Slocum and the James Gang

by Jake Logan

  And Lee had surrendered at Appomattox. Slocum doubted Jesse James would ever have sense enough to pass over his sword.

  “Keep riding,” Slocum shouted to the youngster he had befriended during the attack.

  “Can’t. Horse is pulling up lame.”

  Slocum rode closer, matched speed, and then said, “Get behind me. My mare’s strong enough for both our weights.”

  The man jumped, slipped, and clung to Slocum’s saddlebags long enough to regain his balance and pull himself up on the horse’s hindquarters.

  Slocum felt his horse begin to weaken right away, but she kept running. Jesse and the rest of the gang had disappeared into a bosque ahead. If he followed, he would get lost and become easy pickings for the pursuing bluecoats.

  Slocum veered away and rode for a hilly section. If he could stay out of the direct line of sight, he had a chance of losing the soldiers hot on his trail.

  At least, he hoped he could. With the weight doubled on his horse, he could never outrun the troopers.

  “Mind if I say a prayer?” the man behind him asked.

  “Say one for me, too. We’re going to need all the help we can get.”

  Slocum turned abruptly and guided his horse into a shallow arroyo. He heard the bugle blaring commands for the cavalry to come after him as his horse faltered and then came to a halt, unable to push on.

  “Get ready to fight,” Slocum said, dropping to the ground and pulling his six-shooter. He turned and waited for the fight of his life to begin.

  7

  “We’re gonna die, aren’t we?” The young outlaw stared at Slocum without much emotion. “And I never got a chance to do much.”

  “We’re not dead yet,” Slocum said. He checked his six-shooter and tried to ignore the sound of the approaching bugle blaring out its commands to the company of horse soldiers intent on shooting them down like dogs. Slocum had been in tight spots before and gotten out by thinking and not panicking.

  “They’ll find my horse and know one of us is on foot,” the outlaw said.

  “They will,” Slocum said as a plan formed. “They’ll expect us to get as far away as possible, not to attack them, except from ambush.”

  “So we ambush them? I don’t have much ammunition.”

  “Won’t need it,” Slocum said. “Come on. Stay low.” He estimated where the outlaw’s horse would be found and knew what the commanding officer’s reaction would be to it.

  He left his horse behind and ran down the arroyo, using the bank as cover until he got a hundred yards back in the direction he had ridden. Slocum chanced a quick look over the bank and saw a sergeant ordering four soldiers to fan out and hunt for the outlaw on foot. Then the sergeant ordered the rest of his squad to continue along the trail, heading in the direction Slocum had hoped. The noncom rode away along a trail Slocum would have followed if he hadn’t been burdened with a second rider on his horse.

  “What do we do? Shoot them?” The young outlaw had his six-gun out. His hand shook slightly.

  “You ever kill anybody before?”

  “No.”

  “Don’t start now. No shooting.” Slocum put his finger against his lips when he heard the crunch of boots on the ground above his head. A soldier came to the arroyo to see if the rider from the lame horse had come this way.

  Slocum holstered his six-shooter and reached up, grabbed a handful of wool uniform, and pulled hard. The soldier let out a yelp of surprise and crashed to the ground at Slocum’s feet. Before the bluecoat could regain his senses, the outlaw with Slocum clubbed their victim.

  Slocum nodded once to his partner, then pressed back against the sandy embankment and let out a low moan and mumbled, “Help me, dammit. I fell!”

  A second soldier peered over and saw only his comrade on the ground. Slocum grabbed, missed, and started to recover but found himself with an armful of struggling, shouting soldier when the outlaw grappled with him. The three of them went down in a pile on the sandy bottom of the arroyo. Between them, Slocum and the outlaw muffled the soldier’s outcry. It took only a few seconds to club him unconscious, too.

  Pointing down the riverbed, Slocum silently sent his partner a few yards away. He knew the outlaw couldn’t move silently—and didn’t. He drew the attention of the third soldier.

  “Hands up!” The soldier leveled his carbine. The trap would have worked better if the outlaw hadn’t looked at Slocum.

  Swarming up the side of the arroyo, Slocum tackled the soldier and sent him tumbling down where the outlaw made quick work of him.

  “You, hands up!” The fourth soldier had come running up at the disturbance.

  Slocum slowly stood, standing at the rim of the arroyo. He didn’t make the mistake of looking at the outlaw, who clutched his pistol and looked determined. And why not? They had taken out three bluecoats without firing a shot.

  “You got it wrong, Corporal,” Slocum said. He kept his hands high and began to circle. “That’s not my horse over there. Mine’s down in the arroyo. I heard a ruckus and came to see what was going on when a soldier went flopping over the edge. He’s down there now hurt bad.”

  “Don’t try anything,” the soldier said. He looked suspiciously at Slocum and gripped the rifle hard. Hardly older than the outlaw hiding in the arroyo, the soldier edged to the arroyo. As he came close to the edge, Slocum lowered his hands and turned fast. The soldier reacted as Slocum had thought, giving him his entire attention.

  The outlaw grabbed the soldier’s ankles and yanked hard, sending him crashing face first to the ground. Slocum was already moving and slugged the soldier before he could recover.

  “We did it, Slocum. We got all four of them.”

  “Tie ’em up,” Slocum said.

  “We can kill them.”

  “No need, unless you want to shoot four unconscious men. You up for that?”

  “Don’t reckon I am,” the youngster said. “What’d Jesse do?”

  “That shouldn’t matter. What do you do?” Slocum ripped away part of the soldier’s jacket into a strip and bound his hands behind his back, then gagged him.

  “My name’s Zeke.”

  “Get to work, Zeke. Take their weapons, and I’ll fetch their horses.”

  This touch of theft appealed to the outlaw. By the time Slocum had brought the four troopers’ horses to the arroyo, Zeke had finished binding their prisoners.

  “Horse thievin’. That’s something Jesse would approve of.”

  “Always has,” Slocum said, handing over the reins to his partner. “I’ll fetch my horse. Get your gear from yours. Don’t leave behind anything that’ll make it easier for them to identify us.”

  “They couldn’t if we killed them.”

  “Save your ammo for when it matters,” Slocum said. He knew Jesse James affected those in his gang. The ones that weren’t family were friends of his family. Where Zeke fit in wasn’t something he wanted to know. For a scheme as grand as Jesse was spinning, he’d recruit anyone wanting to ride with him. It would take a lot of guns to seize control of an entire U.S. territory and establish a new slave country.

  It would take a lot of rebels.

  “You been riding with Jesse for long, Slocum?”

  “Not so long, but I knew him during the war.”

  “That must have been great.” Zeke waited for Slocum to regale him with war stories, but Slocum wasn’t inclined. He had no good memories, and the young man had been sucked into a whirlpool so strong he wasn’t likely to win free, no matter what Slocum said. Anything good about Jesse James would only cement Zeke’s desire to be a part of a crazy revolutionary scheme. And he would never believe the truth about the outlaw.

  “We need to cut toward the mountains,” Slocum said, reading the trail left by the sergeant’s detachment. The soldiers had angled off to the northeast. Whatever tracks they thought they’d found would only lead them into the middle of the high plains and a whole lot of lonesome. Slocum hated to attribute good things to Jesse James but had to no
w. Whoever had laid the false trail had done a damned good job of it.

  “Where?”

  Slocum thought on this, then decided to head for the cave where Jesse had shown him the Knights of the Golden Circle coded message. That was as close to a rendezvous point as he knew. He headed due west toward the mountains, Zeke obediently following with his remuda of stolen horses. By sundown they were in rugged country, and by midnight Slocum reached the winding path leading to the cave. He saw fresh spoor along the trail. Jesse wasn’t as inclined to hide his trail now because he knew the soldiers were miles away and out of his hair.

  “What’d he do with all the guns and ammunition?” Zeke asked.

  “Save those questions for Jesse,” Slocum said. He had no idea where Frank James and Charlie Dennison had driven the wagons. The gang might have split up into a half-dozen different segments, one leading the pursuing soldiers astray, others taking the stolen wagons with their cargo to a hiding place, and others heading to this cave.

  “I don’t see that more ’n two or three riders came this way recently.”

  Slocum had to agree. Zeke had the makings of a good tracker. But something about one of the hoofprints made Slocum step down, kneel, and run the tips of his fingers over the impression in soft dirt. He lit a lucifer and let the flare die, then held the match close to the print.

  “What is it, Slocum?”

  “Can’t rightly say. This hoofprint was made by a horse shod by a cavalry farrier.”

  “Think Jesse might have stole a horse or two of his own from the bluecoats?”

  Slocum nodded, then mounted. What Zeke said was logical, but it didn’t feel right. These tracks were made later than the other two riders on this path. It was nothing more than a guess, but Slocum thought the cavalry horse came by an hour or two later, from the condition of the print and how the mud had dried on the other tracks.

  They made their way through the narrow passage and out to the front of the cave, where three horses were tethered. One of them, as Slocum had known, was equipped with a McClelland saddle and other military trappings. He touched the butt of his six-shooter to reassure himself that it rode easy in his holster, then dismounted.

  “You think I should stay here?” Zeke asked.

  “You cover my back, in case this is a trap,” Slocum said. He knew from the voices echoing from inside the cave that it was anything but an ambush. Jesse and Frank laughed and joked with whoever rode the cavalry horse.

  “Slocum, wondered when you’d get here.”

  “You never said where to rendezvous. I figured to come and see if you’d written any new instructions.” Slocum pointed toward the chalked-up walls without taking his eyes off the sergeant standing against the far side of the cave.

  “He knows the code? You said—”

  “Don’t let him get under your skin, Berglund,” Frank James said. “That’s about all he’s good for.”

  “Slocum, meet Sergeant Berglund, command sergeant at Fort Union.”

  “I saw you earlier,” Slocum said. He knew now why the bulk of the horse soldiers had followed the wrong trail. Berglund had ordered them after phantom wagons while Frank and Dennison had slipped away and hidden the rifles and other supplies.

  “Do tell. Where?”

  “Don’t tell me you are old buddies?” Jesse waved off Slocum’s answer, not that Slocum would have given it. Berglund would figure it out soon enough. He was almost sorry now he hadn’t let Zeke go ahead and kill the four soldiers they had trussed up since they were likely in cahoots with Jesse, too.

  “We gonna stand around all night or are we gonna do some business?” Frank asked, irritated. “The quicker we get everything going, the sooner we’ll be sittin’ our asses on governors’ chairs.”

  “Or in a president’s office,” Berglund said. “You’re going to make one hell of a fine president, Jesse.”

  “And you’ll be restored to your rightful command. General of the Army Simon Berglund. How’s that sound?”

  “Mighty fine, Jesse, mighty fine.”

  “You were busted in rank,” Slocum said.

  “So you do know each other,” Jesse said. “Simon was a lieutenant colonel, for the Federals, more’s the pity, but they saw fit to bust him over a little matter of supplies going to the wrong depot. He’s worked his way back to sergeant, but the Federals are wasting his skills. He’s a fine tactician—”

  “To your even finer strategy,” Berglund cut in, letting Jesse bask in some more praise. Slocum saw how it worked. Berglund buttered up the outlaw and would get command of an entire army in return. Or was it more? Other countries, especially those south of the border, had more generals ruling countries than elected politicians. Let Jesse set up his own country and then a coup with the backing of the army would put Berglund in charge.

  For all his skill at robbing trains and banks, Jesse was sadly lacking when it came to being devious enough to deal with men like Simon Berglund. At least, Slocum read it that way and nothing being said changed his mind.

  “You’ll need to help me design my president’s uniform. A president has to have a uniform that’ll make the people respect him.”

  “I have several ideas,” Berglund said. “We need to get the revolution started before that’s a concern. Where do you have the rifles cached?”

  “About two miles from here,” Frank James said. “With the armament we took earlier, that makes five hundred rifles, two mountain howitzers, and all the powder, shot, and ammunition we need for the lot.”

  “Colonel Loebe is still fuming over losing them. I convinced him the guns fell into the Pecos River and were lost. He won’t expect them to be aimed at his nose.”

  “When is all this revolution supposed to start?” Slocum asked.

  “Details,” Jesse said, waving him to silence. “We need to get more men for the army. General Berglund will take care of that for us, won’t you, Simon?”

  Slocum saw that Jesse wanted to puff up Berglund’s vanity but that it didn’t work. This put Slocum on guard. Berglund played a different game and Jesse didn’t realize that.

  “When you get me the gold, I’ll get you the soldiers.” Berglund looked hard at Slocum. “Not all the soldiers at Fort Union are happy about their roles. The officers are tyrants and other noncoms think more about putting their men in the stocks than they do in training.”

  “All your men are well trained?”

  “Of course they are, Slocum. You hush up. We have some details to work out. The general and I need to arrange for the Knights of the Golden Circle to assume power smoothly once the revolt is over.”

  “Fighting is one thing, governing is another.”

  Slocum said nothing. Whatever he found out would have to be used fast if the sergeant was being handed the gold to bribe the soldiers at the fort.

  “He should come with us,” Berglund said unexpectedly.

  “We don’t need him. The two of us can handle what’s necessary,” Jesse James said.

  “The world will know soon enough.”

  “All right,” Jesse said, scowling. “You heard the general. Get in the saddle, Slocum. We’re riding out immediately.”

  Slocum wondered what the sergeant had in mind, but it wouldn’t be pleasant. He nodded, considering that this might be a good time for him to just ride off. But the Siren’s song of the gold proved too much to escape. It had been years since he’d seen more than a double eagle. A couple gold bars would go a ways toward putting him in the clover.

  “You going, Slocum?” Zeke came over. “You want I should ride with you?”

  “Stay here,” Slocum said. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

  Zeke started to say something more, but Jesse and Berglund came from the cave. The young outlaw stepped back and watched as the three men rode from the cave. Slocum heard Frank James come out and bark orders. The last thing he heard as he wove in and out through the rocks forming the trail was Frank ordering Zeke to bring the captured horses with him when they joine
d the rest of the gang.

  “What’s your story?” Berglund asked him. Slocum shrugged. There wasn’t a lot to say—there wasn’t a lot he wanted to say to any soldier willing to betray his country for a pile of gold.

  “Slocum isn’t much of a talker, General. But he’s solid as a rock. We rode together during the war.”

  “At Lawrence,” Slocum said. Jesse grinned, thinking he had finally won that argument.

  “He’ll make a good addition to the officer corps. He was a captain.”

  “C.S.A.?”

  “Of course he was a reb,” Jesse said. “He wouldn’t ride with the Federals. Never against his own people.”

  Slocum marveled that Jesse didn’t see the trouble brewing under his nose. He valued loyalty to the cause above all else and yet he trusted Berglund to turn his loyalty around for the price of a bar or two of gold.

  “We need to scout the approaches to the fort,” Jesse went on. “We’ll sneak a few men into the fort, join up with the soldiers willing to support us and then take over. There won’t be more ’n a shot or two fired before the entire post is ours.”

  “Why not just put sentries on duty to ignore us as we ride up?” Slocum asked.

  “I’m not sure the officer of the day will be with us or against us. He’s a shavetail lieutenant and full of himself. He thinks he has a career with the Army.” Berglund’s bitterness boiled out.

  Jesse and Berglund discussed matters in a whisper Slocum couldn’t overhear. He gave up trying and studied the land around the fort. Stands of trees down by a river formed a weak spot in the perimeter defenses. That Fort Union was more a supply post than one actively fighting the Indians was apparent.

  “You wait here,” Jesse said when they came within sight of the fort’s palisades wall. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

  “Don’t go thrashing around in the brush,” Berglund warned. “The guards are trained to shoot at anything out of the ordinary.”