by Jake Logan
“Reckon so. You gonna call them boys up on the road? Looks like they’re huntin’ me.”
“Stay in the shade,” Slocum said. “If I leave you, can you keep from dying?”
“You’re not takin’ me prisoner?”
Slocum didn’t bother telling the deputy he was as much a prisoner as the marshal and the others Silas held at gunpoint.
“I’ll tell them nobody survived the fall. If they come to check, can you hide?”
“Considerin’ what’ll happen if I don’t, yeah, reckon I can. Why are you doin’ this for me?”
Slocum motioned the deputy to silence and turned, facing up the steep hillside where Silas stood with his rifle tucked against his shoulder.
“You find anything, Slocum?”
“Dead men. Nobody else,” Slocum called back.
“Git your ass up here then. You got a bad habit of malingerin’.”
“Don’t shoot me while I’m climbing,” Slocum said. Silas lowered the rifle and turned to bellow at somebody out of Slocum’s field of vision. Slocum began climbing. From behind he heard the deputy call out to him.
“Thanks, mister. I won’t forget this.”
Slocum dug in his toes and made steady progress up the hill and finally tumbled to the road, only to find himself staring down the barrel of Silas’s rifle.
“Oughta cut you down,” Silas said.
“What’d Galligan say about that?” Slocum watched Silas’s face. Playing poker with him would be a chore. Only a small tic at the corner of his left eye betrayed any emotion, but the way the outlaw relaxed just a mite told Slocum he was safe. For now.
“He’s got plans for you.”
“Yeah,” Slocum said. He saw a small knot of prisoners surrounded by Galligan’s men. “How many did you catch?”
“Three. One’s the marshal down in Thompson. The emperor’s gonna enjoy playin’ his games with him. The other two are deputies and don’t count as much.”
Slocum trudged ahead of Silas, aware of the rifle aimed at his spine. He passed the marshal and the two lawmen who’d been with him inside the armored wagon. They all looked the worse for the attack. The marshal held his right arm in a way that Slocum knew meant broken bones. The other two men leaned on each other to walk.
The gate creaked open, bits of it falling to the ground.
“Shot the hell out of your gate, leastways for a while,” the marshal said.
Silas said nothing but went to the lawman and clubbed him. He waited for the marshal to get his feet back under him before hitting him again.
“Git up.” Silas pointed the rifle at the marshal. Slocum saw Silas’s finger turn white with tension on the trigger but held his tongue. This wasn’t his fight. He looked around and saw the guards on the wall all watching the drama unwind. They were silent but the expectant look on their faces told Slocum they wanted Silas to kill his prisoner.
The marshal struggled to his feet and joined his two deputies.
Slocum fell back, thinking this might be a chance to get the hell away from Top of the World, but Silas wouldn’t have any of it. He motioned with the rifle for Slocum to mount and ride at point. Slocum led the way into town, Silas and several of Galligan’s men following with the prisoners.
Galligan came from the hotel, Beatrice at his side. She looked more rumpled than she had before Slocum left for duty on the wall. It didn’t take much of an imagination to guess what she and the emperor had been up to.
“Silas’s got some prisoners,” Slocum called out to Galligan. “Be here with them in a minute or two.”
“I hear the cheers,” Galligan said, nodding. The townspeople were turning out to lend their voices to rousing cries of victory. Galligan stared hard at Slocum. “Why’d you let any of ’em live?”
“Not my call. Silas was in charge.”
“Might be he has plans for ’em,” Galligan said. He glanced at Beatrice, who grinned from ear to ear in support of the idea. “Boredom’s ’bout the worst thing that can happen in a town like this. But you know all about that. You findin’ any more rattlesnake whips, Slocum?”
“Just snakes,” he said.
Galligan turned angry, then laughed.
“You got grit in your gizzard, Slocum, I’ll give you that. Or maybe you don’t care if you join them Thompson bastards in a new pit?”
Galligan baited him, and Slocum knew it. He was more interested in Beatrice’s reaction. There might have been a flash of fear as Galligan outlined his plans, or maybe it was something else. Slocum couldn’t tell if the redhead feared for him or her own life. Galligan would dump her in a pit filled with hungry rats if he thought she had cheated on him with Slocum.
“There’s the conquering hero now. Come on over, Silas.” Galligan gestured expansively to his lieutenant. “How many of them varmints have you brought me?”
“Got three, Emperor, but this one’s special.” Silas slid his boot from his stirrup cup and kicked at the marshal, sending him stumbling forward.
The marshal glared at Galligan but said nothing.
“You’re new, aren’t you? You must not have known that I paid off Marshal Comstock to let me be.”
“You’re choking off commerce to Thompson,” the marshal said.
“What name do I put on your gravestone?” Galligan asked.
“Hank Menniger’s the name,” the lawman said. “And you’ll never write my name on a tombstone.”
“You’re right, Marshal Menniger. I wouldn’t do that because I wouldn’t take the time or spend the money for a gravestone. You’ll be buried in an unmarked grave. How do you like that?”
Slocum saw how much effort Menniger put into not retorting or even trying to rip out Galligan’s throat with his bare hands. Galligan wanted a reaction to feed his own arrogance and give the slowly assembling citizens of Top of the World a show.
“We need a celebration tonight. We got to show our brave guards we appreciate them. A bonfire tonight!”
For a moment there was deathly silence, then the crowd erupted in cheers. Slocum looked at the faces of the men in the crowd and saw a mixture of fear and anticipation. Galligan’s call for a bonfire meant something more than it seemed. Before he could ask anyone what Galligan’s idea of a fire was, the emperor barked out his order.
“Slocum, get these prisoners on over to the jailhouse.”
Silas and his men formed a circle around Slocum and edged him away. Slocum looked down at the prisoners and pointed toward the edge of town. Menniger and his two men slowly made their way, letting Slocum herd them.
“You keep a good watch over them,” Silas said. “Me and the emperor got things to talk over.”
Silas’s men followed Slocum and the prisoners to the jail. He ushered them inside the small building and almost gagged at the stench.
“Christ, is this a jail or a slaughterhouse?” Menniger cried. Slocum shoved him in when the guards started centering their pistols on the lawman.
“I didn’t know it was like this,” Slocum said by way of apology. He coughed. “Get the bodies out of that cell and the three of you can stay there.”
Menniger had to move the decaying bodies in the nearest cell and stacked them in the second. Only then did Slocum lock him up.
“You keep a sharp eye on ’em, Slocum. Silas said so,” said one of Silas’s men, who laughed and then backed out into the bright sunlight.
Slocum saw that they had all left, turning him wary. He was supposed to secure the prisoners, but if he showed any inclination to escape—or to aid the lawmen in an escape—he had no doubt he’d find the jaws of a bear trap closing around his neck. Galligan toyed with him. Slocum knew it was only a matter of time before the emperor chose to kill him.
Slocum turned grim at the memory of the bodies floating down the river. Galligan killed so many he didn’t bother burying them anymore.
“You get my men some water?” the marshal asked.
“I’ll see what I can scare up, but I’m in a pickle myself.”
>
“You’re not on this side of the bars,” Menniger pointed out.
“Might as well be. Top of the World is one big jail cell, and the only one with a key to get out is Galligan.”
The marshal looked hard at Slocum, then nodded.
“About what I figured. Comstock lit out the first chance he got and I was hired in from Salt Lake City. Took the job as marshal without so much as setting foot in the town.” Menniger laughed ruefully. “That’ll teach me.”
“Why were you so intent on rooting out Galligan? If you’d stayed in Thompson, everything would have gone on the way it was.”
“With the merchants selling him his supplies at exorbitant prices?” Menniger laughed again, more bitterness than before evident. “Things changed. There was the strike in the hills north of Thompson.”
“Gold?”
“Coal,” Menniger said. “Right now, that’s worth more than gold.” He grabbed the bars and shook until they rattled. “This is one piss-poor jail. Wouldn’t take much to get out of it.”
“Don’t reckon most men stay long here,” Slocum said, glancing at the stack of bodies in the next cell. Flies buzzed and rats crept closer to check their meal.
“Then, as you said, the whole damned town is one giant prison.”
“Why’d a coal mine change things in Thompson?” Slocum asked.
“Railroad’s coming through. Thompson supplying coal to the train makes it a potential boomtown.”
“The railroad would come through this pass?”
“That’s part of the problem. Galligan isn’t inclined to give his permission to lay track through the center of his pass, not without controlling the coal mine.”
“He wants to keep it all under his thumb,” Slocum said. It began to make sense. If Galligan owned the coal mine, he could dictate terms to the railroad. With it going over the pass he commanded with his toll road, Galligan stood to become a wealthy man if he could levy any sort of tax on the railroad.
“You’re not one of ’em, are you?” Menniger asked.
“If it wasn’t for a fluke, I’d be dead—or in that cell with you.”
“You a lawman?”
Slocum’s reaction caused the marshal to shake his head.
“Sorry I said that. I can see you’re more likely to run from the law than to wear a badge.”
Slocum started to tell the marshal about his deputy hiding out but the sound of someone moving around just outside the jailhouse door caused him to bite his tongue. He turned to see one of the gunmen riding with Silas leaning indolently against the wall, ear cocked to overhear anything inside. How much he had already heard didn’t bother Slocum so much since it was nothing Silas—and Galligan—didn’t already know. But anything more, especially about the deputy, would get him dumped into a pit with something more dangerous than rats or rattlers.
He might even find out the hard way what frightened and thrilled the townspeople about the idea of a bonfire.
Slocum nodded to the marshal, then turned and left without another word. He passed the gunman, who didn’t make any effort to follow. The other two were nowhere to be seen, but Slocum didn’t have the feeling of anyone watching or following him. Still, he turned and doubled back unexpectedly but did not surprise anyone behind him.
With a nonchalance he didn’t feel, he explored town, bypassing the saloon and the whorehouse, hunting for any place Galligan’s men might be gathering. If they were getting ready for any concerted attack, they were hidden from his casual scouting. As far as Slocum could tell, nothing unusual stirred up the merchants or the men sitting in the shade along the boardwalks.
Circling behind the hotel where Galligan made his headquarters, Slocum found a spot in the shade of a scrub oak, sat, and watched closely. He saw a guard at the rear door, nodding off and occasionally jerking awake and grabbing for a shotgun that slipped from his fingers. A balcony ran around the second floor, and most of the windows were thrown wide open. Occasional figures passed in and out of sight behind billowing curtains. Slocum tried to count how many men Galligan housed on that second floor.
But the third floor proved most interesting. Slocum saw Galligan come to a window and look out. Freezing, hoping the shade camouflaged him well enough, Slocum waited until the self-proclaimed emperor turned and reached into the room. A tiny squeal echoed to Slocum. Galligan held Beatrice close, then released her.
Slocum caught his breath when he saw Beatrice half fall out the window, her hands on the sill. From her expression he knew what Galligan did behind her. Clenching his fists did nothing to save Beatrice from the indignity of being taken like an animal in plain sight of anyone in town who might chance to look up.
Then Beatrice sagged and vanished back into the room.
He waited awhile longer, and about the time he had decided nothing more was to be learned, he saw Galligan climb through a window on the second floor, followed by Silas and another of the outlaw’s gang.
Galligan and Silas spoke in a voice too low to carry. Slocum made a snap decision and crossed to the corner of the hotel. The guard with the shotgun was sound asleep again. Jumping, Slocum caught at a bit of bric-a-brac just under the balcony and pulled himself up so his head was just under the floor.
“I’ll meet with Bannock in a couple days. Let it soak in that I done stopped the attack on Top of the World and now he’s got nobody else to do his dirty work.”
“You want to give him that long to think about it, Emperor?” Silas put his hand on his six-shooter. “Strike while the iron’s hot, I say.”
“He needs to send a telegram to the home office and get instructions. He’s only a yearling when it comes to the railroad. I need to deal with the old studs.”
“If you say so,” Silas said.
Slocum’s fingers cramped from dangling and forced him to kick about, making too much noise, to get his toes onto a small notch to ease the pressure on his hands.
“What’s that?” Silas came over, his boots only inches above Slocum’s grasping fingers.
“What does it matter?” Galligan said. “We got to take care of a few details—you got to take care of them.”
“Anything you want,” Silas said. “I’m your man.”
“The best hired gun money can buy,” Galligan said. Slocum doubted Silas heard the sarcasm in the emperor’s words. “Those prisoners over in the jail. They’re gonna try to escape, and when they do, they’re going to kill him.”
Slocum craned his head around to hear better.
“Why bother? I can take him.”
“I want the marshal to kill Slocum. You might make it look like Slocum was helping him escape, but Menniger’s got to pull the trigger.”
“Or make it look like he killed Slocum?”
Galligan laughed heartily.
“I like the way you think, Silas. Go on, kill Slocum yourself.”
“But it has to look like Menniger did it,” Silas said.
Slocum heard Galligan’s laughter and knew he had to get the hell out of town. He swung around to shinny down the support and found himself staring down the double barrels of a shotgun.
8
“What’re you doin’ up there, mister?” The sleepy guard with the shotgun had awakened at the worst possible instant for Slocum.
Slocum didn’t answer. Instead he kicked free of the post and crashed down on the guard, both elbows driving down hard into the man’s shoulders. He yelped and dropped the shotgun when his arms went numb. Squealing like a stuck pig, the guard tried to fight. Slocum swung his arm around and caught the guard around the neck to drag him onto the boardwalk under the balcony.
“What the hell’s goin’ on down there?” Galligan sounded pissed off at being disturbed in his scheming.
“Nothing,” Slocum grunted out. “Just got a charley horse. Damn thing’s killing me!” To the guard he whispered, “I’ll kill you if you don’t hush up.”
Slocum applied even more pressure to his choke hold until the guard went completely limp. Gru
nting with effort, he dragged the man to a chair, dropped him into it, and then pulled the guard’s Stetson down over his eyes, making it appear he was asleep. Scooping up the scattergun, Slocum propped it beside the chair. He wanted to take it with him for extra firepower, but the shotgun was likely to be noticed and the siesta would go unnoticed. For a while.
Stopping at the edge of the walk, he listened hard but heard nothing above. Galligan and Silas might have gone back into the hotel. He cursed the idea that they were coming downstairs to see what the ruckus was about. He touched his six-shooter, then took a deep breath and started walking, trying not to look back over his shoulder. Not drawing attention was his only way to get back to the jailhouse and spring the marshal and his two deputies.
He cut down an alley and then broke into a run, only to dive behind a watering trough when Silas and one of his gang rode down the street in the direction of the jail. Slocum considered what to do and couldn’t think of anything other than freeing the marshal. Getting out of Top of the World wasn’t going to be easy by himself. He might have a better chance with three others sporting six-shooters.
Getting out of this trap and to Thompson would be easier if the marshal rode alongside, too. There wouldn’t be questions about how he came into town if the lawman vouched for him. Then it would be a matter of deciding what to do about Beatrice.
Slocum walked aimlessly for close to fifteen minutes to let Silas get wherever he rode. Caution finally got pushed aside by the need for action. Rounding the corner of a harness shop, he got a good look at the jailhouse. As far as he could tell, only the solitary owlhoot who had been left stood guard. He made sure his Colt rode easy in his holster, then went directly to the man standing outside the door, smoking a quirley.
The guard looked up. Slocum saw the danger reflected in the man’s eyes. Silas had passed along Galligan’s orders.
“What’s that?” Slocum asked, looking to his right. The guard foolishly half turned to see what Slocum meant. One quick move brought Slocum’s six-gun to hand and a powerful swing landed the barrel against the guard’s temple. He sank straight down as if Slocum had robbed him of his leg bones.
