by Jake Logan
Henry Underwood came out, waving around a handful of other papers.
“Get the lot of them. We can’t make this business run right without—” He cut off his tirade when he spotted Slocum. The boy continued grabbing the dirty papers and clutching them to his chest.
“I got ’em, Mr. Underwood. All of them!”
“Put them into order,” Underwood said, flinging down the papers he held.
“But I can’t read.” The boy looked stricken at the order. A new zephyr stirred the papers Underwood had dropped, scattering them and sending the boy scurrying after them as they blew down the street. “I’ll fetch ’em all. I will, Mr. Underwood!”
The stationmaster came out into the middle of the street, put his thumbs in the armholes of his vest, and puffed up his chest. All he succeeded in doing was sticking his paunch out rather than looking tough.
“You finish with the mail delivery, Slocum?”
“Did.”
“Then get off that horse. It belongs to the company. I got other work for you. The twister tore up some planks out of the back wall, and you got the look of a man who can swing a hammer.”
“I can do that,” Slocum said. He made no effort to dismount.
“Then get to it, if you want to be paid. The whole town’s rebuilding. We have to be ready when Butterfield sends a new coach.”
“I’ve been thinking on that,” Slocum said. “They’d drive it out, wouldn’t they?”
“Of course they would. What are you, a dimwit?”
“A driver drives it out,” Slocum went on. “Why’d you want a second driver?” Slocum saw the stationmaster’s face turn livid. Underwood didn’t like having his schemes thwarted. Slocum would have worked his fingers off until the stagecoach arrived with the driver who replaced him.
“Get out of here, Slocum. You’re fired.”
Slocum pursed his lips and nodded slowly.
“Sounds fair. Any chance you’d hire me back?”
“Not until hell freezes over!”
“How much is the reward for returning the Fort Stockton payroll?”
Underwood blinked, started to say something, and looked like a fish washed up on a riverbank. He clamped his mouth shut to keep from embarrassing himself further.
“What makes you think there’s a reward?” Underwood swallowed hard.
“Just asking. Reckon I’d better leave now.”
“Wait, Slocum, wait! You know where the payroll is? Where is it?”
Slocum let the stationmaster stew for a few seconds. He read every thought that flashed through Underwood’s skull. If Slocum still worked for the company, retrieving the payroll wouldn’t gain any reward—he would be an employee and expected to return it. But being fired as he had, Slocum could dangle the promise of the gold in front of Underwood. If there wasn’t a reward, Slocum could simply leave and the payroll would be lost. But a reward had to come out of the depot’s operating profits.
“If you know where it is and think you’re going to steal it, I’ll see you in jail! You won’t steal the U.S. Army payroll!”
“Never entered my mind,” Slocum lied. “I just asked about a reward.”
“You hid the payroll. You stole it and now you’re trying to ransom it back!”
Slocum shook his head in denial.
“Who are you going to get to arrest me? The marshal’s long gone. Heard tell the sheriff is, too.”
“The soldiers. I’ll get them to arrest you!”
“Captain Legrange owes his life to me,” Slocum said, stretching the truth to the breaking point. “The other officers are still on patrol. Somewhere.”
“What do you want, Slocum?”
“A reward. How big was the payroll?”
“You don’t know?”
“I was only the driver, and the twister broke the stagecoach to splinters and almost took me with it. How could I know?”
“If you don’t know where the payroll is—”
“I think it’s time to get some supper. My belly’s growling because I’ve been on the trail delivering the mail for so long.”
He slid his leg over the saddle horn and dropped to the ground. The paint snorted and turned a large brown, accusing eye at him, as if the horse understood what he did to the stationmaster.
“A hundred dollars,” Underwood said hastily, grabbing Slocum’s arm and restraining him.
“That’s not a very big payroll.”
“That’s the reward!” Underwood almost screamed.
“That’s not a very big reward,” Slocum corrected. “Five hundred dollars would be more in keeping with the size of the fort’s payroll.”
He knew he had set the amount too low when Underwood swallowed hard, then bobbed his head up and down.
“Where’s the payroll?”
“A long way off,” Slocum said, looking down the main street. “If I have to walk, that is. Now if I had a horse like this here paint, we could fetch the iron box with the payroll in a few hours.”
“Five hundred dollars and the swaybacked horse,” Underwood said. “You’re a thief, Slocum, an unrepentant crook! And if you’re lying about the payroll, I swear I’ll see you in jail if I have to fetch a Ranger and lead him back here by the nose!”
“You’ll need a good-sized wagon,” Slocum said. “Either that or the key to the strongbox.” Underwood muttered to himself. “I’ll be in the restaurant getting some food. When you’re ready, you can find me there.”
Slocum put his dinner on Underwood’s tab.
* * *
“This is a long way from where the stage got tore up,” Underwood complained. He sweat like a pig as he fought the double-horse team across the prairie.
“It is,” Slocum agreed. He stood in the stirrups and looked west. This was the trail he had ridden earlier when he spotted the flash of sunlight off metal. A slow smile came when he saw the same bright flash.
Not waiting for Underwood, Slocum cut across the gently rolling grassland and was on the ground, brushing off dirt from the large brass plate in a thrice. By the time Underwood drove up, Slocum had revealed the iron strongbox. The lock was twisted, but the heavy plate was unscathed. Whatever had been in the box when Slocum had driven out on the stagecoach run had to still be inside.
“That’s it, that’s it!” Underwood was beside himself getting down to touch the strongbox as if it were a religious relic. He looked up at Slocum. “You earned the reward. If the gold’s inside, that is. If it’s here.”
For a moment, Slocum thought the stationmaster was going to hug the box.
“Open it and see.”
“I can’t get it open,” Underwood said. He had fumbled out a large iron key but the lock was too damaged to even insert the key.
“Stand back.”
Underwood scrambled away as Slocum drew his six-shooter and fired. The first bullet careened off the lock, leaving a bright scratch. It took two more shots to break the hasp. Slocum made no move to open the box. He left that to Underwood. The man looked uneasy, even when Slocum holstered his Colt.
Then he grabbed the broken lock and threw it aside. The hinges creaked open. Underwood heaved a deep sigh as he looked at the leather bags inside.
“It’s here. You found it.” Underwood straightened, then said, “As you should have since you were the one who lost the payroll. You were—”
“Why take this back to town?” Slocum asked. Underwood went pale. “Let’s load the payroll into your wagon and take it straight to Captain Legrange.”
“You—you’re—”
“Pay me the reward out of the gold. That’s twenty-five of those twenty-dollar gold pieces.”
“But that’d be shorting the Army and—” Underwood swallowed hard when he saw how Slocum stared at him. He picked up o
ne leather bag and carefully counted out the coins. It took him another minute to verify his first count.
Slocum thought he would have to pry the double eagles from the man’s hand. He tucked them into his vest pocket.
“You need help getting those bags into the wagon?”
“I can do it by myself,” Underwood said.
Slocum mounted and watched the man load the heavy leather bags into the rear of the wagon. As Underwood climbed into the driver’s seat, Slocum tugged on his paint’s reins and got the horse walking slowly southward toward Fort Stockton.
* * *
The low wall around Fort Stockton came into view. The road had dried out quickly, and a small dust cloud kicked up behind Underwood’s wagon burdened as it was with the payroll gold.
“You can take it to Captain Legrange,” Slocum said.
“What’s that?” Underwood’s startled expression said it all. “You don’t want to be there, too?”
“No need. You work for the stage company. I don’t any longer.”
Underwood looked at the paint and shook his head, as if silently wondering why Slocum hadn’t asked for more. The five hundred dollars in gold rode easy in his vest pocket, making a small bulge. That much money would keep him in clover for a long time.
“Whatever you say. I can do with some good feelings from the post commander. Legrange wasn’t too happy with you losing the payroll the way you did.”
Slocum started to bristle at the insult, then subsided. He had done all he could. Let Underwood have his moment in the sun. It no longer mattered to Slocum. Joshua was dead, and he had no idea if Beatrice had returned to Legrange’s bed. If she didn’t know who had shot her brother—her lover—she might keep on riding. Slocum hoped she didn’t burn out any more farmers just to watch the flames. She was dangerous, crazy dangerous. Without her brother, there was no telling what she would do.
And Slocum wanted someone else to deal with that problem.
“Halt! What you got there, Mr. Underwood?” called the sentry.
“Got to see your commander right away. Everyone on the post is going to share in this.” Underwood hesitated, then could no longer contain the news. “I got your payroll!”
Slocum had seen rumors spread on Army forts before. Before Underwood had driven through the gate, soldiers came flocking to surround the wagon, many wanting to jump into the bed and others simply content with running alongside. Underwood basked in the approval beamed his way by the soldiers.
Slocum didn’t even get a moment’s notice as he rode behind the wagon, then cut to the side, letting the soldiers crowd around Underwood as he stepped down from the wagon in front of Legrange’s office. The officer came out and braced himself against a porch post. Slocum waited long enough to see if Beatrice joined him. When she didn’t, he knew the woman had lit out for parts unknown.
He rode slowly around to the enlisted men’s quarters. Mrs. Wilson was outside beating a rug. Clouds of dust billowed. She stopped when Slocum dismounted and came over, leading his horse.
“You want my husband, Mr. Slocum? He ran over to the parade ground with the others. Not sure what the fuss is, but it must be good. Every last one of them is grinning like a fool.” She wiped her dirty hands off on her apron. “Can I get you some water? You look parched.”
“That’d be mighty fine, ma’am.” When she left to fetch the dipper, Slocum took off his bandanna, fished in his vest pocket for the reward money, and wrapped it up, tying the cloth securely into a pouch.
“Here you are.” Mrs. Wilson handed him the tin dipper. Slocum drained it, then handed it back.
“How are the girls doing?”
“As good as can be expected. Losing their ma and pa like they did isn’t easy, but they’re getting used to Army life.”
“Glad to hear that,” Slocum said. “Here’s something for them. You can figure out how best to use it.” He handed her his bandanna with the tight knot around the gold coins.
“That’s right thoughty of you, Mr. Slocum.” She hefted the coins, then looked at him. He had mounted. “You want to wait for—”
“Tell your husband or not, as you see fit. Ma’am.” He touched the brim of his Stetson. The two girls peeped out of the window and ducked back, as if being seen was wrong.
“Wait, Mr. Slocum.” She fumbled to get the knot untied. “Mr. Slocum!”
He rode away without a look back. Nothing much good had come out of the tornado and all the damage it had done, but this went toward mending some of the woes.
John Slocum felt damned good as he left Fort Stockton and turned his paint’s face northward. There might be decent work to be had in the Panhandle. And if there wasn’t, Colorado had always been generous to a drifter like him.
Watch for
SLOCUM AND THE DIAMOND CITY AFFAIR
405th novel in the exciting SLOCUM series from Jove
Coming in November!
