by Jake Logan
Stepping over the fallen man, Slocum ducked into the jailhouse and immediately froze. A second guard had been posted inside and had a rifle leveled at him. In his haste, Slocum had foolishly walked into a trap.
“This is my lucky day,” the man said, grinning to show two missing front teeth. “Silas put up a ten-dollar reward to anybody who caught you.”
“Yeah, lucky you,” Slocum said. He glanced at the marshal, who looked as if he had bitten into a bitter persimmon. The lawman saw his only chance of escape vanish in a heartbeat and all because Slocum had been too eager.
“Now lookee here,” came a lilting voice from outside. “You caught him.”
Beatrice leaned against the doorframe and positively leered.
“You’re going to be Galligan’s favorite tonight for catching him,” Beatrice said.
“You think? I ain’t never been—” This was all the guard got out before Beatrice stepped into the jailhouse and slugged him with a pistol. The guard let out a loud yelp, lowered his rifle to grab the injured spot Beatrice had caused.
Slocum’s draw was swift and his aim accurate. He completed the job Beatrice had started. This time the guard fell facedown and didn’t stir. Slocum looked up. Beatrice held the pistol in her hands, ready to fire.
“I took it off the yahoo outside. You club him, too, John?”
“We need to get them out of the cell,” Slocum said, going to the cell door. He rattled it, but it was securely locked.
“The one outside must have the keys. This one didn’t. I watched and he never showed he had the keys.” The marshal looked frantic, and Slocum didn’t blame him.
Slocum grabbed the man outside and hauled him into the filthy jail, dropping him next to the other guard. A quick search failed to turn up the keys.
“Look around,” he ordered Beatrice. “The keys must be here somewhere.”
“I don’t see them anywhere, John.”
“You can’t leave us in here!” Menniger shouted.
“I can force open the door if the keys aren’t anywhere to be found.”
“Galligan might have them,” Beatrice said. “He’s got this huge key ring. I never figured out what all of them were for.”
Slocum cursed. It made sense that Galligan had the keys. He wasn’t a man to let the least bit of power slip from his fingers.
“Get us out!”
“Shut up,” Slocum said. “I’ll figure out how to spring you.”
“Silas is coming. Him and about ten others,” Beatrice said, peering around the edge of the door.
Slocum saw that the outlaws weren’t riding for the jail but were headed for the western gate. A dozen plans ran though his mind and Slocum discarded all of them as being too dangerous. Then he realized anything he did was going to be dangerous.
“Get out of that dress,” Slocum said.
“What?” Beatrice looked from him to the three lawmen and then back. “You can’t—”
“Take his clothes. He’s about your height.” He pointed to the man who had been standing guard outside. “We need to blend in. You can tuck your hair up under the hat.”
“We can’t just ride out, John. We—”
“Do it.”
Beatrice looked hard at him to make sure he wasn’t joshing her, then took a deep breath and began shucking off her dress. Slocum turned and stood facing the marshal and his two deputies, who craned their necks to get a better look at the stripping.
“You’re not leaving’ us, are you? You’ve got to get us out,” Menniger said, still straining to see around Slocum and get a look at Beatrice.
“We’ll bring back help. If we don’t get out, there’s no chance in hell for you to,” Slocum said.
“You won’t forget us?”
Slocum didn’t bother answering. He heard the soft hiss of Beatrice’s dress being cast aside, then her grunts as she forced herself into the fallen man’s jeans. Waiting another few second to give her time, he turned and saw her buttoning the shirt.
He had to smile.
“You fill that out better ’n he ever could,” he said.
Beatrice glared at him.
“This better work, John. He’s got more lice in his clothes than he does in his hair, and that’s saying something.” She wiggled, then stopped when she saw how Slocum and the lawmen appreciated the movement. “What about them? When they come to, they’ll yell their heads off what’s happened.”
“Throw us a couple pistols,” Menniger said. “We can shoot our way out when somebody with a key finally comes.”
“Galligan has it. He won’t come over if he thinks there’s any chance of that happening.” Slocum considered the two guards. “When somebody comes for them, brag about how easy it was to overpower them.”
“Their six-shooters. Give us their guns!”
“You’d be dead in a second if they thought you had six-guns,” Slocum pointed out.
“If we don’t get out of here fast, we’re all going to be dead,” Beatrice said uneasily.
“Tie them up the best you can,” Slocum said, dragging the two guards over to the jail cell. He wished he could open the cell door but there was hardly any rust on the lock. Shooting it open wouldn’t work. In his experience a slug only jammed the lock. And shooting fast enough to blow off the lock would bring Galligan’s men down on them in a flash.
“Horses around the side of the jail,” Beatrice said, coming back. “Silas and his gang are almost out of town now. Hurry, John.”
Slocum ignored Menniger’s protests and dropped the two guards close enough for the marshal to tie them up. For all he cared, the lawmen could kill the pair. That might be for the best but would ensure immediate execution.
Stepping out into the hot sun, Slocum jumped on the horse that Beatrice had brought around. She had already mounted and shifted uneasily in the saddle.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “You’re scooting around like you sat on an anthill.”
“Might as well. These damned jeans chafe in all the wrong places.”
“I’ll have to give you a rubdown when we get out.”
“You’d better, John, you’d better!” With that, Beatrice wheeled her horse and trotted off. He watched her for a moment and decided that they had better stay toward the rear of Silas’s gang. She was too much a woman to ever wear men’s jeans and not give herself away.
“Don’t get too close,” Slocum warned. “Keep back but not too far.”
“I can figure it out,” she said, irritated.
Slocum rode to one side of the road and Beatrice to the other so they wouldn’t have to eat the dust of Silas’s men. Slocum considered staying in the dust to further hide, but no self-respecting cowboy would do that. They would draw more attention than riding the way they did. As if to confirm what he thought, Silas’s lieutenant glanced back, saw Slocum, and paid him no attention, turning back to talk with his boss. Slocum heaved a sigh of relief as they neared the gate.
“We’ll ride on through with the rest,” Slocum said. “Then fall behind once we’re out of sight of the guards on the wall.”
Beatrice nodded once to show she understood. She pulled up her bandanna to cut some of the dust and held her head down. Even so, she was likely to be noticed from the way the buttons on her shirt strained and her breasts bobbed as she rode. Slocum cut in front of her when Silas stopped and turned to face his men.
“We’ll get on down to town. No shootin’ once we get there, ’less I tell you. We wait for sundown ’fore we get down to real work.” Silas motioned for the gang to ride through, but Slocum caught his breath when he saw Silas stop on the far side of the gate and watch his men come through. The outlaw’s sharp eyes took in the details of every single rider.
Slocum had no option but to ride through. If he tried to avoid staying with the rest of the gang, he would stick out like a cross-eyed carpenter’s thumb. Slocum followed Beatrice’s lead, pulled up his bandanna, and lowered his head.
He got even with Silas. The outlaw s
at straighter and started reaching for his six-shooter. Then Beatrice interposed herself between Slocum and Silas. She had lowered her bandanna and put heels to her horse’s flanks, bolting ahead to draw Silas’s attention. The outlaw ignored Slocum and went after her.
He caught her within a few yards and dragged her off the horse, landing her hard on the road. She got up and began lambasting him for treating her so poorly, promising that Galligan would hear of it.
Slocum trotted on, aware that she had sacrificed her freedom and maybe her life to let him escape. He vowed to do what he could to save her. Killing Silas wouldn’t be much of a chore, but Slocum’s chance passed as several of the gang rode back to see what caused the ruckus.
Beatrice and Silas argued loudly, with the others joining in. To butt in now, even with six-gun blazing, would be suicidal. Both he and Beatrice would forfeit their lives. Slocum rode a short way down the road, then found a slope his horse could take without breaking a leg. He skidded down the embankment and off the road, heading straight for a tumble of rocks. He vaulted from the saddle and waited, Colt drawn in case Silas came after him.
After five minutes he returned the pistol to his holster. Beatrice had waylaid Silas successfully. What happened to her was likely to be decided by Galligan. Slocum didn’t know how fond of having a bed warmer the emperor was. Beatrice was easily the prettiest woman he had seen in the town, but Galligan might have different standards.
Slocum snorted. Hell, he knew Galligan did. Power meant more to him than anything else in Top of the World.
Another ten minutes passed, and Slocum worked his way down a ravine until he came to the ironclad wagon. Taking the deputy into Thompson would afford him some protection from whatever law remained and give him a chance to rally the townspeople against Silas, if that proved necessary.
Slocum thought what it would be like to face Silas and knew he would be cut down in a split second. Never had he seen a gunman with a faster hand. Another man might consider shooting Silas in the back, but that didn’t set well with Slocum.
He called, “You still here? You alive, Deputy?” He hadn’t expected an answer, but he hoped for some small sound to get him on the right trail. He wasn’t disappointed. The scraping sound of a six-gun across leather warned him where the deputy had holed up some distance from the overturned wagon.
Walking slowly, hands out where the deputy could see them, Slocum advanced. He expected a bullet to rip through him at any second, but he was relieved when the deputy poked up from behind a rock, his six-shooter resting on the top.
“You came back. Didn’t think you would.”
“I finally got out of Galligan’s prison,” he said. “But Marshal Menniger and two others are still locked up. We need to get a posse and go after them.”
“Too late,” the deputy grated out. The man’s tanned face had gone pale and gaunt. Lifting his six-gun was almost too much of a chore for him. “Take a day to get to Thompson, and after the wagon failed, who in their right mind’s gonna go ’gainst Galligan?” His voice trailed off as he slithered back out of sight.
Slocum hurried to the man’s side. The deputy was in a bad way, but he had survived this long. He would live until they reached Thompson and a doctor there.
Slocum heaved the deputy up over his shoulder, wondering if there even was a doctor in town. He’d find out—and if there wasn’t, at least the deputy could be buried in the town cemetery rather than left out in the hot sun for buzzards and bugs.
He dropped the deputy over his saddle and started downhill to find a place to get back on the road for Thompson.
9
“If I ride another foot like this, I’m gonna die for sure,” the deputy gasped out. “Get me down.”
“You can’t walk, and I don’t think you can ride.”
“Lemme try,” the deputy said.
Slocum helped him slide off the saddle. The deputy came into his arms, and Slocum almost tumbled over with the dead weight, but the lawman stiffened his legs and got himself upright, using both Slocum and the horse to support himself.
“Boost me up. God, my belly’s sore.”
“As much from not eating as being draped over the saddle,” Slocum guessed.
“You got any food? I plumb forgot about eating, it’s been so long.”
Slocum rummaged through the saddlebags but found nothing. He wished that Beatrice had stolen a better horse, or at least one better provisioned. Then he remembered the woman and wondered how she fared. Silas must have sent her back to Galligan in disgrace. Trying to escape as she had would likely mean her death.
“Nothing. Drink some more water.” Slocum waited while the deputy sipped at the canteen and then gagged. The man handed it to Slocum, and he shoved the cork back in to let it dangle from the saddle. As thirsty as he was, he figured the deputy needed it more. If not now, then mighty soon.
“Something’s eating you alive. Spit it out,” the deputy said.
“A friend helped me escape. She’s back there in Top of the World.”
“That what Galligan calls his fortress? Fitting.”
“You’re going to need a big posse to rescue the marshal and the other two.”
“So why not rescue your friend at the same time? Looks like we’d be freein’ half the town—the other half keepin’ them prisoners.”
“Cut off the head and the body dies,” Slocum said.
“Yeah, but you do that to a snake and it don’t die until sundown. That can be a mighty long time to worry about the snake sinkin’ its fangs into you.”
Slocum boosted the deputy up. It took all the man’s strength to hold himself upright but he did.
“Name’s Cooley, Gus Cooley.”
Slocum was reluctant to let a lawman hear his name. He had more than one wanted poster dogging his footsteps, but a deputy for a small town nestled in the Grand Tetons wasn’t likely to have seen any of them. Slocum introduced himself.
“Mighty glad you weren’t one of Galligan’s men,” Cooley said. “Otherwise, I’d be dead right now.”
“Wish I could have done more for Menniger, but that cell Galligan has him locked up in is a tight one. And there’s only one key.”
“And Galligan has it,” Cooley guessed. “The man’s nothin’ if not thorough.”
“You might call him that.” Slocum walked a few yards, then had to ask, “You know much about how he runs Top of the World?”
“Only what Menniger had heard from travelers who’ve paid the toll road fee.”
“There any special meaning to him having a bonfire?”
Cooley looked down sharply.
“Why’d you ask? Is he planning one for the marshal?”
“Said he was.”
“Damn, we got to get back ’fore that happens. Galligan’s notion of a bonfire is to douse a man in kerosene, then make him run a maze of torches. Get too close and the man’s burned alive.”
“What if the man doesn’t set himself on fire?”
“Suppose he’s allowed to go free. That’d be something Galligan would claim—and the man’s a damned liar. Never heard of anyone getting through without being burned up alive, but I only been in the area for a month or so. Heard other stories of him setting fire to a horse’s tail and letting it run till it died of fright.” Cooley shook his head. “The man’s a dangerous one.”
Slocum didn’t mention anything about the railroad or how Galligan intended to take over so he could cut himself in on both the freight and the passenger fares as well as selling coal to the railroad.
“I’m going to have to work harder ’n Menniger ever did to whip up enthusiasm for a posse.”
“Promise them money,” Slocum suggested.
“Ain’t got a dime in the kitty. Hell, the marshal’s paid me out of his own pocket. There’s not a whole lot bein’ spent on salaries in Thompson.”
“Promise them they can loot Top of the World,” Slocum said. “There has to be a passel of money and goods stored there. Galligan can’t possib
ly eat and drink and spend it all by himself.”
“The marshal’d never go along with that.”
“Tell him after you spring him from the jail. Freedom might go a ways toward softening his outlook.”
Cooley laughed, then had to grip the saddle horn with both hands. He began wobbling. He had reached the limits of his endurance. Slocum reached up and pushed him upright. It was a long, slow trip into Thompson.
“You might as well have upped and kilt him,” Dr. Radley said, poking the deputy with his finger. Cooley stirred and moaned, but his eyelids hardly flickered.
“He’s not going to make it?” Slocum frowned. He had seen men with what seemed to be minor wounds die. He had also seen men with arms and legs blown off who ought to have died on the spot keep breathing—for years. Cooley had been in a bad way, but for the doctor to say he was going to die made thoughts of finding the town’s vet flutter through Slocum’s mind. Too many times, the vet knew more about medicine and almost always had a better bedside manner.
“Oh, he’ll make it. Not so sure ’bout me.” The doctor belched loudly. “You took me away from dinner. Tendin’ him’s cuttin’ into my mealtime something fierce.”
Slocum drew his Colt Navy and cocked it, pointing it directly at the deputy.
“What the hell’re you doin’?” Doc Radley moved faster than Slocum would have thought possible for such an old galoot with a gimpy leg to put himself between the muzzle and his patient. “You been out too long in the sun?”
“It’s dinnertime,” Slocum said. “Don’t want to keep you from your vittles. Besides, the sun’s down so there’s no way I can get sunstroke.”
“Then why’re you threatenin’ a lawman with a drawn six-shooter? You must have been eatin’ locoweed.”
Slocum slid his six-gun back into his holster. He had learned what he needed. The doctor might complain about having his mealtime interrupted by a patient, but he was dedicated enough to take a bullet when it looked as if Slocum would have shot Cooley.
“What you want to eat?” Slocum asked. “I’ll fetch it for you.”
“No need, no need,” Radley said, waving a bony hand as if he shooed away flies. “Martha over at the Reserve Café delivers. I sorta like it when she does. She’s got a hitch in her gitalong that’s mighty nice to watch. And she’s not too bad lookin’ comin’ toward you either.”
