Slocum's Revenge Trail

by Jake Logan

  “They’re nothing special, but they’re decent. You can even lock the door from the inside.”

  “I guess I couldn’t ask for more. You reckon he’s got one to spare?”

  16

  The room was nothing special, just a room with a cot in it and not much else, but Slocum slept well there. In the morning, he was up and back inside Gorky’s place. Gorky was already at work preparing breakfasts for a few customers. One of them was the old vaquero, Valenzuela. Slocum headed for an unoccupied table, but Valenzuela interrupted him.

  “Señor Slocum, please,” he said, “there is room here at my table.”

  Slocum fought back an impulse to either ignore the man or to refuse his invitation. Never one to gladly rub elbows with a stranger, he was especially in no mood to socialize. For some reason, though, perhaps because he was still weak from his recent ordeal, he walked over to Valenzuela’s table and sat down.

  “I trust you slept well, Señor,” said Valenzuela.

  “Well enough,” said Slocum.

  “Señor Gorky is a Russian,” said Valenzuela, “but his best meals are Mexican. I recommend his tamales and beans for breakfast. They are very good.”

  When Gorky came over to the table, Slocum ordered the tamales and beans but with three eggs fried. Valenzuela ordered tamales and beans. Both men ordered coffee, and Gorky soon brought that. Slocum took a sip right away, almost burning his lips and tongue. He poured some out into the saucer and slurped it. Valenzuela did the same.

  “Will you be riding on this morning, Señor?” Valenzuela asked.

  “That’s my plan,” said Slocum.

  “I figured as much. There’s not much here at Broken Leg to keep a man. Not much besides Gorky’s good Mexican food.”

  “And good whiskey,” said Slocum.

  “Yes. His good whiskey.”

  Both men were silent for a while sipping their coffee, and Gorky brought out their breakfasts. After that, they busied themselves with eating. When they were done, Gorky brought out more coffee and refilled their cups. Slocum took a cigar out of his pocket and lit it.

  “Señor,” Valenzuela said cautiously, “generally it’s not polite to ask a man his business. I know that. And generally I am a polite man. But I sense something about you. May I ask where you are riding?”

  Slocum looked at Valenzuela through a cloud of blue smoke. He thought for a moment. Hell, it couldn’t hurt. He hadn’t yet asked any questions about his prey passing through. Why not ask this Mexican?

  “I’m looking for someone,” he said.

  “Ah, I thought as much. May one be so bold as to inquire—”

  “He calls himself Cash. Joe Cash. As far as I know, he’s well ahead of me. I was laid up for a spell. I’m not even sure that I’m on the right trail now.”

  “This Cash, he is a friend of yours?”

  “He was. Once.”

  “I might know something about Cash,” said Valenzuela. “But I would like to know your intentions regarding him.”

  “They’re simple,” said Slocum. “I mean to kill the son of a bitch.”

  “I too would like to kill the son of a bitch,” Valenzuela said.

  “Then he’s been through here?”

  “Sí. Not too long ago.”

  “What did he do?” Slocum asked.

  “I had a son, Señor: a very healthy, handsome, promising young man—before Cash came through here.”

  “How come you let him get away?”

  “I was not in Broken Leg when it happened. The word was brought to me just recently, and I am here, ready to go after this man.”

  “I see,” said Slocum.

  “And you, Señor? May I ask why you want to kill this man?”

  “He shot me,” said Slocum. “Without warning. But that’s not the main reason. He made me kill a young man, just a kid really.”

  “Your reasons are strong like mine. Shall we join forces? Shall we see who gets to kill this son of a bitch?”

  “Partnering up always seems to end in disaster for me,” Slocum said. “I think I’ll just go my way.”

  “If you are on the right trail, Señor, and I think you are, you’ll find that almost everyone you meet along the way from here on will be Mexican. You might be able to get some information from them. I know that I can. I also know this country.”

  “But we don’t know that I’m on the right trail.”

  “Give me just one day, Señor,” Valenzuela said, “and I can find out.” Slocum looked at Valenzuela again for a long moment. “Waiting one day here to find out for sure will save you time in the long run. Besides, you said that Cash shot you. I can tell that was recently. Another day of rest won’t hurt you at all.”

  “If I wait here a day for you, then you’ll want to ride along with me. Is that right?”

  “That would be my deal with you, Señor Slocum.”

  “And when we find Cash?”

  “We’ll see who can shoot him the quickest.”

  “All right,” said Slocum. “It’s a deal. I’ll wait here for you till this time tomorrow morning. If you’re not back by then, I’m moving on alone.”

  “That is fair enough, Señor. I’ll be on my way.”

  Valenzuela got up and left Gorky’s without any more formalities, and Slocum sat alone wondering if he had made the right decision. In another minute, Gorky came back with the coffeepot.

  “You recall a man named Cash?” Slocum asked.

  “Oh, yes,” said Gorky. “A killer, that one. He killed young Valenzuela. The son of the man you’ve been talking with. That Cash, he provoked it too.”

  “Thanks,” Slocum said. Gorky had just confirmed everything Valenzuela had told him. Maybe he had made the right choice after all. He wanted his revenge on Cash as bad as ever, but then, so did Valenzuela, and Valenzuela’s reason was just as good as Slocum’s, maybe better. And two against one was better odds.

  Slocum drank some more coffee, then went outside to practice shooting. He was almost back to normal: still a little slow, but not much. He went back inside and had a Mexican lunch. Valenzuela was right about one thing. The Russian’s Mexican cooking was his best. For the rest of the day, Slocum hung around the place smoking and drinking coffee. When things got slow, Gorky came around to talk to him. Slocum had supper and decided to switch to whiskey.

  He was on his third glass when Valenzuela came back in. He went straight to Slocum’s table and sat down. “You’re back early,” Slocum said. “Have a drink?”

  “Sí.”

  Slocum called for another glass and poured Valenzuela a drink. The vaquero drank it down and had a second poured.

  “You’re on the right trail,” he said.

  “How far?” asked Slocum.

  “He’s maybe four days ahead of us. But he’s not going anywhere just now.”

  “How could you take a half a day’s ride and come back with that information?” Slocum asked.

  “I told you, didn’t I, that Mexicans live all along the way on this trail? The word passes from one household to the next. I did not have to travel far to find out what we need to know. Cash is staying at a place called Portales. It’s a small town, but not so small as Broken Leg. The population is almost all Mexican. Cash has a room in one of the two hotels. He’s been seen in the company of Viviano Garcia, a notorious bandido. My friends are afraid that he might be joining up with this man.”

  “He hasn’t yet?”

  “It seems not.”

  “Then the faster we can get to him the better,” said Slocum. “We don’t need to try to tangle with a whole gang of bandidos. Not if we can help it.”

  “I agree. Are you ready to ride?”

  “Now? It’ll be dark soon.”

  “I know the trail well. We can ride it safely in the night.”

  Slocum turned down his whiskey. He dug in his pocket for some change as he stood up.

  “All right,” he said. “Let’s ride.”

  The two men did not talk as they r
ode. Now and then, Valenzuela said something about the trail up ahead of them, but that was about all. They passed several small homes along the trail and rode through one small settlement, but by the time they did, it was all rolled up tight for the night. They kept riding. Finally, Valenzuela turned off the trail and pulled up at a small stream.

  “We should rest and water the horses,” he said. “This is a good place for it.”

  Slocum dismounted and let the Appaloosa drink. Valenzuela did the same for his mount. Slocum took a cigar out of his pocket and held it out toward Valenzuela, who took it.

  “Thank you, Señor,” he said.

  Slocum took out another for himself, struck a match, and held it out for Valenzuela. Then he used the same match to light his own. He sat down beneath a large tree and leaned back on the trunk. Valenzuela squatted on his haunches.

  “Señor Slocum,” he said, “you told me that Cash had once been your friend. Will you tell me how that came about?”

  “I made a big mistake,” Slocum said. “I saved him from a bunch of cowboys who were fixing to hang him for rustling.”

  “I bet he was guilty.”

  “Well, right now, I wouldn’t bet against it. At the time, I didn’t know him from the president of Mexico. I just don’t like lynching is all. Well, we rode together for a spell, came to a town, and got jobs at the same ranch. He seemed to be all right.”

  “I see.”

  “Then this kid got to following him around, acted like he thought Cash couldn’t do anything wrong. Cash took him under his wing. Taught him about roping and shooting. The shooting was what the kid really took to. Well, a range war started up between our boss and a neighbor rancher. Cash and the kid killed some of the neighbor cowhands. The kid seemed to enjoy it. Then he got off with me, just the two of us, and he called me. I wouldn’t draw on him. I tried to talk him out of it, but he went for his gun. I had no choice. I had to kill him. I blame Cash for that.”

  “But why would the young man try to shoot you? You were on the same side, weren’t you?”

  “I thought so, but later it became clear that Cash had switched sides. I figured maybe he and the kid switched earlier and just never let us know about it. It’s the only reason I can think of, other than him just wanting to add to his reputation.”

  “And then Cash did shoot you?”

  “Not right away. We won the war, but Cash ran off. I went after him, on account of the kid. At a town back down the trail, I stepped into a saloon, and there he was, six-gun out and cocked and pointed. He pulled the trigger almost before I had time to recognize him.”

  “Ah, caramba.”

  “Say,” said Slocum, “why don’t we stay here for a little while? Catch a few winks. Any objections?”

  “No objections. It’s a pretty good idea. A good place for the horses. We don’t have to sleep the night away.”

  They bedded down and slept, but it did not seem long before Valenzuela was poking Slocum awake. They saddled up and hit the trail again. Slocum was wondering about this night travel, but when the sun began to peek over the far western horizon, and Valenzuela suggested they stop at the next house for breakfast, he decided that the vaquero was right. They had a good start, and they had a good place to stop and eat.

  The Mexican family knew Valenzuela and welcomed the travelers into their home. They took care of the horses, and they fed Slocum and Valenzuela a good, big breakfast and lots of hot coffee. Valenzuela questioned them a little about Cash in Spanish, and then he told Slocum in English that as far as they knew, Cash was still in Portales, and he had not yet managed to join up with Garcia. Then, he turned back to the family and thanked them in Spanish, and to Slocum he said, “Shall we go?”

  In the middle of the day, they came across two riders, dressed like vaqueros but heavily armed. The two were riding toward them, but they stopped as if they were waiting for Slocum and Valenzuela to do the same, to palaver. It would have been difficult to force their way on down the trail past the two, so Slocum and Valenzuela did stop.

  “Howdy,” said Slocum.

  Valenzuela greeted them in Spanish, and the conversation continued in that language. Now and then, Valenzuela told Slocum something in English about what was being said. “They asked where we are going,” he said, and then a little later, “They said they like our horses.” Slocum did not like the looks of the two. He didn’t like the way they grinned and laughed. Then Valenzuela said, “I think we are going to have to kill them. I think they belong to that gang I was telling you about.”

  Then the Mexican who was directly in front of Slocum said, “Are you talking about Garcia’s gang? That was a pretty good guess. We are Garcia’s men all right. So you mean to kill us, do you?”

  “Why didn’t you talk English to begin with?” asked Slocum.

  “Why should I? I wasn’t talking to you nohow.”

  Then the two Garcia men went for their guns at almost the same time. Slocum and Valenzuela did the same. A bullet tore through the sombrero on Valenzuela’s head, but his own bullet smashed the shoulder of the bandido that had fired it. The man screamed in pain, dropping his gun. Valenzuela fired again, knocking him from the saddle and killing him. The other man’s bullet missed Slocum completely, and Slocum’s return shot hit him in the face. He jerked and twitched in the saddle, and then he relaxed and slipped off to one side.

  “And I didn’t want to get involved with a gang of bandidos,” said Slocum.

  “Maybe we can still avoid it,” said Valenzuela.

  He dismounted, and Slocum followed suit. They dragged the two bodies off the trail and into the woods. Then they unsaddled the horses, tossed the saddles into the woods on top of the bodies that were already there, and slapped the horses on their rumps to run them off. They stood in the road, watching the two horses run north.

  “Maybe they’ll turn around and find their way home,” Valenzuela said.

  “Maybe,” said Slocum.

  “If not, no one will ever know what happened to their riders.”

  “Well, let’s just hope that no one knows till we’ve found Cash and done what we have to do.”

  “Yes, Señor,” said Valenzuela. “We’ll be hoping that very much.”

  17

  It was early afternoon when they rode into Portales. They saw no sign of Cash, so they went into the nearest saloon for a drink. Standing at the bar, they were drinking their whiskey when Valenzuela said to Slocum, “Don’t look now, but Garcia and some of his pistoleros are at the far corner table.”

  Slocum raised his eyes and looked in the mirror behind the bar. He saw a table with six tough-looking hombres sitting at it. There were a few others scattered here and there around the saloon. “Okay,” he said. “Ask the barkeep if he’s seen Cash.”

  The bartender walked back by, and Valenzuela stopped him. “Pardon me, Señor,” he said. “My friend and I are looking for a man.”

  “Just any man, Señor?”

  “A gringo. He dresses in black and calls himself Cash. We heard he was here.”

  “There has been such a man here.”

  “Is he still around?”

  “I don’t know,” the bartender said with a shrug. “I haven’t seen him today.”

  “You saw him yesterday?”

  “Sí. Last night.”

  “Gracias.”

  The bartender went on his way, and Valenzuela translated the gist of the conversation for Slocum. “That means if he ain’t here,” Slocum said, “he can’t be far ahead.”

  “That’s right. But how do we find out if he has left without hanging around and waiting and wasting our time?”

  “Let’s find us a place to have some dinner,” said Slocum, “and think on that for a while.”

  He finished off his whiskey, and Valenzuela did the same. Then they turned and walked out of the saloon. Behind them, Garcia and his pistoleros watched them go and whispered to one another.

  Slocum and Valenzuela found a place just down the street, and they
went inside and had a good, big Mexican dinner. They washed it down with several cups of coffee.

  “So are you still thinking on it?” asked Valenzuela.

  “Let’s check out the stable,” said Slocum.

  They paid for their meals and left, then walked down the street till they found the stable. The man inside spoke no English, so Valenzuela did the questioning. When he was through talking with the man, he turned away and walked a few steps. Slocum followed him.

  “He has Cash’s horse,” Valenzuela said. “He’s somewhere in town.” Both men looked warily around the street. They saw no sign of Cash. “But where?”

  “Where indeed,” said Slocum.

  “What do you think we should do?”

  “Let’s get us a room and then put our horses in the stable here,” said Slocum. “But keep your eyes open all the time. If he sees us first, he’ll shoot us in the back. Remember that.”

  “I know, Señor.”

  They checked into the cheapest hotel in town, took their gear up to the room, and then went back for the horses. Mounting up, they rode them to the stable, where Valenzuela dickered with the man. The deal made, they walked back down the street. They checked each eating place, each saloon, to no avail.

  “Where could he be?” Valenzuela asked.

  “With a whore,” said Slocum. “Hell. He could be anywhere.” They walked along a little farther, not saying anything, but watching all around. “Let’s go back in that place where Garcia was at,” Slocum said.

  They made their way back to the place where they had started and went inside again. This time, Slocum bought a bottle, and they took it, with two glasses, to a table and sat down. Slocum could see that Garcia and his henchmen were whispering to one another. He poured two glasses of whiskey and raised one to his own lips.

  One of the men at the Garcia table stood up and walked across the room. When he reached Slocum’s table, he walked around it. That put him on one side of Slocum, and the other five men at Slocum’s back. Valenzuela, however, was facing the five men. It looked like trouble. The man shifted his weight a time or two and hooked his thumbs in his gun belt.