Slocum and the James Gang

by Jake Logan

  “I think so. At least I’ve heard about caves where people found such things. They claimed they were put there by the Freemasons to mark their territory, but they don’t look like any Freemason symbols I’ve ever seen.”

  Although it was possible that Jesse James was a Freemason, Slocum doubted it. Prone to secrecy, yes. The outlaw was suited for that. But Slocum could never imagine him taking part in what was supposed to be elaborate rituals while dressed in crazy, colorful robes.

  “Do you know anyone who might decipher them?”

  “How can I send these over a telegraph? My editor might recognize them. Mr. Herschel knows a little bit about everything, or at least it seems that way. But it would take far too long to send a copy by mail to him and even longer to get a response.”

  Slocum had already come to that conclusion. He had hoped Audrey, in her tracking down of the James Gang, had seen something similar before.

  “Was there anything more to the message?” Audrey asked. “This looks so . . . incomplete.”

  “You think it might be a map of some kind?”

  “To where they hid gold?” The woman’s eyes went wide as the idea of a fortune buried up in the mountains made her news story seem less important. Greed always did that, at least in Slocum’s experience, but as eager as she might be to find the gold, too many barriers stood in the way.

  Not the least of which was being unable to decipher the code.

  Slocum leaned back in the chair as he thought on the biggest obstacle in the way of being filthy rich.

  Jesse James wasn’t the sort to give up stolen gold graciously. He would gun down his own brother if Frank thought to steal from him.

  What he would do to anyone else wasn’t comfortable to think on.

  “I have to join the gang,” Slocum said. “It’s the only way.”

  Audrey Underwood stared at him. He wasn’t sure he liked the tiny smile curling her perfect lips and what it might mean.

  5

  “I want to see the spot where you found this cipher,” Audrey Underwood said. “I can be working on its meaning while you find Jesse James and enlist.”

  “It’s not like he is recruiting an army unit,” Slocum said. It irritated him thinking of Jesse and the C.S.A. There had been nothing military about the way the guerrilla bands had fought or killed.

  “Do you think the Fort Union soldiers will come after him if they get wind of him being in the territory?”

  Slocum had considered this and doubted it would happen. The cavalry had more to do than go on wild chases across the countryside trying to find a will-’o-the-wisp like Jesse James. He had outmaneuvered regular Federal soldiers for too long not to know their ways. Fort Union was a supply depot and responsible for maintaining a string of forts throughout the region. Slocum told Audrey this.

  “That’s something of a relief,” she said. “Less competition for me to bring him in.”

  “You’re back to pretending to be a bounty hunter?”

  “I am,” she said, irritated. “I’m also a reporter. When one job is impossible, I shall pursue the other to the utmost. That way, I’m never out of work.”

  “Stick to reporting. The Las Vegas Optic might need a reporter.”

  “I’ve inquired. The editor was quite rude to me, saying they didn’t believe a woman could report the news. They probably thought I couldn’t even write. Why, they refused to even look at clippings of my other stories already published.”

  “Fancy that,” Slocum said dryly. He cared less about Audrey finding a job than he did about her getting gunned down pretending to be a bounty hunter. Jesse didn’t have much of a sense of humor when it came to getting arrested and locked up for the rest of his life in prison—or getting his neck stretched by a hangman’s noose.

  “Will you take me to the spot where you found the coded message?”

  Slocum hesitated and didn’t know why. There couldn’t be any harm in Audrey studying the cipher to see what she could make of it. Although he had seen similar markings during the war, he might have missed something important. A key might have been scratched into the rock away from the message, a key that would reveal the meaning of the message. It might be nothing more than telling Jesse’s gang where to meet after a robbery or it could be significant.

  Gold. The golden lure still poked him in the gut. Jesse James had stolen a fair amount in his day and none of it had ever been recovered. Most folks thought Jesse gave it to the poor, but Slocum knew Jesse James would keep it for himself. Hiding it in New Mexico might be smart since it was far away from the scene of so many of his successful robberies. Jesse could come to Las Vegas and retire, secure because of a cave loaded with gold he had stolen back in Missouri and Kansas.

  “It’s too dangerous right now. My ticket into the gang is stashed not far from the cave. If Jesse even gets a hint that somebody knows where his message rock is, he’ll move everything.”

  “That’s true,” Audrey said, looking thoughtful. “He is a cautious man when it comes to hiding his gold. I’ve figured that out already from my study of his character.”

  “You stay in town and let me find him. When it’s safe—and when I know he’s not going to change the message—I’ll let you know.”

  “I’m staying at a boardinghouse just on the edge of town. Senora Gonzalez said I could rent the room by the week or month. I’ve taken it only for a week.”

  “I’ll find the place,” Slocum assured her.

  They sat staring at one another across the table for a long minute. Slocum couldn’t guess what ran through Audrey’s mind, but it wasn’t what occupied his. She was as much after the James Gang gold as he was, but she had other chances to make her own fortune. A detailed story about the capture and hanging of Jesse James would bring her both notoriety and a modicum of money. She didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of actually capturing Jesse and turning him in for the reward. Where she had gotten the crazy notion she could be a bounty hunter simply by declaring herself to be one made Slocum wonder if she’d been hit on the head recently. Or maybe she had just never come up against a cold-blooded killer like Jesse James and had no idea how difficult arresting him would be.

  “I need to ride,” Slocum said. He stood. She reached out impulsively and gripped his arm.

  “John, be careful. You shouldn’t needlessly risk your neck for me.”

  He kept from laughing. She thought he did this to further her career? He did it for the gold.

  “I’m always careful,” he said.

  “You weren’t so careful up there above the gap after the posse left.”

  Slocum wasn’t going to argue that point. But Audrey thought she had bound him to her with a brief fling. She had quite an opinion of herself and her abilities.

  He left the café and went to the saloon, looking inside to see if Jesse might have returned. The outlaw was a bold one, arrogant and willing to flout authority. It would be something he did, coming to town to drink while the posse scoured the hills hunting for him.

  Although it might be something he would do, the outlaw had chosen not to drink here and now. Slocum got his horse and rode from town toward the spot where the gang had left the road before. The one trail led to the cave where Slocum had found the message scribbled on the wall—and not far from there was the dead body of a gang member. Slocum intended to use that corpse as his way into the gang.

  If he could find Jesse James.

  Taking a different trail proved more productive for him. Only an hour’s ride brought him into the foothills again where he spied a tiny spiral of smoke. He took a deep whiff. Somebody cooked a late afternoon meal of venison. It never paid to just ride up unannounced, so he approached slowly and was immediately glad that he did.

  Frank James stood on a rock to his right, rifle pulled in tight to his shoulder.

  “No closer,” the outlaw shouted.

  “It’s me, Slocum. I want to talk to your brother. I got some bad news for him.”

  Frank lower
ed the rifle and got a better look. He motioned with the rifle barrel that Slocum was to advance. Then he disappeared down the far side of the rock. By the time Slocum had ridden the twenty yards to the base of the large rock, Frank James had come around to peer up at him.

  “Not sure Jesse wants to talk with you, Slocum. He’s in a mean mood right about now.”

  “It’ll get worse.”

  “Hell, come on through. We can use a bit of excitement if he decides to use you for target practice.”

  Slocum rode along the winding path through the rocks, aware that Frank followed with the rifle aimed at his exposed back. He came to a halt a few yards away from the campfire and waited for Jesse to notice him. He was sure the outlaw had been aware of his approach from the instant his brother had called out the challenge.

  Jesse finally dropped the piece of meat he was eating into the fire where it sizzled and popped, sending hot fat spattering in all directions. Two of the gang nearby turned from it rather than have the boiling fat hit their faces. Jesse was oblivious.

  “He said he’s got bad news, Jesse,” Frank called. “You want him to get some bad news, too?”

  Slocum knew that a single word from his brother would give Frank permission to shoot him in the back.

  “What is it, Slocum?”

  “I found one of your gang dead. And I don’t think he was killed by the posse.”

  “Who was it?”

  Slocum described him the best he could, finishing with, “He had a half-dozen knife wounds in the chest. I left him a few miles up into the hills.”

  “Why didn’t you bury him?”

  “I wasn’t getting paid for it,” Slocum said.

  Jesse scowled at him, then burst out laughing. He motioned for Slocum to step down and sit at the fire.

  “I forgot what a joker you are, Slocum. You got a real sense of humor. Hell, I wouldn’t have buried him, either, and he rode with us for damned near a month.”

  “Who was he?”

  “Names don’t make no nevermind to the dead. If you want to collect the bounty on his head, take him into Las Vegas and let the marshal find a wanted poster.” Jesse looked hard at Slocum. “You won’t do that ’cuz there’s like to be a poster on you. Isn’t that so?”

  “Can’t dispute it,” Slocum said. There was one still making its way throughout the West for judge killing. After Bill Anderson had gut shot him, Slocum had taken a long time to recuperate and had finally returned to Slocum’s Stand in Calhoun, Georgia, to settle down. All he wanted to do was grow crops on the family farm he had inherited, but a carpetbagger judge had taken a fancy to the land and had come to seize it for unpaid taxes. He and a hired gunman had ridden out to proclaim the foreclosure and only one had ridden away from the farm—John Slocum. He had buried the bodies by the springhouse and had never looked back.

  The law against killing a federal judge, carpetbagger deserving it or not, was one that marshals throughout the country enforced. It had been a spell since Slocum had seen a poster offering a hundred-dollar reward for his capture for that crime. But he didn’t doubt that a few yellowed, brittle copies of the wanted poster with his likeness were still in files in marshals’ offices where he least expected.

  “Why are you talkin’ to him, Jesse? Put a bullet in him and let’s get outta here,” Charlie Dennison said.

  “Keep fingering your pistol like that and you won’t be doing any moving except six feet under,” Slocum said.

  Dennison half stood, hand flashing to his six-shooter. He froze when he found himself staring down the barrel of Slocum’s Colt.

  “Go on, shoot him,” Jesse said.

  Slocum wasn’t sure who the outlaw was speaking to.

  “Sit down,” he ordered Dennison. “Or you can fall over with a bullet in your head.”

  Dennison’s hand shook, as if he restrained himself from drawing. Then he relaxed and settled back to the rock on the other side of the fire. Slocum knew he had made himself an enemy, but then Charlie Dennison hadn’t been much of a friend before. From what Slocum had heard about him, Dennison would rob a widow of her egg money.

  A collective sigh passed through the others who had watched. Slocum knew they were disappointed blood hadn’t been spilled. Most likely, they didn’t like Dennison any more than he did but would have cheered Dennison on if he had killed the interloper. About the only entertainment men like this got was seeing somebody die.

  “Now that the two dogs have got done snarling at each other,” Jesse said, “I asked you before if you wanted to join up, Slocum. If what you say is true, I’m a man shy.”

  “Don’t do this, Jesse,” Frank said. “I don’t like his looks. Remember what Bloody Bill—”

  “Quiet, Frank. Slocum is a straight shooter. If he gives his word, that’s enough for me. He might have had a moment’s break in his faith, but he rode with Bill Quantrill, same as us. That has to count for something. Isn’t that right, Slocum?”

  “It means something to me,” Slocum said.

  “See, Frank? Slocum is all right. Now what do you think happened to the, uh, gent you found?”

  “Can’t say. The way he was all cut up, looked like he tangled with an Indian and lost.”

  “There’s no Indians around right now,” Dennison said sullenly. “We got this whole damned place to ourselves.”

  “Charlie has a point,” Jesse said. “Those boys in blue over at Fort Union have run off the Navajo, and the Comanche are kicking up their heels down south a ways from here. Them Injuns from the pueblos don’t count, and this is a bit far north for the Apache to come raiding. We’d have heard if a band of them was in the region.”

  “There are hunters in the Sangre de Cristos. Might be he crossed one of them.”

  “Might be Slocum killed him thinking to join up to replace him,” Dennison said. “Might be Slocum put a couple rounds in him.”

  “That’s true. What red-blooded son of the South wouldn’t do what it took to join us in our noble endeavor?” Jesse asked. The men all nodded agreement. Slocum tensed. This didn’t sound like the James Gang had come to New Mexico to hide out, nor did it sound as if they intended to rob their way through the territory. Something else was in the wind.

  Slocum felt the hair on the back of his neck rise and knew Frank James had the rifle trained on him. He was dedicated to his brother but might go along with Charlie Dennison if Jesse showed the slightest hesitation.

  Slocum breathed a tad easier when Jesse said, “John, why don’t we all mosey on over to where you found our late, lamented friend so we can see the truth of your statements.”

  “You calling me a liar, Jesse?” Slocum knew better than to call out the outlaw, but he also knew that Jesse would expect him to be bristly over having his story questioned.

  “Not yet, John, not yet. Mount up, boys. We’re going for an afternoon ride.”

  Slocum kept telling himself he stood to find a mountain of gold, but getting there was going to mean enduring a considerable risk. This wasn’t new for him, but it didn’t make him ride any easier knowing Frank had an itchy trigger finger and Charlie Dennison just wanted to kill him for the pleasure of seeing him die.

  “Up there,” Slocum said, recognizing the spot where he had left the body. He forced himself to keep from looking higher on the hillside, along the trail toward the cave with the chalk code marked on the wall. If one of Jesse’s gang had been up there, it probably meant the others knew about it. From the way they were getting edgier as they rode, he knew he was right.

  “Yup, he’s dead, Jesse,” Frank said, kicking the dead man’s ribs. “And Slocum was right about him getting stabbed to death.” Frank James pulled back the shirt, peeling the cloth away from the dried blood. He probed and finally said, “Looks like he was done in with a small knife. Never seen anything like this before, but then I don’t bother with that many bodies.” Frank stood and laughed. “Mostly I just shoot ’em and leave ’em where they fall.”

  This produced laughter from the
others in the gang. Slocum was more intent on Jesse’s reaction. The two of them ended up staring at each other. The outlaw’s pale eyes bored into him, and Slocum didn’t flinch.

  “You been any farther along this trail, Slocum?”

  “I came from that direction,” Slocum said, pointing to the south. “I never heard a thing, but I saw his horse.”

  “Charlie, you take the horse. We can always use another,” Jesse called. To Slocum he said, “Let’s you and me take a ride. Up the trail.”

  Slocum rode behind the outlaw, wondering what was going to happen. The winding trail cut them off from the others, who remained behind. The farther west they rode, the closer they got to the cave. When it became apparent Jesse was riding straight for the cave, Slocum began worrying that he had left evidence of being inside.

  “Dismount, Slocum. I got something to show you.”

  Jesse went into the cave ahead of him. Slocum knew how dark it was there and entered warily. As Slocum had guessed the other outlaw had done, Jesse followed the left wall, pressing close and advancing cautiously. Slocum dared not reveal he knew anything about their destination—or the deep pit.

  “You got a light, Slocum? It’s mighty dark in here.”

  “Got a lucifer,” Slocum said. He went cold inside when he saw Jesse standing a few feet ahead, his boot next to the stub of a match Slocum had dropped earlier. Slocum hastily lit the match and held it up high. The faint light didn’t reveal the pit. He walked forward until he stood on the burnt match on the ground. Trying to remember how many matches he had lit before and where they might be made sweat break out on his forehead.

  “Come a bit closer. To your left,” Jesse said. “You don’t want to get too far into this cave since there’s one hell of a fall if you find the shaft a couple feet farther.”

  Slocum relaxed a little. If Jesse had intended to kill him, that would have been the easiest way since he wouldn’t have had to waste a bullet.

  “What’s that?” Slocum asked, pointing to the cipher on the cave wall.

  “I wanted you to see this. You recognize it?”