Slocum and the Larcenous Lady

by Jake Logan

  And as it had turned out, Chandler was a regular pillar of society. At least, so far.

  Miles had forgiven himself just a little bit for being a coward, for letting it go on for these past two years, but he hadn’t found peace yet. It still bothered him. He still kept his finger—invisibly, of course—on everything Chandler was up to.

  Of course, even if he did turn up anything shady, he didn’t exactly know what he’d do about it.

  He shrugged. “Probably nothing,” he said aloud. “You blamed coward.”

  But now Slocum had come into town. He knew Slocum by sight and by reputation, although he hadn’t met the man personally. He did know that Slocum was one tough hombre and not too picky about which side of the law he worked for.

  Maybe Slocum was on to Chandler, too. He’d been watching Chandler last night, in between bouts of eyeballing Tiger Lil. Slocum hadn’t caught sight of him, not that it would have mattered.

  Slocum wouldn’t have remembered him, anyhow. He wouldn’t have remembered one fellow out of a crowd of dozens who had witnessed Slocum’s gun-fight with Wes Harper at El Diablo.

  Miles shook his head. Now that was the stuff of dime novels, if you asked him. The face-off on Main Street at high noon, the scattering of bodies off the sidewalks like flies off a porch screen, the two opponents facing one another—and then Harper had drawn.

  But Slocum proved faster. Harper had dropped to his knees, then his face, before he’d had a chance to fully clear leather.

  Slocum had done the town of El Diablo a favor that day, but Miles didn’t think it was for that reason that he’d gone up against Wes Harper. It had been something private. And right after, he just rode out of town, leaving the body in the street like so much trash.

  Which, Miles had to admit, Harper had been.

  But it still struck him as odd.

  Well, there was nothing he could do about it then. And right now, there was nothing he could do about either Chandler or Slocum.

  He sighed and reached down to open his bottom drawer. He pulled out a bottle of whiskey, poured about a jigger into his coffee, then put the bottle away. It was a little early in the morning, but what the hell.

  If this wasn’t a good excuse to have a belt, he didn’t know what was.

  Lil, too, was awake, although Slocum was still dead to the world. She slipped out from under his arm, brushed a kiss over his lips, and slid into her negligee again.

  Peeking out into the hall and finding it clear of human traffic, she tiptoed down to her room and immediately washed herself as best she could with the water in the dresser’s pitcher and bowl. God forbid that David should come knocking and find her smelling of another man.

  The water basin did a pretty fair job, but she thought that a complete soak would do a much better one. Clutching her negligee tightly around her, she went out, climbed downstairs as far as the landing, and called, “Walt?”

  He craned his head up toward her and appeared surprised to see her in such a state of barely dressed, but he gulped and asked, “Miss Lil?”

  “I’d like to order a bath, please,” she said and smiled. “Now, if possible.”

  He smiled back. They always did. He said, “Yes, ma’am. Right away, ma’am!”

  She shrank back around the landing like a turtle pulling into its shell and walked back up to the top of the stairs—and saw David, big as life, standing outside her door.

  “Good morning!” she chirped as she walked toward him, and tried to look as cheery as possible. “What are you doing up so early?”

  He smiled, but he said, “I might ask you the same question.”

  She knew she didn’t look rested. Who would, after making love until just before the dawn? So she said, “Oh, I just could barely sleep, David. I tossed and turned all night.”

  She reached him, gave him a chaste peck on the cheek, and opened her door, exposing a bed she already knew was in disarray. She’d been pretty mad at Slocum last night. That was, until he turned up.

  He noted the mussed bed, she saw. “I was just thinking too much, I guess,” she added softly, with a little smile.

  His face, which had been tight before, now relaxed. “Yes,” he said. “I suppose you did have a lot to think over.”

  She nodded. “I just asked for a bath to be brought up.” She thought she’d best throw that in. He would have got to wondering why she was at the other end of the hall in a nightdress.

  “Ah,” he said. “Well, I’ll let you get to it then. I don’t supposed you’d be in the mood for breakfast? I was going to ask you to go now, but later, perhaps?”

  “That would be lovely, David,” she purred.

  He bent to kiss her, but she backed away while waggling her finger. “Now, now. This isn’t the time or the place. Why, I’m barely dressed!”

  He winked at her. “As if I hadn’t noticed!”

  Feigning embarrassment, she took another step away. “Go on with you, you rogue,” she teased.

  Doffing his hat, he bowed. “As you wish, m’lady.”

  He backed up to the center of the hall at the exact moment the first boy came, bearing a bucket of hot water, and nearly collided with him. Gracefully, he stepped aside, and the boy entered Lil’s room. He eyed her, then opened his mouth to ask a question.

  “Behind the screen,” she said before he had a chance to ask.

  “Two hours?” David asked.

  “I’ll meet you downstairs,” she said.

  He left at last, and Lily sank down upon her rumpled sheets. Thank God she’d thought to wash herself, as best she could, right away! And thank God she’d had the sense to only get near him once, to give him that hasty peck on the cheek.

  All she needed was for him to be the least bit suspicious, especially today.

  A second lad appeared with another bucket and passed the first, who hiked his thumb back toward the screen. The second boy eyed her but proceeded to the tub without a word.

  David was a nice man, she thought. She was almost feeling guilty for planning to bilk him—but not guilty enough to call a halt to it. She’d worked too hard.

  But then there was Slocum. Ah, Slocum, with his magic hands . . .

  David could never be half the man in bed that Slocum was. David could never be half the man that Slocum was, period.

  But David sure had a lot more money . . .

  7

  When Slocum woke, Lil was gone.

  It didn’t come as much of a surprise to him. He rolled over onto his back, worked the kink out of his neck, and sat up.

  After he dressed, he ambled down to the hotel’s restaurant to find some breakfast. He sat at a table in the back, and when the waiter came, he ordered a whopper of a breakfast: a sixteen-ounce steak (rare), six eggs (over easy), hash browns, a plate of toast, and a pot of strawberry preserves.

  About the time his breakfast arrived, he noticed the young man in the corner. He was trying not to look Slocum’s way—or at least, not get caught looking—but couldn’t seem to help himself.

  Slocum busied himself with his steak, all the while keeping an eye on the kid, if only with his peripheral vision. The boy’s face didn’t ring any bells with him. He could have been anybody. He was skinny and sandy-headed and clean-shaven. Looked to be a nice, clean-cut boy.

  Until the boy turned to answer a question the waiter asked him, and the blouse-over where his shirt was tucked in lifted, and Slocum saw the side of a gun belt.

  Still, it set off no alarms. This was the West. Just about everybody carried a hip gun.

  Thoughtfully, Slocum slathered strawberry jam on a piece of toast. He didn’t need some kid playing peek a boo this morning. He’d got so peach orchard crazy for Lil last night that he’d forgot about Chandler, and he intended to tell Lil today. He needed to do it.

  Not that he thought Chandler meant Lil any harm right now. But when he finally figured out what she was up to, he’d probably revert to his old rotten self pretty damned quick.

  Slocum didn’t want
to be around for that.

  He didn’t want Lil to be around for it, either.

  Slocum sighed. What the hell did that damned kid want?

  He was getting up now. And heading straight for Slocum’s table.

  And now that Slocum saw him head-on, he realized the kid wore a badge.

  Great. Just great.

  Well, he hadn’t broken any laws. Yet. He swallowed his mouthful of toast and jam, took a sip of coffee, and pretended to be surprised when the kid stopped at his table.

  “Morning, Mr. Slocum,” said the boy, who, by his badge, was a deputy. His voice broke when he said “Slocum.”

  Slocum held back a smile. He looked up and said, “Mornin’, Deputy. You have me at a disadvantage.”

  The boy looked surprised. He also looked like a confirmed dime book addict.

  Slocum added, “You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”

  The boy seemed relieved, but only a little. “My name’s Deputy Josh Childers, Mr. Slocum, and I just wanted to . . .”

  Slocum waved a fork. “Sit down, Deputy Josh.”

  This, too, seemed to surprise the deputy. But he said, “No, sir. I mean, thank you, but no. I just thought you oughta know that me and the sheriff know you’re in town, that’s all.”

  Slocum nodded. “Real observant, considering that I never tried to hide it.”

  The sarcasm was lost on Deputy Josh, who said, “Just thought you should know we’re watchin’ you. You’d best not go stirrin’ up any trouble.”

  After a pause, Slocum asked, “You done talkin’?”

  “Yeah, I reckon so.”

  “Then scat, Deputy, and let a man eat his breakfast in peace.”

  Deputy Josh stood there another moment, as if he was stuck between shooting Slocum and asking for his autograph. And then he suddenly turned on his heel and stomped out.

  Slocum shook his head slowly. As he cut off another bite of steak, he muttered, “Decisions, decisions. Good thing you made the right one, Deputy.”

  For now, at least, he thought. He popped the steak into his mouth and began to chew.

  At about a quarter to ten, Charlie rode up to the edge of town. And stopped there, sitting in his saddle uneasily. He’d come here full of intent, but as he’d ridden—slower and slower, finally slowing to a plod—the reality of what he was about to do hit home. Or rather, the reality of exactly what he should do.

  And who would see him do it, whatever it was.

  He sat back, the saddle creaking under his slight weight, and pushed his hat back a couple of notches.

  Would he be better off to plug Chandler or that songbird bitch? Maybe he shouldn’t shoot either one of them. At least, not yet. After all, everybody in town knew him.

  He sure didn’t want to hang for killing the likes of either one of them.

  On the other hand, he couldn’t let some cheap, spangled hussy come out and give him orders on his own ranch, now, could he?

  He might be able to live with his bitterness toward Chandler for a while longer, at least, but the probability of his moving a trollop out to the Circle C was too much for Charlie to handle.

  He couldn’t bear it.

  Neither could he bear the idea that he might possibly be hanging himself.

  The town was in sight, but no more than that. He got down off his horse right there in the middle of the prairie, stood a moment, then sat down in the horse’s shade. He took off his hat and gave a hard scratch to the back of his head before he slapped the hat back on.

  He’d been too hotheaded, coming here like this. He had to have more of a plan, that was it. He had to think more than one step ahead.

  Damn it, anyway!

  And so he sat there thinking, his ass planted in the gravel amid the scrub, while he kept his eyes on the town and his horse grazed quietly.

  Slocum sauntered down to the livery. He’d seen Chandler out on the street, so he’d taken a chance on Lily, but she’d shouted—from behind the closed door—that she was in the bathtub.

  “Never bothered you before, having somebody to scrub your back,” he said, smiling, his lips to the wood.

  “Later, you handsome devil,” she called back, and he’d complied.

  When he got down to the livery, Jess—the old man who owned the place—was outside, staring off into the distance, transfixed. Now, this struck Slocum as a little odd. But then, he figured that everybody should have a hobby, no matter how addlepated or cracked in the head it looked to other folks.

  So he strolled up to Jess—bald, dressed in overalls, and leaning on the pitchfork in his hand—and said, “Mornin’.”

  The stableman didn’t look at him. “If you say so,” he replied, his eyes on the distant prairie.

  “How’s my horse doin’?” Slocum asked, amused. He tried to remember if this was one of the men the barber had mentioned yesterday, and if he was day-dreaming about Tiger Lil. No go, though. The barber had mentioned nearly the whole town, and he was damned if he could remember a quarter of the names.

  If any of them.

  “Fine,” Jess replied. Obviously, he was one for few words. “I done like you said. Didn’t turn him out with no other horses he could herd up. Grained him good. Bedded him deep.”

  “That’s fine,” Slocum replied, staring at the stableman’s right ear, which happened to be the one toward him. “Thanks.”

  “No bother,” said the man, still staring off into space.

  Now, Panther was a fine horse, but he had roundup fever twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. He’d leap fences to get at a gaggle of geese or a flock of sheep or a few head of cattle, just for the pleasure of bunching them up and making them stay put. He had other qualities that made up for this pain-in-the-ass quirk, though.

  “Guess I’ll go in and take a look at him,” Slocum said, and turned on his heel. “Maybe give him a good grooming.”

  But he’d gone no farther than two steps when the stableman asked, “What you suppose he’s doin’ out there, mister?”

  Slocum turned around. “Who?”

  The stableman raised his arm and pointed to a distant speck.

  Slocum squinted. He finally made out the horse—a sorrel, he thought—which was tacked up and grazing. At first, he thought that maybe the horse had tossed his rider, then wandered off. But then he caught a speck of color down toward the ground.

  A man, sitting.

  The speck moved, apparently to scratch his head, because his hat moved along with his hand and arm.

  “Strange,” muttered Slocum.

  “Been out there for near an hour, I reckon,” the stableman said. “Least, that’s how long I’ve had my eye on him.”

  “Must not be a whole lot to do in this town,” Slocum said dryly.

  “Aside from droolin’ over Miss Tiger Lil Kirkland?” the man asked, still never taking his eyes away from the distant figure. “Nope. Not a whole helluva lot. And quit bein’ sarcastic with me, son.”

  “Right.” Shaking his head and chuckling, Slocum went into the stable to check on his horse.

  Panther was fine, just fine—bedded down in a roomy stall with the extra straw that Slocum had paid for, and munching good alfalfa hay. He flicked his ears toward Slocum, gave a snort of recognition, then turned his attention to the hay again.

  Muttering, “I’m overjoyed to see you, too, horse,” Slocum checked to make sure that his water bucket was full—it was—and that he had been grained. Which it looked like he had, since there were a few grains of oats on the aisle outside the stall, and Panther’s feed trough was licked clean.

  Slocum picked up a curry comb and a body brush, let himself into the stall, and went to work. There was nothing better for the inside of a man than the outside of a horse, his pappy used to say.

  Of course, his pappy hadn’t met Lil, but she wasn’t handy at the moment.

  By the time he’d finished brushing Panther, combing his mane and tail, and picking out his hooves, he was still the only human in the stable. Odd
, he thought, that the stableman hadn’t at least come in to check on his charges. Or Slocum.

  He put a hand on the Appy’s glistening neck. “See you later, Panther,” he mumbled, and let himself out of the stall.

  Sure enough, when he walked outside, that stableman was still in the same place, staring at the distant speck of a horse.

  “You wanna chair or anything?” Slocum asked, half teasing.

  “Maybe he got throwed out there,” came the reply, although he didn’t seem much concerned about it. “Maybe he can’t get up.”

  Slocum pursed his lips. “Maybe not.”

  “Reckon somebody oughta take a ride out there and see if he’s all right.” It wasn’t a question. It was more on the order of an observation, Slocum thought. Or a request.

  But he fell for it.

  Slocum said, “Why don’t you ride on out?”

  At least it’d take your mind off all these pressing matters you’ve got weighing down on you, he thought sarcastically.

  Slowly, the stableman shook his head. “Nope. Got to see to business. Runnin’ the livery and all.”

  Straight-faced, Slocum said, “Sure. I can see where that’s a big responsibility. Keeps a man busy, on his toes, like.”

  At long last, the man turned his head to look Slocum in the eye. “Reckon you could take a ride out there, though. That is, if you ain’t got nothin’ better to do than sass an old man.”

  Slocum said nothing.

  “Why, that poor feller might be all stove up,” urged the stableman, then shook his head. “Poor feller. Might even be dyin’.”

  Slocum folded his arms. “Might be dead already. Might have died while you were standin’ here, watchin’ him.”

  The stableman shook his head and resumed staring into the distance. “Nope.” He sounded a little disappointed. “He just moved a tad bit.”

  “Well, I’ll watch your livery,” Slocum offered, holding back a grin. It was getting more and more difficult to keep the laughter inside. “You go on. Ride out there and see what the trouble is.”

  “Like to,” the old man said. “I’d purely love to. But I ain’t got no horse’a my own.”