Slocum's Revenge Trail

by Jake Logan

  “You told me you ran him out of town two days ago,” Slocum said. “All I want to know is which way did he go.”

  “He headed for the Cow Town hill country,” said Platero. “That’s all I can tell you. Hillsboro maybe. Someplace like that.”

  “How’d you come by that information?”

  “He talked loose in the saloon,” Platero said. “To the gals, even to some of the cowhands. They told me.”

  Slocum downed his drink and started to get up.

  “Hey,” said the sheriff. “What’s your hurry? It’s too late to start out on his trail tonight. We’ve got damn near a whole bottle of whiskey here to finish.”

  “I’ve had all I want,” said Slocum. He walked out of the saloon and got his Appaloosa. He left the horse in the stable and went back to the hotel. He had money again. He checked himself back in and went up to the room to get some sleep. As he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, he could not seem to drop off. He considered the way in which he had been used by Platero. The son of a bitch had known there would be an ambush, and he had sent Slocum into it without telling him. Of course, he had paid reasonably well for the job, but Slocum would have liked it better had the bastard been straight with him from the beginning.

  Oh, well, what the hell? He had a hundred bucks on him. He was in a nice hotel room. His horse was being looked after, and after they’d both had a good night’s rest, they would be on Cash’s trail again in the morning. If he could just get to sleep. God damn but it had been a bloody trail. He had met outlaws and lawmen, and damned if some of the outlaws hadn’t been the better men. He got to thinking about Garcia, and then he thought about Valenzuela. He hoped that Garcia had gotten the old boy to a doctor in time to do some good.

  When this business was all over with, Slocum resolved, he would go back to Portales and find Valenzuela, if he was still alive, and tell him what had happened. Hell, he might even take him Cash’s head. Maybe his ears at least. He decided that he was thinking morbid thoughts, and he had better put them out of his mind. He’d try to think about women. That should do the trick. But the first one that came into his mind was Julie Townsend, and that was more distasteful to him than was the thought about Cash’s ears. At last, he drifted off to sleep.

  In the morning, he dressed and packed quickly. He wanted to be out of El Paso and on the trail again. He wanted to hurry up and bring this thing to a close. He went downstairs and walked up to the counter.

  “Yes, sir?” said the clerk.

  “I’m checking out,” said Slocum, reaching for his money. Then he hesitated. He stopped fishing in his pockets. He looked at the clerk and said, “Send the bill to the sheriff’s office.”

  20

  For the next few weeks, Slocum wandered from one small town to another, and it seemed that everywhere he went, Cash had been there, but he had left two or three days before. He was always just ahead. Now and then, Slocum discovered, Cash had killed someone in the town just before leaving. He was not leaving behind any friends. That much was certain. Before too long, Slocum’s money was running out again. At last, he found himself at Orvel Patterson’s Switchback Ranch, busting broncs to line his pockets again. He would save up a little more money and get back on the trail of Cash.

  He had just ridden a real ring-tailed cayuse to a standstill, and he was feeling battered as hell. That tough little son of a bitch had beat him nearly to a pulp. He kicked it in the sides and rode it calmly around the corral a few times. Then he dismounted, unsaddled the creature, and let it go. He hobbled over to the corral fence and tossed the saddle over the top rail. He bent over with a groan and slipped through the top and middle rails to get outside the corral. He was about to head toward the bunkhouse, walking with a list to one side, when a young cowboy called Martin came riding up.

  “How you doing, Mr. Slocum?”

  “Feeling kind of old,” Slocum said.

  Martin swung down out of the saddle. “I’d like to talk to you,” he said.

  Slocum stopped walking. “What is it?” he asked.

  “I got to turn this horse loose first. You going to be around?”

  “I’ll be in the bunkhouse,” Slocum said.

  “I’ll see you there in just a few minutes. Okay?”

  “Sure. Come on ahead. I won’t be doing anything. Just recovering is all.”

  As he limped his way on over to the bunkhouse, Slocum wondered what the young fellow wanted to talk to him about. Surely not about bronc riding. He couldn’t think what it could be. He went on inside to his bunk, sat down, pulled off his boots, and then stretched himself out with a moan. That damn cayuse had been his fourth that day. He was really worn out. He closed his eyes, and thought that he was about to drift off, when he heard Martin’s footsteps coming in, and a moment later, his voice.

  “Mr. Slocum?”

  Slocum looked up. “Yeah. What’s on your mind, young feller?”

  Martin sat on the bunk next to Slocum’s and twirled his hat in his hands nervously. He did not look directly at Slocum. “Mr. Slocum,” he said, “I don’t rightly know how to ask this, but I—Well, some of the boys has been saying that you’re a gunfighter. Is that true?”

  “What kind of a question is that to ask a man?”

  “I’m sorry. I know it ain’t polite. But I’m needing some advice, and I—”

  “Just tell me about it,” Slocum said.

  “Well, all right. I will. I was in town this morning, and I run into a feller. I hadn’t never seen him before. Didn’t know him, and he didn’t know me. Well, cutting through all the bullshit, he kinda pushed me, and I called him on it. Now I’m supposed to meet him out by Boot Hill this evening to have it out. You know, a shoot-out. He looked and talked like a gunfighter. I wasn’t wearing no gun. That’s how come we’re to meet later. I said I’d get my gun. I know I shouldn’t have let him push me into it, but I—Well, there was several guys hanging around listening to ever’thing that was said. Before I knew what I was doing, I’d agreed to meet him.”

  “Well, you let yourself get suckered, kid, but I don’t know what I can do for you. What do you want from me?”

  “I—I don’t know. Hell, I shouldn’t even have brought it up, I guess. I just went and got myself into something I hadn’t oughta. I guess I’ll just have to find my own way out of it. Or get myself killed. I’m sorry I bothered you, Mr. Slocum.”

  Martin stood up, put his hat on his head, and started to walk away, but Slocum sat up and stopped him. “Hold on, boy,” he said.

  Martin turned back. “Yes, sir?”

  “First thing, stop calling me mister.”

  “Okay.”

  “Now, you went and got yourself caught up in a gunfight with a real gunfighter. Right? Now you’re scared, but you can’t back out.”

  “Yeah. I guess that’s about the size of it.”

  “How are you with a gun?”

  Martin shrugged. “I guess I can handle one all right. I mean, I can knock a can off a fence post. But I ain’t no fast draw. Hell, I never pulled a gun on a man. Never.”

  “Try to keep the sun at your back,” Slocum said. “That way, it will be in his eyes. Whatever you do, don’t let him get you facing the sun. Don’t try to beat him to the draw either. Just make sure that you draw your gun and hit what you aim at. More often than not, the man who gets his gun out in a real big hurry is so busy being fast, he misses his first few shots. Has to empty his six-gun to kill a man. The main thing is to try to stay calm.”

  “Thank you. I’ll remember that.”

  “I wish I could help you more, kid, but it was kind of short notice. We ain’t got time for shooting lessons.”

  “Yeah. Well, I just met that son of a bitch this morning. Cocky. Just itching to kill someone, I think. All dressed in black too, and—”

  “What?” said Slocum. “Hold on. Dressed in black, you say?”

  “Yeah. He was. All in black. Everything.”

  Slocum stood up and walked toward Martin. Suddenly, t
here was a look in his eyes that froze the blood in the boy’s veins. He put his hands on Martin’s shoulders and looked him straight in the eyes. “This gunslick,” he said, “did he have a name?”

  “Called himself Cash.”

  Slocum’s arms dropped to his sides as he heaved a heavy sigh of relief from all the long searching, all those times he rode into town to hear that Cash was two or three days gone. All that long trail he had ridden, and all the bodies that Cash had left along the way. He took a deep breath and tried to remain calm.

  “Boy,” Slocum said, “when you get ready to ride over to Boot Hill to meet up with Cash, I’m going to ride along with you.”

  “You mean it?”

  “You’re damn right.”

  “Well, I—I appreciate it, Mr., uh, Slocum.”

  “It’s all right.”

  “Say, do you know this man?”

  “I know him,” Slocum said. “Just let me know when you’re ready to ride.”

  “I will.”

  Martin left the bunkhouse, and Slocum started pacing the floor. He was anxious to get on the way to the meeting. At last, he had caught up with Cash. Or Cash had caught up with him without knowing it. In any case, Cash was in town, and apparently had no idea that Slocum was anywhere near. Slocum told himself to calm down. He had been on Cash’s trail for so long that a short wait wasn’t going to make any difference. But he felt like a man who was near the end of his road and had only two miles left to ride. It was the longest two miles he had ever seen.

  He went back to the bunk and stretched out again. He would have to force himself to relax, take it easy, but he was anxious. There was no denying that. He was no longer thinking about his sore muscles and tired bones. There was no room in his mind for anything other than Cash. He did not sleep. He lay there thinking until Martin showed up again. It was early evening.

  “It’s about time for me to be heading over there,” Martin said.

  Slocum sprang up from his bunk. “Let’s saddle up,” he said.

  He did not saddle his Appaloosa. He saddled a brown horse from the remuda. He did not want to call attention to himself, did not want Cash spotting him from a distance and running away again. The cemetery was on a flat piece of ground with a grove of trees nearby, and Slocum and Martin were the first ones to arrive. They tied their horses at the grove, and Slocum melted into the trees. They could see the town, but there was no one nearby. On the other hand, Martin stepped out from the trees to make sure that he was seen. He did not want Cash telling it around that he had chickened out.

  Soon they could see a rider coming from town. It took a couple of minutes, but then they knew that he was coming their way. In another couple of minutes, they could recognize him. It was Cash, all right. Slocum’s heart pounded with anticipation. He did not even pay attention to the kid, who was nervous as hell, contemplating the end of his own young life. Slocum pressed himself against the trunk of a tree, hiding in the shade. Cash rode on up close and dismounted.

  “I didn’t think you’d show, kid,” he said.

  “I’m here.”

  Slocum stepped out in the clear. “So am I,” he said.

  Cash’s jaw dropped. “Slocum,” he said. He tried to laugh. “It’s been a while, ain’t it?”

  “It’s been a while,” Slocum agreed.

  “Well, what are you doing here?”

  “I came to take this young feller’s place, Cash. Step aside, kid.”

  “Hold on,” Cash said. “I ain’t going to fight two of you.”

  “Kid,” Slocum said, “take off your gun belt and toss it over yonder.”

  Martin hesitated, but he did as Slocum told him, tossing the gun belt and gun a good ways away from himself.

  “Just me, Cash,” said Slocum.

  “Hell, Slocum, we’re old pards. We don’t need to fight it out.”

  “You switched sides in the war with the White Hat outfit.”

  “That was just a job.”

  “You caused me to kill that kid. He forced it, but it was you that put him up to it.”

  “Now, Slocum, he done that on his own. I swear it.”

  “You killed young Valenzuela, and you ambushed us on the road. Shot his pa up.”

  “Was you with that bunch? Hell, I didn’t know it. How could I?”

  “That’s enough talk, Cash. I saved your neck once. It was a big mistake. I mean to make it right today.”

  “No,” said Cash. “No, you don’t. You see, I ain’t going to draw against you.”

  “You’ll draw. After I shoot off your fucking ears.”

  “No. No, I won’t. And the kid here can forget that we had this meeting. I’m forgetting our differences. I’m fixing to turn my back on you, Slocum, and I’m going to walk back over to my horse and mount up and ride out of here. I’m going to turn my back, and you won’t shoot me in the back. I know you, boy.”

  He was grinning. He slowly turned around, his back to Slocum. Slocum watched him. Martin was looking from one man to the other, amazed at what he was witnessing. Cash took slow steps toward his horse.

  “I’m leaving, Slocum,” he said. “Hey, maybe we’ll cross paths again somewhere along the way, old pard.”

  Suddenly, Slocum pulled out his Colt. He pointed it at Cash’s back. He pulled back the hammer, and Cash flinched and stopped walking when he heard the ominous click, click.

  “You won’t do it,” he said, and he started to walk again.

  Slocum waited a few more steps. Cash was about to reach his horse. Slocum squeezed the trigger, and his slug tore into Cash’s back between the shoulder blades. Cash jerked with the impact of the bullet. He tried to turn around to face Slocum, but halfway, his knees buckled, and he fell to the ground. He was still alive. He could still try to shoot back. Slocum walked toward him, his Colt held ready. He looked down to see Cash’s astonished expression.

  “I didn’t believe you’d do it,” Cash began. “I didn’t think you had the—”

  “Die, you cold-blooded son of a bitch,” Slocum said.

  “I—I—”

  Cash never finished his last thought. He crumpled up into a wretched-looking black heap on the ground. Slocum said, “It’s finished.” He knelt down and unbuckled Cash’s gun belt. Then he pulled it loose from around the waist of the corpse. He walked back to his horse and hung the two-gun belt on his saddle horn. He turned and looked back in the direction of the body. The astonished kid was staring at him in disbelief.

  “Go pick up your gun belt, kid,” Slocum said.

  The young cowboy ran to get his gun. He strapped it back around his waist. He looked up at Slocum once more.

  “Get on out of here,” Slocum said.

  Martin hurried to his horse, mounted up, and rode away fast, leaving Slocum staring at the body of Joe Cash.

  Slocum rode into Broken Leg and, coming close to Gorky’s, he could see two horses tied in front. He did not recognize the two horses, but he did recognize the saddle on one of them. It was the saddle he had seen on Viviano Garcia’s horse. So the old bandit was in there with someone else, one of his bandidos perhaps. Well, Garcia could tell him about Valenzuela. Slocum dismounted at the rail and tied the Appaloosa. Then he took a burlap bag loose from his saddle, and he walked to the door, opened it, and stepped inside. Gorky saw him at once and smiled.

  “You’re back,” he said. “Welcome back. Come in. Come in.”

  Slocum’s eyes adjusted slowly from the brightness of the sun outside to the darkness inside, and then he saw Garcia seated at a table with a bottle and a glass, and seated there with him was Gregorio Valenzuela. He walked toward them.

  “Señor Slocum,” said Valenzuela, standing up and smiling.

  Garcia did not stand up. He turned and looked over his shoulder, his face wearing a wide grin. “Come and sit down with us and have a drink,” he said.

  Valenzuela pointed toward the counter, where Slocum’s saddle was perched. “We have kept it here for you,” he said. “We knew you’
d be back.”

  “I’m glad to see you up and well, Valenzuela,” said Slocum. “I’ve brought something for you.”

  He took the bag by a corner and turned it upside down, shaking it. Its contents fell out onto the floor and rolled over between Valenzuela’s feet. The old vaquero looked down in astonishment at the dull eyes, the drooping mustache, and the long now-stringy hair of the head that had once belonged to Joe Cash, the murderer of his son.