Slocum and the Hanging Horse

by Jake Logan

  “Anyone know where this goes?”

  “You think that’s the one he took, Slocum?” Marshal Eaton asked.

  “Could be. He went to a little trouble to make it look as if he had gone the other, but he’s rushed and can’t do his usual good job of hiding his tracks.”

  “What’d you think, Luke?”

  The drunkest of the lot, the barkeep at the Drunk Camel, finished off his bottle before answering with a belch and a slurred, “Could be. But then my nose says he went the other way. What say we split up and devil take the hindmost!”

  “Devil take Les Jeter!” went up the cheer.

  “You sure he took the right fork, Slocum?” Billy looked uneasily at Luke and the marshal as they broke out fresh bottles and began passing them around.

  Slocum considerd the young man for a moment, then said, “You finally figured out if you’re drunk and meet up with him, you’re also dead?”

  “Something like that, I reckon,” Billy said. “But if they go the way Luke says, and they’re wrong, that means you and me’ll be fightin’ him all by our lonesome.”

  Slocum nodded glumly. He had cautioned them not to divide their force. Now he was the one who was inclined to do just that since they were heading in the wrong direction.

  “Marshal,” Slocum called out. “Why don’t we take a break and talk this over? He went that way down the right canyon, not down the left fork.” Slocum felt as sure of this as he had anything in his life. “You wanted me along as scout. This is the way I read the signs.”

  “Might be he’s in cahoots with Jeter,” Luke said loudly. “Might be he wants us to head in the wrong direction so’s his friend can escape.”

  Slocum went over to the drunken bartender, looked up at the big man, then grabbed a handful of shirt and pulled him off his horse.

  “I don’t know if it’s the drink that’s making you stupid or if you’re that way sober too, but I want him caught. I want him dead.” Slocum held the drunk up enough so he stood on tiptoe, then shoved him back and turned to face the rest of the posse. “Anybody doubt me?”

  “Don’t go gettin’ your dander up, Slocum,” the marshal said. “We’re just as convinced as you ’bout how good it would be to bring Jeter to justice.”

  “Good?” Slocum spun on the marshal. “Good? He’s going to kill every last one of you if you don’t keep an eye peeled for him and his traps. He’s about the best I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen a bunch.”

  Luke regained some of his composure. “What he’s sayin’ is true. Let’s camp, get some grub, then figger what to do after we got full bellies.”

  “And I got another near-full bottle,” piped up another. This produced a round of laughter that made Slocum ball his fists. But there was no stopping the men as they sat around their campfire and diluted their poisonous coffee with healthy slugs of whiskey.

  As they drank and ate their trail rations, Slocum made a more complete circuit of the area and came to the same conclusion he had before. The right canyon. Jeter had made an obvious start into the left, then gone to the right.

  “How do you know he didn’t leave that trace to the right to confuse you, then actually go the way he seemed to go at first?” Billy asked.

  “Time,” Slocum said. “And he thought I was dead or left behind. The only reason he would be that subtle is if he knew I was after him.” Slocum fell silent. Was he outguessing himself? He decided he wasn’t. Jeter’s contempt for most trackers would convince him they would follow the obvious trail. If there had been time, Jeter wouldn’t have left any trace at all, making it seem that he had disappeared into thin air.

  Slocum stared up the right canyon, noted how close to sundown it was, and knew they were riding into a trap. Jeter couldn’t run forever. He would make his stand, take out as many of the drunken posse as he could, then slip away in the confusion. That was what the outlaw would do because that’s what Slocum would do in his boots.

  18

  “I dunno, Slocum, this is mighty risky, ain’t it?” Marshal Eaton looked around nervously. He took the pint bottle Luke passed him without even noticing who was passing it around. He took a big swig and handed it back mechanically.

  “It’s even riskier not going after him. Let a man like Jeter have enough of a start on you and he’ll disappear like a puff of smoke in a Texas tornado.”

  “Mighty fine image, that one,” said Luke. The barkeep belched, wiped his lips, and silently held the bottle out for Slocum. Slocum declined with a brusque shake of his head. “Other than losin’ all that reward money Killian offered, we’d be better off if Jeter did vanish like that. Who ever sees the puff of smoke again when the wind takes it away?”

  “The smell lingers,” Slocum snapped. “You have to get him.”

  “You just got a bug up your ass, Slocum,” Luke said.

  “It’s not like that,” Billy said, taking Slocum’s part. “He’s right. We gotta find him fast. Who wants to spend the rest of their days out here in the mountains chasin’ our own tails?”

  “It’s not so bad,” said Eaton. “If we was back in town, we’d have chores to do. Out here, we kin just ride and enjoy the scenery.”

  Slocum almost drew his six-shooter and shot the lawman to put him out of his misery. How could any man be that stupid and not hurt all the time?

  “We don’t even know if this here canyon’s the right path. It looked like the other one was the right way to go,” Luke went on. “And the marshal’s right. It’s real peaceful out here. I don’t like dealin’ with all you drunks when I have to be behind the bar at the saloon. Or that asshole who’s my boss. Wait till he finds out I gave y’all so much booze! Out here now, it’s quiet and the stars are twinklin’ just right.”

  “He’ll kill every last one of you,” Slocum said coldly. “That’s what he does, and he’s damned good at it. It wasn’t until that bank robbery went south on him that any of you even saw his face.”

  “He showed up at the general store. You said so,” Marshal Eaton said.

  “He might have been a rancher and nothing else. He kept low and you never knew who was doing all the robbing until I came along.”

  “You been shamed by him once too often, Slocum? Is that what’s eatin’ at your soul?” Luke tipped up the pint bottle and drained it, then tossed it away, clumsily drew, and fired at it. The sound echoed through the still night like a cannon shot. Others in the posse went for their six-guns, not having seen Luke toss the bottle.

  “Relax, boys,” Luke drawled. “I was just practicin’ what I’ll do when I git Jeter in my gun sights.”

  “You think that shot’ll warn him we’re comin’?” Billy asked Slocum.

  “He knew we were on his trail,” Slocum said, “but he might have thought his decoy back at the juncture had worked. He knows different now.” Slocum looked up the dark canyon and saw yucca stalks bending stiffly in the wind whipping down its length. The gunshot would have brought Jeter up like a coyote getting the scent of a chicken.

  “I can get him now. He thinks you’ll camp all night,” Slocum said, coming to a swift decision. “I’ll go after him.”

  “That’s my horse,” Billy said. “I’m not lettin’ you go nowhere without me.”

  “You’ll get yourself killed,” Slocum said harshly.

  “Then he won’t be shootin’ at you, will he? That’ll let you plug him and end this.”

  Slocum stared at the young man’s face, hidden in shadows formed by the dancing campfire, then laughed. He slapped Billy on the shoulder.

  “You got spunk,” Slocum said. “Not a bit of brains, but you’ve got spunk. Saddle up and let’s go.”

  “Where you headin’, Slocum? You and the boy? The two of you like each other than much?”

  Slocum stopped, turned slowly, and squared off in front of the barkeep. Luke looked up from the rock where he sat and turned visibly paler. His hand shook as he drained the bottle Eaton had handed him, and then set it down with preposterous care.

  �
��You want to repeat that to my face?” Slocum asked in a voice level and more frightening than if he had shouted.

  “I didn’t mean nuthin’ by it, Slocum.”

  “You don’t mean much on any score, do you?”

  “Slocum, be careful,” Billy said. “He carries a hideout gun in his coat pocket.”

  “What’re you goin’ on about, Billy? You and yer lover.”

  That was the last Luke spoke. Slocum drew with lightning speed and slammed the long barrel of his Peacemaker across Luke’s mouth. Teeth shattered and blood from a split lip spewed forth. The barkeep’s head snapped back, and he fell heavily. There was a crunch as his head collided with a big rock behind him.

  “He’s out cold.”

  “He got lucky,” Slocum said. “If he was still awake, he’d have to draw. Then he’d be dead.”

  “He was drunk, Slocum,” the marshal said uneasily. “He didn’t mean nuthin’ by his joshin’ of you and the boy.”

  “This ‘boy’ is the only man here,” Slocum said. “Him and me’re going after Jeter and we’ll get him. Dead. Alive. One way or the other we’ll stop him while you’re sitting around a fire, warming your fat asses, and getting drunk.”

  Slocum was fed up with Eaton and his fair-weather posse. If they had gotten into a real gunfight, the ones that didn’t turn tail and run would have been dead. He swung into the saddle, and this time Billy didn’t say anything about riding behind on his own horse. They rode away from the posse and were swallowed by the darkness within yards. The dry air sucked at the moisture in Slocum’s eyes and mouth and made his skin crawl, but he was away from the clowns trying to make an act of their bravery.

  “He’ll shoot you in the back, Slocum,” Billy said. “Luke’s real mean.”

  “I’m meaner. He won’t say a word when we bring back Jeter,” Slocum said.

  “We got to find him first. You’re prob’ly right that he’s a real ghost. I heard tell of a couple bounty hunters who had come through a month back lookin’ fer any road agent they could find to claim the reward. It musta been Jeter they followed. One came back. The other was kilt in his bedroll. Somebody snuck into their camp, slit his throat, and left his partner sleepin’ sweet as any babe in its mama’s arms.”

  Slocum had to admit this sounded like something Jeter would do, just for the hell of it. He was all about showing the world how he was better than anyone else.

  “Finding him might not be as hard as it seems,” Slocum said, thinking on the matter as they rode slowly deeper into the canyon. “Jeter isn’t likely to have gone too much farther, wanting to sit and eavesdrop on what’s going on in camp.”

  “He’s watchin’ us now?”

  “Quit shaking so much,” Slocum said. Billy trembled so hard it was spooking the horse. “He might not be that close, but he can see what’s going on around the campfire. That’d put him above us, on one side of the canyon or the other.”

  “That’d trap him. He’d have to climb down or keep goin’ on up to the rim. Ain’t likely he’s got a trail for his horse to follow, not around here.”

  Slocum agreed. The sheer walls sloped away farther on, but in this section of the mountains, the canyon walls were rugged and perfect for a snoop—but not his horse.

  “That side,” Slocum said, pointing left. “It’s a mite closer to where the posse’s camped and looks to have good places to spy.”

  “I kin almost feel him movin’ around, watchin’ us, linin’ up that rifle of his, and gettin’ ready to shoot.”

  “Quit spooking yourself,” Slocum said. He sat straighter in the saddle when he heard a horse nickering. He elbowed Billy and pointed off to the base of the wall where a small rock crevice afforded the perfect place to corral a horse while scaling the heights above the canyon.

  “His horse. That’s what’s makin’ that noise, ain’t it, Mr. Slocum?”

  “I’ll go check.” Slocum got his leg up and over the roan’s head and slipped to the ground, making only a slight scuffing sound when he hit. He drew his six-shooter and advanced slowly. If Jeter was here, he wanted to get him with the first bullet, but he thought only the powerful black stallion the outlaw rode would be in the crevice.

  Slocum wasn’t sure if he was happy or vexed that he was right. The horse pawed at the sparse grass growing in the rocky nook, but Jeter was nowhere to be seen. Making sure he wasn’t falling into a trap, Slocum slowly circled the horse and saw that the only way in or out was through the notch in the rocks. He turned his attention upward. While it was hardly a grand staircase, he made out distinct steps a man could follow in the dark without undue trouble.

  He returned to where Billy nervously fingered his six-gun.

  “Y-you find him, Mr. Slocum?”

  “He’s up there,” Slocum said, looking up into the inky expanse of rock. He made out a few scrubby trees clinging tenaciously to the canyon rim outlined against the cold stars and night sky.

  “What do you want to do? Should we go up and git him?” Billy’s teeth were chattering now.

  “I’ll go after him. You have to head back to the camp and tell the marshal I’ve found him.”

  “You don’t want me backin’ you up?” The young man sounded both outraged and relieved.

  “You will be backing me up,” Slocum said. “By fetching the posse. It might take more firepower than I’ve got to bring him down. If I can pin him down, the more rifles down here pointing up the better.”

  “You ain’t gonna try takin’ him by your lonesome, are you? That’d be plumb foolish.”

  “Get the marshal and the rest of the posse. Be quiet about it, though. I don’t want him knowing we’ve found his hiding place.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Slocum. Right away!”

  “Quiet now,” Slocum cautioned.

  He saw the young man ride off, intent on doing as he was told. Slocum heaved a deep sigh, then turned to begin the climb. He had led Billy to believe he wasn’t going to tangle with Jeter until the posse arrived. Nothing was further from Slocum’s mind. Eaton and the others were probably drunker than skunks by now. Luke would either have one whale of a headache or still be unconscious. Slocum hoped it was the latter. He had no idea if the barkeep would “accidentally” shoot him in the back, but the idea would undoubtedly occur to a man who had been humiliated so thoroughly. Slocum knew he had made an enemy in Luke and didn’t much care. Drunk or sober, the man had to learn to watch his tongue.

  Slocum slipped past the stallion, taking a moment to soothe the high-strung horse. It was a real beauty. Slocum could see how, astride such a powerful horse, Jeter out-legged any pursuer. Coupled with his knowledge of the Davis Mountains, he was uncatchable.

  Until tonight.

  The stony staircase led Slocum back and forth up the face of the cliff. As he started climbing, the steps were broad, if low. This forced him to shuffle a mite, and only pick up his boot for a few inches at a time. But as the steps went higher, the risers became more exaggerated and the width narrower until Slocum was forced to cling to the rock with his fingers as he made his way along.

  Once he looked down, and was startled to see he was already forty feet above the tiny niche where the horse stared up impassively at him. He wasn’t afraid of heights, but worried about what lay above him. A dozen other schemes for catching Jeter flashed through his head. He could have taken the outlaw’s horse and forced him to flee on foot. That carried a double dose of bad luck for Jeter. Not only would he have lost a horse, he would have been humiliated that Slocum was the one taking it. That would have kept him coming back—on foot—at Slocum until hell froze over.

  Slocum could have done that, but he felt it was too late to backtrack now. He was more than halfway up the face of the cliff. To retreat now would be risky. If Jeter’s attention strayed from the posse’s camp for an instant, he would see a human fly stuck to the side of the cliff and do something about it. A few rocks would send Slocum tumbling to his death four stories below.

  Or Slocum could have wai
ted for him at the base. Stake out the horse, keep a drawn six-gun trained on the spot where Jeter had to descend. Once he had the drop on the road agent, he could do as he pleased. Cut him down or force him to surrender after a few well-placed slugs in the man’s legs. Slocum realized he would have liked to see Jeter crawl, just a little, after all he had endured at the outlaw’s hands. He kept edging along the increasingly narrow stone path, face inward and fingers working to cling to the rock like a spider.

  Slocum expected to keep going like this for some distance. He stumbled and fell forward when the rock face opened to a long, wide ledge running away from the face. The mountain itself had been split open, and gave plenty of room for a man to pitch his bedroll and watch the entire canyon floor.

  Slocum spilled forward, off balance and unable to go for his six-shooter. But Jeter was also startled. He turned, slipped, and almost tumbled off the rocky platform. Both men scrambled to regain their balance and get into position.

  “Slocum,” Jeter hissed, seeing who had found him once more. “Won’t you ever die? I hoped you was dead, but then again, I hoped you wasn’t!”

  Slocum wasted no time speaking. He dug his toes into the rock, found purchase, and launched himself. Jeter was trying to pull out his six-shooter, but Slocum knew better than to draw. His arms were too close to the rock face and he might even drop his six-gun. He crashed into Jeter and sent the man staggering. Jeter let out a shriek, and almost pitched over the brink to the canyon below.

  Slocum did nothing to save him. Jeter did it on his own, twisting at the last instant and grabbing a rock outcrop and swinging around. Slocum kicked viciously and tried to take Jeter’s legs out from under him. That would leave the man dangling, arms circling the rock needle. But Slocum missed and kicked the rock. The jolt went all the way up into his hip and forced a cry of pain from his lips. His left leg wasn’t quite recovered from being crushed under his dead horse.

  He tried to ignore the pain, but failed. Jeter swung around and came at him, bony fists swinging hard. The two fought like titans on the narrow ledge. Somewhere in the midst of their fight, Slocum got his feet tangled in Jeter’s bedroll and sat down heavily. The outlaw swarmed on top of him, forcing him flat. Jeter caught him in a schoolboy pin, his knees pressing Slocum’s shoulders down hard.