by Jake Logan
He reached Sunflower in the early evening. Watching carefully as he rode into town, he did not recognize any horse. Cash could have changed his horse, though, at most any time, maybe as early as when he ran away from White Hat on that bloody morning. Slocum again looked up a stable first thing, and saw to it that his horse was well taken care of. Then he walked down the main street of the town. He could see two, no, three saloons. Chances were that Cash was in one of them. He headed for the nearest one, The Snappy Garter.
He had already decided that Cash or no, he would spend the night there in Sunflower, but first he would look the place over for any sign of Cash. He ordered a glass of good bourbon whiskey, paid the barkeep, and then he said, “I’m looking for a man who calls himself Cash.”
The bartender stared at Slocum.
“Well, have you seen him?”
“Not that I recall.”
Slocum took his glass to a table and sat down. The Snappy Garter was doing good business. About half of the tables were occupied, and the bar was lined with cowhands and other types. Saloon girls flitted from one man to another until they found one who would buy their drinks or go with them to one of the rooms in the back. Slocum studied the crowd, but he saw no sign of Cash. Well, there were two more saloons. He finished his drink and walked out of the place. He did not see the bartender speak low in the ear of a cowhand standing at the bar behind him. The cowhand downed his drink and turned to hurry out of the saloon just after Slocum.
Slocum stopped for a moment on the sidewalk outside to study the street. There was a hotel just across the street from where he stood. It would keep. The other two saloons, Whiskey River and Rogers’s Saloon, were about the same distance away from him, but Whiskey River was on the other side of the street. He considered for a moment, and then he decided to cross over to Whiskey River. That sounded like the proper place for the likes of Cash. Anyhow, he would give it a try. The cowhand from The Snappy Garter had already crossed the street and gone into Whiskey River, but Slocum had paid no attention to the man. There were cowhands going in and out of all three saloons, and he did not know any of them. He stepped into the street.
He had to pause as a man on horseback rode by, and halfway across the street, he waited for a wagon to pass. He heard a commotion behind him and looked over his shoulder to see a fight begin just outside Rogers’s Saloon. He strained his eyes to see if Cash was involved or was watching, but he saw no sign of the man. Slocum figured if Cash had been inside Rogers’s Saloon, he would have stepped out to watch the fight. With Cash not part of it, it was none of his business. He turned his back to go on inside Whiskey River. He pushed open the batwing doors, stepped in, and started to look around, and he was startled by the first thing he saw. He was met with the image of Cash behind a gun that was already leveled at him, already cocked. He did not even have time to reach for his own Colt before the blast made his ears ring, before the impact struck his chest, before the light faded and his consciousness was gone.
15
He woke up in a strange bed, in a strange room. He felt barely alive. His eyes opened slowly and tried to take in the unknown surroundings. Gradually, things came back to him. He remembered stepping into the saloon. He recalled the image of Cash there before him, gun cocked, in hand, and already up and pointed at him. He remembered the blast and the thud, and then he knew nothing. He had no idea how he had been brought to this room or whose room it was. Who had doctored him? He did not know. He raised his head just a bit to look down at his chest, and he saw the bandages, but then he let his head drop back down on the pillow. The effort had been almost too much for him. He drifted back into unconsciousness with a head full of unanswered questions.
The next time he woke up, he was conscious of only a terrible hunger, a gnawing in his gut. He tried to sit up, but it was no use. He had not the strength. He lay there staring at the strange room around him. His chest hurt, but not unbearably. He wondered how long he had been there like that. He thought about trying once again to rise, but before he had committed himself fully to the notion, the door opened and a woman stepped into the room. She was matronly, but pleasant enough. As soon as she saw that he was awake, she smiled.
“How are you feeling?” she asked him.
“Where am I?”
“You’re in Dr. Spencer’s office,” she said. “I’m his nurse, sort of. My name’s Peggy Sue.”
“How long have I—”
“You’ve been out for several days. Now answer my questions. First, how are you feeling?”
“I’m—weak,” Slocum said. “And hungry. Awful hungry.”
“I’ll tell the doctor that you’re awake and ask him if I can fix something for you to eat. Just lie still. I’ll be back real soon.”
Peggy Sue left the room, and in another couple of minutes, the doctor came in. He went straight to Slocum’s bedside and pulled up a chair. “I told Peggy Sue to fix you up some nice broth and some coffee. We don’t want you eating too much too fast. I was worried for the first few days about you ever waking up again. You were almost killed, you know.”
“Yeah. It started coming back to me.”
“Can you sit up?”
“I tried once. Didn’t get very far.”
“You want to try again?”
Slocum strained, but as he tried to sit up, the pain shot through his chest. Doc Spencer put an arm behind him to help, and soon he had Slocum sitting upright. He put pillows behind his back.
“How’s that?” the doc asked.
Slocum sucked in a few deep breaths. “It’s okay,” he said.
“I think you’re going to come out of this all right,” said Spencer. “It’ll take a while yet for you to really mend, but you’re already way past the worst of it. Yeah, you’ll be just fine, if we don’t starve you to death first.”
“That’s what I feel like is happening,” said Slocum.
Peggy Sue came in with a bowl and a cup on a tray, and she put the tray on Slocum’s lap. Doc stood up and moved out of the way.
“Do you need help?” Peggy Sue asked.
“No, thank you, ma’am,” said Slocum. “I can manage.”
Had the broth not been so hot, Slocum would have slurped it all down at once, but he had to eat it with the spoon. The bowl was soon empty, though, and he drank the coffee. Peggy Sue had stayed in the room to watch him.
“Want more?” she asked.
What Slocum really wanted was a beefsteak, but he said, “Yes, ma’am. I do.”
Peggy Sue fetched more broth and more coffee, and Slocum took it all in. This time she did not offer more, even though he was still hungry. Doc had said not too much or too fast. Something like that. It was a little later when Peggy Sue came back into the room.
“The sheriff’s here,” she said. “Do you feel up to talking with him?”
“Sure,” said Slocum.
Peggy Sue ducked out of the room. In another moment, a tall, middle-aged man with a potbelly stepped into the room. He sported a handlebar mustache, and he was wearing two pieces of a three-piece suit. A star was pinned on the vest. A six-gun was holstered at his right side.
“I’m Ham Vance,” he said. “Sheriff. Doc says you’re doing better. Says it won’t hurt if we talk a little. That all right with you?”
“Yeah,” Slocum said. “It’s all right.”
“What’s your name?”
“John Slocum.”
Vance sat down in the chair that Doc had vacated earlier. “Seems like I might have heard that name before somewhere,” he said.
“You might have,” said Slocum.
“You’re a gunfighter.”
“I’ve been in some fights.”
“That probably explains what happened to you.”
“I reckon it might.”
“Tell me about it,” said Vance.
“There ain’t much to tell,” said Slocum. “I stepped in the door, and Cash shot me. I didn’t even know he was in there.”
“Cash? That his n
ame?”
“It’s the only one I know for him. Joe. Joe Cash.”
“Joe Cash. Is he wanted?”
“I couldn’t answer that.”
“Are you wanted?”
“Not that I know of.”
“How come this Joe Cash shoot you like that?” asked Vance. “I’d say he was trying to kill you. How come?”
“I don’t know, unless he’s figured out that I mean to kill him.”
“What for?”
“I just think he needs killing. That’s all.”
“You ain’t being much help to me here, Slocum.”
“What kind of help do you want, Sheriff? You got Cash in jail?”
“No. We chased him, but he got out of town.”
“Are you going after him?”
“He’s out of my jurisdiction.”
“I don’t know what I could be doing to help you then. I’m John Slocum. He’s Joe Cash. He shot me and ran off. If I can ever get up out of this bed again, I’m riding after him. That’s about it.”
Vance stood up. “Well, Slocum,” he said, “I hope you do get up out of that bed real soon, ’cause when you do, I want you to ride out of my town. Gunfighters are always trouble.”
“I reckon so, Sheriff,” Slocum said as Vance was walking out of the room.
So Cash had run out of town as soon as he shot Slocum. But which direction? Which way would Slocum ride, when he could ride again? How many days would Cash have on him? He’d already had plenty of time to get well away. But he might not go too far. He likely thought that he had killed Slocum. Even if he knew that he had not, he would know that Slocum had been hit hard enough to put him out of commission for a spell. He could be anywhere.
As the days passed by, one by one, Slocum grew steadily stronger. He sat up by himself. He began walking around. He was eating beefsteak and potatoes and biscuits. Doc even brought him a glass of whiskey now and then. He asked for a cigar finally, and Doc told Peggy Sue to give him one. It won’t be much longer, Slocum thought, and I’ll be out of here.
More and more, he thought about Cash. He tried to use logic to figure out where Cash had gone, but that did not work. Still, he tried. He recalled the things that Cash had done to make him feel the way he was feeling. He considered the way the son of a bitch had drygulched him in the saloon. Some would think that was reason enough to kill the man, but Slocum had already wanted to kill him. He didn’t hold the drygulching against Cash. That was a mere impulse of self-preservation. He knew that Slocum was after him.
Sooner or later, one place or another, Slocum told himself, he would find Cash. After that, it was simple. He would kill him. In the future, though, he would be more careful. But who would have thought Cash fool enough to try to kill him in cold blood in front of witnesses like that? Well, now Slocum knew. Cash was running scared, and a frightened man will do most anything. From here on, he told himself, he would have to act as if he were trailing a crazy man, a man that might throw dynamite at him or shoot a cannon. Anything.
The day came at last when Slocum was up and fully dressed. He walked downtown to a store, where he bought himself some cigars and four boxes of .45 shells. He stopped in the saloon for a drink. He was walking back toward Doc Spencer’s when he saw Sheriff Vance coming toward him. He stopped to wait. He was getting a little tired anyway.
“I see you’re up and around, Slocum,” said Vance as he approached.
“First time,” said Slocum.
“You going to be ready to ride out of town real soon?”
“Well, it can’t be any too soon, Sheriff. It ain’t exactly a friendly town, outside of Doc’s office.”
“Now just what the hell do you mean by that?”
“Think about it, Vance. I ride into town and walk into a saloon and get shot. When I come to, the sheriff’s telling me to get out of town. That sound friendly to you?”
He walked around Vance and headed back toward Doc’s place. Vance turned and watched him go for a while. Then he went on about his business. Back at Doc’s place, Slocum approached Spencer.
“Doc,” he said, “how much do I owe you?”
“The bill’s not totaled up yet,” Doc said. “Why not wait till we’re all through here? Then we’ll see—”
“I’m moving on now, Doc,” said Slocum.
“Now?”
“That’s what I said.”
“You’re not ready for riding, Slocum. And those bandages still need to be changed regular. Hang around a few more days at least.”
“Sorry, Doc. I think it’s time for me to ride on.”
He questioned a few people in town before he left, but all he could find out was that Cash had ridden west. With no more than that to go on, Slocum did the same. He rode out of town going west. He knew that Cash had plenty of time to be far away. Even so, he rode slowly. Doc had been right. He wasn’t really ready. But he had been wasting time, and he wanted to be out on the trail again. Occasionally, he passed a traveler, and when he did, he stopped to make small talk and ask about Cash. He had no luck.
For three nights, he slept on the ground and ate beans out of cans, or hardtack, or jerky. Early in the morning of the fourth day, he realized that he was traveling a little faster than before. He was feeling stronger again. Noticeably stronger. That night, he stopped to camp a little early to take advantage of the daylight. After he had taken care of his horse and prepared his camp, he set up some rocks and sticks, and he shot at them with his Colt. He practiced drawing and firing. He was a little slow. He needed the practice.
It was a couple of nights later when he rode into the small town of Broken Leg. There was only one combination saloon, eatery, and store. A penciled sign on the wall advertised rooms out back. There was a small stable next to the place. Slocum wasn’t sure if he wanted to stay there for the night or not, but he tied his horse in front of the place, which was called Gorky’s, and went inside. There were half a dozen people in there, some eating, some drinking, and others just sitting and visiting. It seemed that Gorky’s was the place to be in Broken Leg. Slocum stood looking around, and a short, round-faced man with a mustache and no hair on top of his head came almost rushing at him with a big smile across his face.
“Come in,” he said. “Come in. Welcome to Gorky’s. There’s a nice clean table just over here. You want to sit down?”
Slocum moved toward the table the man had indicated. “Yeah,” he said. “I’ll sit a spell and have a glass of good bourbon.”
“Coming right up,” said the little man, and he ran behind a counter to pour the drink. When he brought it back, Slocum noted with pleasure that the squat fellow was generous with his whiskey.
“You serving meals?” he asked.
“I got good beef, pork, even got some quail today. Sometimes, I got fish from the river nearby, but today I got no fish. I have Mexican dishes too: tamales, enchiladas, chiles rellenos. What would you like?”
“How about a good steak?”
“I got it coming right up. You want some potatoes with it? Gravy?”
“Yeah. That’d be good.”
Slcoum sipped his whiskey while the little man ran back to get the meal. Casually, he glanced around the room. There was an aging saloon girl, still trying to look young. There were two cowboys. One man had the look of an old gambler. And there was a Mexican vaquero. The vaquero had his own bottle on his table. As Slocum was glancing around the room, the vaquero caught his eye and nodded. Slocum touched the brim of his hat. The vaquero stood up and, bringing his bottle with him, walked over to the table where Slocum sat.
“Pardon me, Señor,” he said. “May I sit down?”
Slocum looked at the man a moment. “I guess so,” he said. “You just looking for conversation?”
“You are new in this town,” the man said.
“I won’t be here long enough to need any new friends.”
The Mexican laughed. “My name is Gregorio Valenzuela,” he said. He extended his hand. Slocum eyed him suspiciou
sly, but shook anyway.
“Slocum,” he said.
“Just Slocum?”
“That ought to be enough.”
The short man came back with Slocum’s meal and put it on the table in front of him. The vaquero looked at the food, then looked up at the short man. “Gorky,” he said, “bring me the same thing, will you?”
“Of course, Señor Valenzuela.” He rushed off again. Slocum cut into his steak.
“Broken Leg does not get many visitors, Señor Slocum,” said Valenzuela.
“I can imagine,” said Slocum.
Valenzuela laughed. “Ah, yes. You mean there’s not much here to visit. Right?” Slocum did not bother answering that question. He just kept eating. “Well,” continued Valenzuela, “it’s a nice little town. If little towns are to your taste.”
“It don’t matter to me one way or the other,” said Slocum. “The man’s got good food and good whiskey. Does he sell cigars?”
“Yes, he does.”
“Then it’s all right with me.”
Gorky came back with the second meal and put it on the table, and Valenzuela busied himself eating. Slocum was wondering about the Mexican’s uninvited visit. Valenzuela could just be gregarious, but he doubted it. He couldn’t help but think that the man had some purpose in mind, some reason for imposing his presence. Slocum was the first to finish his meal. He leaned back and sipped his whiskey and studied Valenzuela.
“What’s your game, Señor?”
Valenzuela looked up. “I beg your pardon.”
“Why did you come over here to meet me?”
“Just being friendly, Señor. That’s all.”
Maybe I’m getting too suspicious, Slocum thought. After all, the last time I walked into a saloon, I got shot. Well, nearly the last time. Maybe this guy is just tired of the local company.
“You live here?” Slocum asked.
“I live not far,” Valenzuela said. “I hang out here a lot.”
“Yeah? Well, I’m just drifting through. I might stay the night, though. How are those rooms out back?”
