fine animal. He looked around from the saddle, and he saw the boot prints leading to the ditch beside the road. He dismounted and walked over there.

  He could see where one man had crouched there beside the road, probably Harman, he figured. Harman had been riding the black horse. Then he saw what looked to be dried drops of blood. He followed them up the side of the hill. The blood trail was more clear up there, and there was a thumb. A little more checking told him that one man, wounded, had run across open country on foot. He wouldn’t get far, and he wouldn’t move fast. He could be picked up any time. Slocum went back down to the road. A little more looking around told him that the second man, almost certainly Harman, was walking straight ahead.

  Satisfied that he had learned all he could there, Slocum mounted up again and walked the Appaloosa over to the nearby stream for a drink of water. He was still in no hurry. If anything, knowing that both surviving outlaws were on foot, he was even more relaxed. He took a drink himself, and then he allowed the Appaloosa to drink its fill. Finally he mounted up again, and he moved back into the road to follow the boot prints there.

  Thoughts of Myrtle kept him going. Remembrances of the way she had cared for him while he was laid up from a shot fired from ambush, the sound of her voice, the smell of her hair, the way she had looked when she was walking away in her tight jeans, the sight and the feel of her naked flesh, the way she had stood beside the men, gun in hand. All these things and more. But more than all the rest, the way she had looked as she died in his arms. They kept him going, and they kept him hard.

  Harman saw the rider coming up behind him. He didn’t recognize the man or the horse, a big Appaloosa. It was not another of his gunhands coming to get even with him for having run out on him. It might be someone working with Joiner. They had said that Joiner had a stranger working with him. It might just be some drifter riding by. Harman had two thoughts, though. First, he didn’t want to take a chance that it might be an associate of Joiner. Second, he wanted that big horse. He turned, stood still, and raised his rifle.

  Slocum saw the man he figured to be Harman raise the rifle. He cranked a shell into his own Winchester and raised it quickly to his shoulder. He aimed dead on and squeezed the trigger. The Winchester bucked and roared, and in the distance Harman jerked and fired, his own shot going wild. He tried to work the lever again, but he could not. He staggered. He fell forward on his face. Slocum rode on down.

  He sat on the back of the Appaloosa looking down at the body. It was still. He knew that the man was dead. Damn fool, he said to himself. He swung down out of the saddle and picked up Harman’s weapons. He dropped the six-gun into his own saddlebags along with the other he had collected, and he tied the rifle behind his saddle with the extra one he had there. Then he pulled the saddlebags off Harman’s shoulder. Curious, he opened the flaps, first one, then the other. They were filled with cash. Now he knew he would have to go back to Rat’s Nest one more time. He flung the saddlebags across the Appaloosa’s rump. Now there would be plenty of time to ride down the other one, the one with the missing thumb, the last one. He mounted up, turned around, and started back the way he had come.

  He didn’t go far, though. He rode back only to the spot where he had found the thumb off the side of the road. He looked for an easy place for his Appaloosa to climb the rise, and he went off the road again. The blood trail was easy enough to follow for a while, and by then he figured that the man had to have headed for the clump of trees ahead. He rode on down there and looked around. There was no sign of the one-thumbed man. Slocum moved back out of the trees and looked around some more.

  He could find no definite sign indicating which way across the grassland the man had gone. He decided to ride in a sort of circle, heading northwest for a while, then sweeping south and back southeast to the road again. He could pretty well estimate a range beyond which the wounded man on foot would not have been able to go. If the circle failed to locate the man, then he would make a smaller circle and then a smaller one until he found him. He rode easily northwest.

  Axel stumbled onto the road before he knew it. Tripping over the rocks at the edge of the ditch, he fell on his face. He raised himself up and realized that he had inadvertently turned around and gone back where he had come from. He wasn’t at all sure, though, just where on the road he might be. He studied the road to the north and then to the south, and he couldn’t tell. He still had no idea which way to go for the nearest home, the nearest horse and meal, the nearest water.

  “Looky up yonder,” said Cobb, pointing ahead on the road.

  “I see it,” Joiner said. “Come on.”

  They rode ahead quickly to the site of the two dead horses and the body of Harley. “That’s Harley,” Cobb said. “That leaves just Axel and Harman. No way to tell whether Harman killed him or Slocum did.”

  “I’d say Harman,” Joiner said. “Slocum wouldn’t have killed the horses.”

  “Someone took his guns too,” Cobb said. “Let’s get on down the road.”

  They soon came up on the black horse and then a little farther along, the body of Harman himself. “Now it’s just Slocum and Axel,” Joiner said. “And Axel’s on foot. Slocum will have him for sure.”

  “He’s likely already got him,” said Cobb.

  “What do we do from here?” Joiner asked. “We don’t know which way they went.”

  “Let’s stay on the road for a bit,” Cobb said.

  Axel decided that the only safe thing for him to do was to stay on the road. He had already lost his way once by trying to travel off the road. He would walk north. He would have to come to something sometime. If nothing else, he should come to the stream where Harman had watered his horse. That is, unless he was already north of that spot. He didn’t think so. Somehow he thought that he had wandered back south. He wasn’t sure. But he’d walk north anyhow. There was nothing south of him but Rat’s Nest and a gallows. He staggered ahead.

  “Rider coming,” said Joiner.

  “Yeah,” Cobb said.

  They kept moving, and so did the rider from the north. Soon Cobb recognized the man. “It’s Sheriff Hunter,” he said. They hurried ahead to meet Hunter. Then all three riders stopped their mounts.

  “Howdy, Eddie,” said Hunter. “Is it Sheriff Cobb now?”

  “Aw, I
don’t know about that,” Cobb said. “I’m still a deputy. It’s just that we got no sheriff right now.”

  “I sure hated to hear about ole Bud,” Hunter said. “Have you got that Harman?”

  “We found him in the road back yonder a ways,” Cobb said. “Slocum must have got him. There’s one outlaw left loose. The one they called Axel. We didn’t see him nor Slocum anywhere along the way. You seen anyone on your way down?”

  “Nary a soul,” Hunter said.

  “That means they’re back behind us and off the road somewhere,” Cobb said. “We better turn back. You want to ride along with us?”

  “I don’t mind,” Hunter said.

  Hunter reached out to shake Joiner’s hand. “Glad to know you, Joiner,” he said. “Say, wasn’t it your ranch that was the cause of all this?”

  “That’s right,” Joiner said.

  “Glad you got it back.” said Hunter.

  “Thanks,” said Joiner. “Well, let’s go.”

  They rode back toward Rat’s Nest, and along the way, Cobb and Joiner showed the bodies on the road to Hunter. “Once we finish up with Axel,” Cobb said, “I’ll send someone out with a wagon to take care of this mess.”

  A little further down the road, they saw Axel. He was staggering toward them, dirty, bloody, and exhausted. He was unarmed. He didn’t even see to notice that three men were riding toward him. He stumbled and fell on his face, and he lay there still for a long moment. The riders looked at one another, wondering if he had just died there before their eyes. Then he moved. He struggled slowly to his feet, and he raised his head to look down the road. Then, for the first time, he saw them. “Water,” he said, and his voice was at once raspy and whiny.

  Cobb urged his horse forward as he loosened the canteen from the saddle. Riding up beside the wretch, he held the canteen out by its strap. Axel reached greedily for it, and then Cobb saw the mess where his right thumb should have been. He wondered who had done that. Harman probably, he thought. Slocum would have finished the job. Axel fumbled with the canteen, finally holding it under his right arm so he could unscrew the cap with his left hand. At last he tilted the canteen to his parched lips and drank desperately. Cobb reached down and pulled the canteen away from him. “That’s enough,” he said.

  Axel whimpered, looking after the canteen. “You got any food?” he sniveled. “I’m ’bout to starve.”

  Hunter reached into a side of his own saddlebags and pulled out a piece of beef jerky. “Here,” he said, and tossed it at Axel, who caught it by slapping it against his chest with his left hand. He fumbled to clutch it, then started gnawing at it voraciously. Hunter looked toward Cobb. “What’re you going to do with him?” he asked.

  “Well,” said Cobb, “I don’t know. I was thinking that I wouldn’t have to worry about it. I was thinking that Slocum would have killed them all by now.”

  “I wish John was here,” said Joiner.

  “Well, he ain’t,” Hunter said, “and you’re the law here, Eddie. We can’t just sit here all day. You’re going to have to make a decision of some kind.”

  “Axel,” Cobb said, raising his voice, “you’re under arrest for cattle rustling and suspicion of murder and attempted murder.”

  “What murder?” Axel said. “What attempted murder? You ain’t got nothing on me. I was hired to hang around the Hi De Ho and throw out troublemakers. That’s all.”

  “A judge and jury will sort it all out,” Cobb said. “Now turn around and start walking.”

  “Walking?” Axel protested. Knowing that he was in the hands of the law, Axel suddenly grew bold. “That there’s cruel and unusual, ain’t it? You can’t do that. I’m your prisoner.”

  “I’d be glad to let you ride, Axel,” Cobb said, “if there was another horse. There’s three dead ones down the road there, and I figure you killed at least one of them. Now get going.”

  Axel turned slowly and started walking. His steps were labored and painful. “You’ll have to get me a lawyer,” he said. “I get a good lawyer and I’ll go free. You know that? You ain’t got no proof on me. I never rode with the rustlers. The ranch hands done the rustling. I just set there in the Hi De Ho keeping order. That was my job. And I didn’t do no killing nor no attempted killings. And you can’t prove it on me neither.”

  Joiner was riding along between Cobb and Hunter. They rode slowly behind the staggering Axel. “You know,” Joiner said, “he’s right. There’s no way we can prove where Axel was at when any of them things took place.”

  “A good prosecution might get him just by proving his association with the bunch that’s known to be guilty,” Hunter said. “Might.”

  “That’s mighty slim,” Joiner said.

  Hunter reached over and tapped Joiner on the shoulder. He gestured toward the right. Joiner looked and recognized the Appaloosa. “It’s Slocum,” he said. “Hold up.”

  They stopped their horses, and Axel stopped walking. He turned around and stood weaving as he stared at them. “What’s up?” he asked.

  “Axel,” Cobb said, “I been thinking it over. You were right. I got nothing to hold you on. You’re free to go.”

  “What do you mean?” Axel asked.

  “Just what I said,” Cobb answered. “Take off. Go wherever you want to go. I can’t arrest you without no evidence.”

  “Mr. Hunter,” Joiner said, “you’ve got a long ride home. Why don’t you ride back to my ranch with us and have a good meal and a couple of drinks? Maybe spend the night and start home fresh in the morning.”

  Hunter looked off to his right again at the approaching rider. “Thanks,” he said. “I’ll take you up on that.”

  The three riders kicked their mounts into gallops and rode past Axel. He twirled, watching them, amazed. “Hey,” he called out. “You can’t leave me out here like this. I’m hurt. I’m on foot. Come back here. You got to help me.”

  Joiner turned around in his saddle and pointed off toward Slocum. “Hey, Axel,” he yelled. “There’s a rider coming yonder. Maybe he’ll help you out.”

  They rode on. Axel looked off in the direction Joiner had pointed. and he saw the rider. He squinted. He wondered who it could be. Joiner and the law had already come after him, and they had let him go. Harman was dead. It couldn’t be anyone after him anymore. He’d wait and ask the rider for help. He poked the last bite of the piece of jerky into his mouth and gnawed.

  Slocum soon moved down onto the road. When he saw Axel, he sheathed his Winchester. It was obvious that he wouldn’t need it. He saw that the man was unarmed, saw where the thumb was missing and an ear had been nicked.

  It was the man he was after, all right. Axel started to speak, but something stopped him. It was the look in the rider’s eyes.

  “Howdy, stranger,” Axel said, his voice faltering. “I could sure use a little help. I been hurt, and I lost my horse. I need a good meal.”

  “What do they call you?” Slocum asked.

  “Axel. They call me Axel. Man, I’m hurting bad. I’m in pain here.”

  Slocum put his hand on the butt of his Colt. “We could put an end to that real quick,” he said.

  “No,” Axel said. “Wait a minute. Ain’t no call for that. What would you want to go killing me for?”

  “You’re the last one,” Slocum said.

  “You’re riding with Joiner,” Axel said. “Right?”

  “That’s right,” Slocum said.

  “Well,” said Axel, “he was just here. Him and the sheriff. Two sheriffs. They let me go. They admitted they didn’t have no reason to hold me. So you can let me go too. See?”

  “I ain’t riding with them no more,” Slocum said.

  “But you can’t kill me in cold blood,” said Axel. He held out his mangled right hand. “Look. I can’t even handle a gun no more. Even if I had one. I’m unarmed, and I’m hurt. If you was to kill me. it’d be a murder. That’s what it would be.”

  Slocum swung down off the big Appaloosa’s back. He reached into his saddleb
ags and withdrew the blood-splattered revolver. Then he tossed it over to land between Axel’s feet. “I think that’s yours,” he said. “I picked it up down the road yonder. I seen your thumb there. It must be your six-gun.”

  Axel looked down at the revolver lying there.

  “I can’t use it, though,” he said. “I’m right-handed. See?”

  He reached across his own body with his left hand and flapped the empty holster that was hanging there on his right hip. Slocum took hold of his own gunbelt with both hands, and he shifted it until the holster was hanging on his left, the butt of the Colt pointing forward. “How’s that?” he said.

  “No,” said Axel. “No. I ain’t going for it. I ain’t stupid. You’ll pull a cross draw on me. That’s what you’ll do. I ain’t going for that gun.”

  “Whoever nicked that ear of yours did a good job,” Slocum said. “I wonder if I can do as well.”

  “What?” Axel said.

  Slocum twisted his left wrist and slowly pulled out his Colt. He took careful aim.

  “What the hell’re you doing?” Axel said. “You wouldn’t do that.”

  Slocum pulled the trigger, and the roar was almost deafening, but it didn’t cover Axel’s shriek as the lead tore through his right ear. He clapped his hand over it, and the blood ran freely down his arm, down inside his shirtsleeve. “Goddamn,” Axel said, the tone of his voice reflecting disbelief. Slocum slipped the Colt back into the holster.

  “Not so good,” he said. “There’s still a bit of ear left dangling there. Maybe I can do better the next time.”

  “No, you son of a bitch,” shouted Axel. He dropped to his knees and grabbed up the revolver from the dirt with his left hand. Thumbing back the hammer, he raised it to fire, but before he could pull the trigger, Slocum had performed the wrist-twisting draw again and fired. The bullet tore into Axel’s chest. Axel leaned back and looked down as his fingers relaxed, and he dropped the gun. His hands both moved to the wet, sticky new hole in his chest, and he felt the hot blood pumping out in spurts. He looked up at Slocum, his eyes wide, his mouth hanging open. Then he pitched forward on his face, never to move again. Slocum holstered his Colt and shifted the belt back around where it belonged. “It’s done,” he said.