Slocum and the Yellowstone Scoundrel

by Jake Logan

  “How’d you come to rob Innick?”

  “His wife came into town for Sunday services flashin’ her gold bracelets and fancy necklace. Caused a wave of gossip since she don’t usually show off the glittery jewels that much, or so the old biddies in the church said. Something special comin’ up. She even had pearls all wove up in her hair. How could any man resist stealin’ a treasure trove like that?”

  “Yeah, how could anybody?” Slocum glanced toward the spot where the thief had foolishly allowed his gaze to go and saw a pile of rocks that didn’t look natural. He used the captured pistol to motion the thief to the pile. “You move a few of those rocks and show me what’s under them.”

  “How’d you—” The man bit off the question. He began to understand how he had been outmaneuvered to this point.

  The obvious shift in the weasel-faced man’s demeanor put Slocum on guard. He kept back a few paces and was glad. The first rock the man pulled from the pile came sailing at him. Slocum easily dodged the missile.

  “If you don’t keep this pistol in good condition, let me assure you mine is in perfect condition.” Slocum turned slightly to thrust his left hip forward to display his Colt. “The next thing I see coming my way had better be everything you stole.”

  Slocum saw the man’s reaction and wondered. The thief tensed, as if he considered running. Something about the mention of what had been stolen made the thief especially edgy.

  “It’s here. All I got’s here.”

  Slocum let the man paw through the rocks and pull out a leather pouch. When he held it up over his head, Slocum grabbed it away. By the light from the nearby campfire, he saw the glitter of gold inside.

  He tugged on the leather cord and said, “Get your gear. We’re going back to town.”

  “But you got the loot. Let me go!”

  “I’ll let the marshal decide what to do with you. Now break camp and let’s ride.”

  They rode into town, exhausted, just after dawn. He turned over the thief to Marshal Smith and then headed back to the sawmill to collect what might have been the easiest five hundred he had ever earned.

  3

  Slocum stood in front of Innick’s desk in the small cabin, balancing the leather pouch in his hand as the man scrabbled to find the reward money. Innick looked up, then returned to the hunt, muttering as he rooted about through drawers.

  “Didn’t expect you to get back so quick, Slocum,” the sawmill owner said. “I would have had your money.”

  “The marshal said there wasn’t a reward for bringing him in.” Slocum had hoped the thief had a wanted poster out on him. Such a theft couldn’t have been his first excursion into lawlessness. He had committed the robbery too skillfully for Slocum to believe that.

  Slocum hadn’t asked, but he knew that after the weaselly thief had seen Mrs. Innick strutting about with her jewelry at church, he had shown a considerable amount of restraint not robbing her on her way home. He might have broken into the Innick bedroom more than once to be sure the jewelry was there. Slocum couldn’t imagine luck had entered into the theft, all the precious metal and gemstones resting in the box at the same instant.

  “Here,” Innick said, finding a checkbook. He began to write.

  “I want cash,” Slocum said. “No check.”

  “You can cash it in town. I’m good for it. Hell, man, I own the town. Without the sawmill, there wouldn’t be so much as a widening in the road at Otter Creek.”

  “Money, not a check,” Slocum said, tossing the leather pouch from hand to hand. The threat was obvious, and Innick’s normally florid face turned beet red.

  “You cannot keep the jewelry! I paid to have you return it!”

  Before Slocum could say a word, he felt a breeze at his back as the door opened.

  “Oh, Sean, give him the money. Is that my jewelry?” A quick, stubby-fingered hand festooned with rings caught the leather bag with the speed of a striking snake.

  Mrs. Innick pushed past Slocum and spread out the stolen merchandise on her husband’s desk. She pawed through it.

  “You’ve done well, sir,” she said. “I appreciate your daring and bringing the crook to such swift justice.”

  Slocum looked from the matron to Innick. The man’s face turned a shade redder, then he closed the checkbook and reached into an inner coat pocket to pull out a wallet thick with banknotes. He began counting them out. Slocum would have preferred gold or silver coins, but notes written on a Salt Lake City bank would do. He had seen merchants throughout the region accepting the paper.

  “Thanks,” Slocum said, rolling the bills into a wad that disappeared into his coat pocket. He had enough to move on. But there was one further matter to finish. “The funeral?”

  “For Reese? He’s buried up on the top of the hill, overlooking the sawmill.”

  Slocum waited for more.

  “All right, he got a fancy pine box from wood sawed right here. Tomasson found one of the men was a preacher. He said words.”

  Slocum nodded, turned to go, and then froze when Mrs. Innick let out a screech that cut to his soul.

  “It’s not here! It’s gone! My mama’s precious ruby is missing! See!” She held up a pendant. The gold prongs had been pried away to leave a hollow center.

  “Must be in the bag,” Innick said uneasily. He started pawing through the jewelry spread on the desk, then patted the leather pouch and finally peered into it as if the mere act of inspection would cause the missing ruby to appear.

  “You did not bring back the ruby!” Mrs. Innick looked accusingly at Slocum.

  “That’s all there was to bring back,” Slocum said. “I didn’t take anything.”

  “Not saying you did, Slocum, not at all,” Innick said uneasily. “But this thief, the one in jail, he might have hid it or sold it. Hell, he might still have it.”

  Slocum doubted that. Marshal Smith would have searched his prisoner. If the ruby had been on the thief, the marshal had it now.

  “Might be so,” Slocum said carefully, “but when I turned him over to the law, the marshal proved reluctant to hold him.”

  “Because it was my property that had been stolen,” Innick said.

  “My property,” Mrs. Innick said tartly. “Mr. Slocum seems an honorable man. He could have ridden away with all the jewelry if he had fancied himself a thief.”

  “That’s so,” Innick said, a dark cloud descending now on him. “Smith might have taken it off the thief, if the man had tucked it into a pocket. He hates me. He’d think this was only his due after that business with his house being foreclosed.” Innick shoved to his feet. “I’ll beard the old lion in his den and demand its return!”

  “You’ll do no such thing, Sean,” Mrs. Innick said. “You would lose your temper, and my mama’s ruby would be lost forever. You know I intended to gift it to Lauren on the date of her wedding.”

  “I can make the marshal—”

  “You can’t make him do a thing after you had him thrown out of his house. He sleeps in the jail now.” She turned and looked up at Slocum. “Let this young man fetch the ruby. He has done well so far. Let him earn his money and get all my property back. And you must hurry. My daughter and her beau are getting married next month. I will not have their life together blighted by not presenting Lauren with the ruby.” With that, Mrs. Innick held up the pendant that had once carried the ruby as its centerpiece, then flounced from the small office. She slammed the door behind her with a sound that might have been the peal of doom.

  Slocum waited for Innick to demand back the reward money he had already paid. For a moment the men stared down each other. Innick blinked. Getting his money back from Slocum wasn’t going to happen, not with the Colt Navy slung low on Slocum’s left hip in its cross-draw holster. If the sawmill owner called for Tomasson and any of his crew, men would die.

  And Slocum held the w
hip hand if he walked out of the cabin. Innick had no sway over him. Slocum was suddenly glad he had demanded cash rather than a check, which could have been voided in a heartbeat.

  “That ruby’s the most important thing in the world to my wife,” Innick said. “It’s been in her family for generations. She says that the King of France gave it to her great-great-grandmother. I think that’s bullshit but she believes it.”

  Slocum waited. Innick worked himself up into asking for something more. When it came, Slocum found himself again indecisive about what to do.

  “Get the ruby back, and I’ll give you another five hundred.”

  The sum was too large to ignore. But his gut told him to have nothing more to do with the sawmill owner and his wife.

  Still, another five hundred was like putting an open honey jar in front of a grizzly.

  “In gold,” Slocum said. “The reward has to be in gold.” He pressed his hand against the bankroll in his coat pocket. Doubling that would be impressive, but he didn’t trust paper money, not after the Panic of ’72 and subsequent bank failures. Even greenbacks were suspect. He had seen men trading federal notes at a discount for flour and beans because no one believed they were worth the face amount.

  Innick started to protest. His face got redder until Slocum thought he would explode. Then Innick said, “Very well.”

  The sudden agreement took Slocum by surprise. He had hoped Innick would deny the new condition on recovering the gemstone and let him off the hook.

  “I’d better get to it. The longer I stand here, the harder it’ll be to find that ruby.”

  Innick made shooing motions with both hands, then collapsed into his chair. Slocum had seen defeated men before—and he did now.

  As he stepped out of the cabin, the spring air seemed a bit chillier than it should have. His mood lightened as he realized he was still in the driver’s box. If he found the ruby, he could claim the reward. If he didn’t find it, he could ride on and never return. Slocum patted the five hundred dollars already in his pocket and vowed to add that much more in gold.

  * * *

  “Let me talk to him,” Slocum said to Marshal Smith. The corpulent man shifted his weight in the chair, causing both back legs to wobble.

  “Now why’d I go and do that, Slocum? You still workin’ for that son of a bitch Innick?”

  “That doesn’t have anything to do with me talking to the prisoner. He have a lawyer?”

  “Hell, no. Who’d represent him? You took everything he had to pay a shyster. You give it all back to Innick?”

  “I want to talk to him, Marshal. What’s your objection?”

  “You ain’t an attorney, and I’m holdin’ him incognito ’til the trial.” The marshal rolled the word around on his tongue as if it were a fine whiskey. It might have been the only big word he knew—or thought he did.

  Slocum looked into the back. The robber hung on the iron bars, listening to everything Slocum and the marshal said. It wouldn’t take but an instant to call out to him. What would the marshal do? He couldn’t even get to his feet fast enough to stop Slocum if he walked into the cell block.

  But Slocum said nothing more, turned, and left the marshal huffing and puffing behind him. He looked around, then went to the side of the jailhouse and waited. After a decent pause, Marshal Smith came out, hitched up his gun belt, and made a beeline for the saloon across the street. Knowing Smith was likely smarter than he looked, Slocum waited. In less than a minute after pushing through the swinging doors at the saloon, the marshal came bustling back, opened the front door, and stuck his head in. Satisfied Slocum hadn’t returned behind his back, Smith left again.

  Rather than chance the lawman seeing him enter the jailhouse and accusing him of trying to talk to the prisoner, Slocum went around to the rear, found a crate, and pushed it under the barred window. Climbing up, he had a good look down into the cell where the prisoner sat disconsolate on the bunk.

  “Not everything you stole was in the pouch,” Slocum said. The prisoner jumped as if he had poked him with a toad sticker.

  “You! What happened? Didn’t that old skinflint pay you?”

  “A ruby was missing.”

  “That a big red stone?”

  “You know it is. Where is it? If I get it back, I’ll see that you get out of this cell.”

  “You’d bust me out? The ruby’s that important?”

  “I’ll even see that you have a horse. After that, you’re on your own.”

  “Smith’d never bestir his carcass to come after me if I get out of here,” the thief said. He stood and peered out at Slocum. “I can’t trust you. If I tell you where the ruby went, you’ll leave me to rot.”

  “My word. Tell me what you did with the ruby, and I’ll break you out.”

  The thief studied Slocum’s face for a full minute, then said slowly, “Damned if I don’t believe you. But you got to know the risk I’m takin’.”

  “I’ll do as I promised.”

  “Ain’t no love ’tween Innick and the marshal, that’s for sure. I listen real good and know that’s a fact. And you and the marshal don’t get on too good either.”

  “I couldn’t care less about the marshal or Innick. I’m being paid to do a job. If breaking you out is part of doing what I’m paid for, so be it.”

  “There was this fellow. He was the one who put me up to the robbery in the first place. He was dressed like he was from a circus.”

  Slocum remembered the storekeeper’s description. Purple velvet coat, brocade vest, silk pants. That was close to the robber’s description.

  “Only he wasn’t from a circus,” Slocum said. “You said he told you about the jewelry?”

  “He had it all planned out. A real thinker, he was. I did like he told me, and I waltzed away with everything. And that was the strange part.”

  “What?”

  “He only wanted that ruby. The rest he let me keep. Seemed real happy with the ruby, too. He ran his finger over it like he was fondlin’ a whore’s tit. Couldn’t have looked more satisfied if he had been, too.”

  The jailhouse outer door creaked open. Slocum caught a glimpse of the marshal and dropped out of sight.

  “You promised!” the thief called.

  And Slocum had. First he wanted to be sure about this peacock of a criminal mastermind.

  * * *

  Slocum laid another five-dollar bill on the counter as he said, “Sure do have some mighty fine supplies here.”

  The storekeeper licked his lips, looked from Slocum to the money and back when Slocum laid a ten-dollar bill down.

  “You needin’ supplies to get you all the way to Montana? That’s plenty for that. Got some good bacon, too.”

  Slocum laid another five on the pile and waited.

  “Can’t tell you more ’n I already did,” the man said. He rubbed his hands across his apron, leaving damp spots showing how nervous he was looking at so much money piled in front of him.

  “A real dandy, you said.”

  “Never seen a man dressed like that before. Especially when I overheard how he wanted a carpenter.” The storekeeper blinked. “Didn’t remember he’d say nuthin’ ’bout goin’ to see Dillingham. Reckon that’s because it was a week back and all I was thinkin’ on was yesterday.”

  “This Dillingham have a shop in town?”

  “Carpenter shop right down the road, you passed it comin’ into town. Dill, he gets all his supplies from Mr. Innick. Danged good carpenter. Don’t know why I hadn’t remembered that before.” He looked again at the pile of money.

  “Have my supplies ready. I need to see a carpenter about a man gussied up like a peacock.”

  The stack of bills disappeared as if by magic before Slocum turned away. He thought the storekeeper had been honest enough and hadn’t remembered, but money had a way of greasing the memory.
But what could a man intent on stealing a ruby from Mrs. Innick want with a carpenter? Slocum set out to discover the reason.

  Dillingham was in his shop, planing a long, rough board until it gleamed like a piece of polished metal. He was a youngish man, thick of chest with immensely powerful arms. Slocum vowed to avoid getting into a fight with the carpenter, and if he did, an ax handle across the top of his shaved head would be the first tactic.

  “Evening,” Dillingham greeted Slocum, putting down the plane and wiping his hands on a rag. “You work for Innick, don’t you?”

  “On the saw until yesterday,” Slocum said. He laid out his question, deciding this wasn’t a man who fancied himself to be much of a talker and wouldn’t mince words.

  Dillingham stroked his clean-shaven chin, then worked to brush sawdust from his bushy mustache. He finally said, “I did some work for this gent.”

  “I need to talk to him. Might be I could deliver some of the work for you, if you could tell me where to find him.”

  “He put in the order a week back. Wagon pulled up yesterday, and me and him loaded the crates. Six of ’em. For a fellow so purty dressed, he managed to hold his own.” Dillingham laughed and shook his head. “Can’t see how he did it but didn’t get so much as a spot on them duds of his.”

  “Crates?”

  “Had me make him six crates about yea long and this high. Only two feet thick but with spacers inside. He was determined that the spacers be nailed down, not glued, though that’d have been easier. Said something about glue melting. No idea what he was worryin’ about.”

  Slocum estimated the crates were four feet long, three high, and two feet thick with a half dozen of the thin spacers inside making parallel channels.

  “You have any idea what he was going to do with the crates?”

  “Never asked. He paid good. Turned out to be easier than I thought since I could cut most of the sides at the same time. Then I . . .”

  Slocum let the man go on about his expertise. He looked outside and saw that the sun had dipped down. The air would be turning cold.