Slocum 394 : Slocum and the Fool's Errand (9781101545980)

by Logan, Jake

  Reyes swung his feet down and reflexively reached for his gun. He had enough of his wits about him to keep from skinning the smoke wagon.

  “Vigilant as ever, huh, Sheriff?” Slocum chided.

  “I can still feel the damn horse beneath me, and those two good-for-nothings who hound me for deputy badges are in their homes tucked into warm beds,” Reyes said while getting to his feet and stretching his back. “You’re after your money?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Any way I could convince you to stay on in a more official capacity?”

  “Is the pay that good?” Slocum asked.

  Having reached into his desk for a small tin box, Sheriff Reyes paused before opening it. “Could be,” he said hopefully. “Over a certain amount of time, that is. Lots of wanted men pass through these parts on their way to Old Mex. I just never had the resources to chase after them. A man could rake in a fair amount of reward money in a few short years.”

  From inside the cell, Oklahoma Bill said, “Go ahead and chase whoever you please. Won’t take much for you to find a bullet with your name on it.”

  “The key stays with me whoever I chase, Bill,” Reyes said. “You’d better hope I stay healthy long enough to unlock that damn door.”

  Still grumbling to Ed, who sat with his back against the cell’s other wall, Bill sat on the edge of his cot and rested his arms over his knees.

  “I couldn’t stay on for any real amount of time,” Slocum said.

  “It’s a nice town to settle in. No big problems apart from the occasional dust-up.”

  “Exactly. You’re looking for a permanent resident and that ain’t me. I’m more of a passerby.”

  “Then pass on by, asshole,” Ed grumbled from the same cell.

  Still wearing the easygoing smirk on his face, Slocum drew his pistol and pointed it at the prisoner. “And how much of a fuss do you think the sheriff will make if I move along after putting a hole through your ugly head?”

  Ed didn’t have an answer to that, and Reyes wasn’t quick to squash the threat.

  “That’s what I thought.” Slocum eased the Schofield back into its holster and shifted his attention back to the sheriff. “Appreciate the offer, Mark, but I think I’ll take my money.”

  “Well, you wouldn’t have to stay forever, John,” Reyes said while opening the tin box and sifting through its contents. “Think it over and let me know if you’d like to spend some time here,” he said while handing over his money. “However much you can give me, you won’t regret it.”

  The moment the door was pulled open so Jack Halsey could shuffle inside, Slocum regretted staying in that office for as long as he had. Judging by the trouble Jack seemed to have in lifting his feet, one might have thought he was missing toes instead of fingers. He coddled his wounded arm against his chest, and on top of the layers of bandages the doctor had applied, there were now additional layers of old cloth as well as a thin jacket wrapped around that arm. Upon seeing Slocum in the office, Jack put on a weary smile and said, “There you are!”

  “Yep,” Slocum said. “Were you looking for me?”

  Jack winced dramatically before saying, “Not at all. I just meant . . . there you are.”

  “And here I go.” Tipping his hat to Reyes, Slocum said, “Good day to you, Sheriff. If you find yourself at the Dusty Hill, I’ll gladly buy you a drink. Jack, hope that hand feels better, and as for you boys,” he said while turning toward the cell, “well, you can rot in hell. Nice meeting you, gentlemen.”

  Apart from his tussle with Gwen under the sheets, walking out of the sheriff’s office was the best Slocum had felt in a long while. The sun was bright in the sky, and the air was already warming around him. He had money in his pocket and a pretty lady waiting to help him spend it. Maybe nothing fancy as far as luxuries went, but they were more than welcome. Rather than walk straight back to the saloon, where he would very likely be drawn into a poker game that might last until the wee hours of the following morning, Slocum headed to the livery where his horse was being kept. One advantage to riding in the sheriff’s posse was that his horse was given a stall free of charge. Oddly enough, that offer was made at the other livery in town that wasn’t partly owned by Oscar, who wanted so desperately to be a lawman.

  “Free ride ends now,” the liveryman said. He was tall with skin that obviously wasn’t accustomed to the desert sun. His features were distinctly Nordic, and his hair had the color and consistency of old straw. The coveralls hanging on his solid frame were just as faded as the sign nailed to the front of his stable.

  Handing the man some money, Slocum asked, “How long will this cover me?”

  “Through tonight.”

  “What? That should be good for at least three days!”

  “I don’t know where you got your information, mister,” the liveryman said while holding Slocum’s cash as if it were something he’d found beneath a moldy rock. “This here’s only good for one day.”

  “Are you trying to make up for the money you lost when the sheriff told you to put up my horse as a courtesy for riding in the posse?”

  The liveryman didn’t say anything for or against that statement. He merely glanced up the street and said, “You want to use a badge to impress someone, go do business with Oscar. His place is right up that way.”

  “You know those men the sheriff and I brought in could very well have stolen every horse in here and set your barn on fire?”

  The liveryman shrugged.

  “Do you know I could set your barn on fire?”

  “You want to rent a stall or not?”

  “You’ve got my money,” Slocum said. “I’ll take the stall.”

  “You want greens along with the regular feed? It’s extra.”

  Slocum thought of plenty he could say, but decided to pass up the chance. “That’s all the money I’m handing out today, but I will be taking my horse for a ride. For some reason, I can’t stand the smell around here.”

  “Suit yerself. I’ll have the stall clean for you when you get back.”

  “Thank you kindly.”

  Slocum had ridden a light gray spotted stallion into town. The horse wasn’t going to win any prizes, but it was hardy enough to brave the desert and had done just fine when tracking down Bill and his men. In fact, the stallion was so agreeable when he was saddled that Slocum felt badly for making him stare at such a jackass liveryman for most of the day.

  “Mr. Slocum!” someone shouted.

  When he led his horse outside and saw who was rushing across the street, Slocum practically jumped into his saddle.

  “Wait! John!” Still cradling his arm, Jack Halsey picked up his pace as if he had every intention of throwing himself in front of Slocum’s horse.

  “Aw, hell,” Slocum muttered to himself.

  Jack was pale and covered in sweat. The wind that ripped through the middle of town cut Slocum to the bone, but acted like a splash of cold water on Jack’s face. “Wonder if I could impose on you for a moment of time?”

  “You can speak pretty well when you’re not hollering like a lunatic,” Slocum pointed out.

  “Yeah, well, it ain’t every day that I get my fingers chewed off. Maybe you would’ve handled it better?”

  “I’d like to think so,” Slocum replied, “but I see your point. What do you need?”

  “I could use a ride to collect my horse and gear.”

  “So you do have a horse?” Slocum asked.

  “Yes, sir. I was camping a few miles outside of town when I was attacked. Damn wolves caught me when I was out collecting firewood. Didn’t see my horse right away and thought it might have been killed so I started running here before I lost the strength to do much else. Maybe my horse is dead, but maybe it ain’t.”

  “You had plenty of strength when I saw you.” Since he hadn’t had another destination in mind apart from getting away from town for a little while, Slocum asked, “Where was your camp?”

  “About three miles north
of here. I can direct you when we get closer. If it’s too much of an inconvenience, I understand.”

  “Nah, I was headed out anyways. The least I can do is take you back to your horse so you don’t have to leave town the same way you came.”

  “Yeah,” Jack chuckled. “Nobody wants that.”

  Slocum offered a hand to the other man, who reflexively started to take it with the one that was bundled up like a baby. Gritting his teeth, he curled that arm around so Slocum could take hold of his elbow and steady him while Jack climbed onto the stallion’s back. It was a long, arduous process but he eventually settled into the saddle behind Slocum. They caught the attention of more than a few locals as they rode out of town.

  6

  Jack had picked a spot for his camp nestled between a cluster of low boulders that would have provided a nice wall against the cold night winds as he slept. It also would have lit up like the Fourth of July once a fire was started in the ring of rocks that had been built there. Once they were within ten yards of the boulders, Slocum reined his horse to a stop so Jack could climb down. He would have gotten a little closer, but the other man had become too fidgety to tolerate for one more second.

  Hunching over to study the ground as he walked, Jack held his arm against his belly and paced a small tract of land. “Damn wolves didn’t kill my horse. Not right here anyway.”

  Slocum looked down from where he sat and found the scuff marks on the rocky ground to mark the places where a shoed animal had walked. “Did you come from the west?”

  “No.”

  “Then that’s where your horse went. At least,” Slocum said as he pointed to the tracks he’d found, “if that was your horse.”

  It took a few seconds for Jack to see the tracks that Slocum had spotted from his higher position, but found them nonetheless. “That’s her all right!” he said excitedly as he took off running to follow the tracks down a slope. Jack moved with an awkward gait, probably because his feet were still sore from his frantic trek into town.

  The slope led down to a crack in some rocks about sixty yards away from the camp. When he got a little closer, Slocum could tell the rocks were embedded in the ground and the crack was wider that he’d thought at first sight. “Hold up,” he shouted. “Better steer clear of those rocks.”

  “I think my horse was here! The tracks lead to these rocks and it looks like she was runnin’ !”

  “That looks like a cave!” Slocum said. “Don’t wolves live in caves?” Jack skidded to a stop, which gave Slocum a chance to draw the Winchester rifle from the boot of his saddle and lever in a round. “Back away,” he said.

  Jack was quick to comply and kept his eyes glued to the cave’s entrance.

  Slocum fired a shot into the shallow space. The bullet glanced off some rocks amid a shower of sparks and ricocheted within the darkness. Some dust trickled against the ground, but there wasn’t another sound to be heard before he worked the rifle’s lever again.

  “I’m goin’ in there,” Jack said.

  “You want to lose more than just a few fingers? Go right ahead.”

  “I won’t lose nothin’ because there ain’t nothin’ in there.”

  “Then why do you want to look inside? That cave’s not big enough for a horse.”

  Jack took a few moments to try and sift through what Slocum thought was fairly simple logic. Even though he seemed to know what was being told to him, Jack waved him off and headed toward the cave anyway. “Something died in there,” he said. “I can smell it. If one of them wolves crawled in here to perish after the fight I put up, I wanna know.”

  Slocum’s instinct was to call the man back or drag him away from the cave. Since he had no connection to the lunatic other than having shared a doctor’s office for a short stretch of time, he stayed put and readied the Winchester in case he got an easy shot at an angry wolf. If nothing else, there was always money to be made in selling pelts.

  As if harkening back to his colorful entrance into Rocas Rojas, Jack hunched over and scrambled into the cave while hooting and hollering like a madman. His voice took an even higher pitch when he accidentally knocked his bundled right hand against a cave wall. He disappeared into the shadows, and before too long, his shouting subsided.

  When Slocum thought he’d heard the heavy thump of a body hitting the ground, he shouted, “Jack? You all right?”

  After a pause, a shaky reply came from the cave. “Yeah. I tripped. This cave goes back a little ways.”

  Owing to the angle of the sun and the fact that the ground was a uniform color around those rocks, Slocum wasn’t able to pick out many details regarding the terrain. There was something strange about the echo coming from the cave, however. At first, Slocum thought his ears might be playing tricks on him. When he rode around the boulders to get a different vantage point, he found that the sound he’d heard had indeed come from two different spots. He climbed down from the saddle and approached the back end of the rock formation. “The cave opens up back here,” he said.

  “Yeah,” Jack shouted from within the cave. “I can see some light.”

  The other side of the formation was a steep slope angling down from the rocks. The drop-off was only about six or seven feet, which was just enough to shade what was lying in the shallow pit. It was also enough to provide a barrier to keep the stench of dead meat from overwhelming him before. Now that he was looking straight down at the carcass, Slocum had to place a hand over his nose and mouth until he acclimated to the odors wafting up from there. “Think I found your horse,” he said.

  “What?”

  Taking his hand away from his mouth, Slocum shouted, “I said I think I—”

  Suddenly, Jack’s head emerged from the back entrance of the cave. Because that opening was so much smaller than the one in front, it looked more like the rocks were passing him through their digestive tract and excreting him onto the desert floor. “I hear ya,” he snarled. “No need to shout. Hey! That’s my horse!”

  “Looks like it may have slipped and broke its neck.”

  “Stay put! I’m comin’ down there to get a look for myself!” Then, the rocks sucked his head back in as Jack began the arduous process of backing up and turning around within such cramped quarters.

  Knowing that it would take a while for Jack to settle down long enough to escape, Slocum scrambled down the steep incline leading to the bottom of what had become a shallow, open grave. By the time he got within arm’s reach of the horse’s remains, Slocum had gotten as used to the scent as he was ever going to get. At least his stomach wasn’t churning when he examined a few bloody spots along its side and neck.

  Frantic scraping sounds followed by labored grunting announced Jack’s reentry into the outside world. Those gave way to irregular footsteps as he circled around the rocks to where Slocum was conducting his examination. “Get away from there!” Jack snapped. “That’s my horse!”

  Without cowing to the other man’s feverish demand, Slocum asked, “You said this animal was at your camp when you were attacked by wolves?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Was that before or after it was shot?”

  The anger that had been on Jack’s face dropped away like a layer of dust blown off the rocks behind him. “Shot? What do you mean shot?”

  “I mean the thing that happens when you point a gun at something and pull the trigger.”

  “Looks like she fell into that hole after getting chased by them damn wolves.”

  “This horse was shot and may have had enough left in her to run for a bit. What concerns me more is that you seem to have left something out of your story.”

  The anger returned to Jack’s face as he approached Slocum. When he got close enough, another scent reached Slocum’s nose that was almost as unpleasant as the dead horse.

  “I don’t owe you anything, Slocum,” Jack said. “I asked for a favor and you were kind enough to help me out. That don’t mean you’re entitled to anything more than my gratitude.”

&nb
sp; “Maybe not, but I’ve been around long enough to know when to trust my instincts, and there’s been something wrong with you from the moment you first staggered into town.”

  “Then leave me out here! I’ll just take my . . .” When he looked down at his horse, Jack stared at the carcass and then turned accusing eyes back to the man that had brought him there. “Were you sifting through my bags?”

  Slocum scowled at Jack and then turned to look into the pit. He’d barely noticed the saddlebags since he’d been too distracted by the gunshot wounds. “Why would I go through your bags?”

  “Someone’s been through them. They’re all crooked and open!”

  “Well, the damn horse is just laying there!” Slocum said. “Anyone could’ve gone through those bags. Hell, those wolves could’ve poked their noses through them for all I know!”

  Jack’s right hand moved toward his holster, but stopped short. Until that moment, Slocum had all but forgotten about the pieced-together firearm he’d taken away from him at the doctor’s office. The gun must have been returned to Jack along with his other belongings when he’d left Bower’s care.

  “Them bags are mine,” Jack said as he crossed his left hand over his belly toward the holster. “Along with everything that’s in ’em.”

  Slocum stepped back. “You’re right. Those are your possessions. But you’re not right about me poking through them. All I did was take a look at the horse because those gunshot wounds don’t match up to what you said before. You don’t owe me any explanations. Guess this whole thing just seems peculiar.”

  When Jack smiled, it wasn’t a pretty sight. Yellowed teeth were bared, as well as several gaps where teeth had once been. Even without the irregularly spaced holes, the grimace still would have been unsettling. “I’m the one that lost some fingers to a damn wolf and you want to talk about peculiar?”

  “What’s that on your hand?” Slocum asked.