Slocum and the Forgetful Felon

by Jake Logan

  “I smell like cattle half the time,” Slocum said, smiling.

  “Well, on you it’s like man perfume. On him, it’s like he just rolled in a manure pile.”

  Slocum laughed and motioned her over. She stood up, stark naked, and crossed the room to curl into his lap.

  He said, “You were tellin’ me how he almost raped you. What stopped him?”

  “Me. Hollerin’ at the top’a my lungs. Four of the gals come runnin’ and started whackin’ him with umbrellas and walkin’ sticks, whatever they grabbed outta the front hall. And boy, he sure took off in a big hurry. Doubt he’ll be botherin’ me again, least in this neighborhood.”

  Slocum had taken her breast into his hand and begun to suckle her, but he broke it off long enough to chuckle and say, “Bet he won’t. But you gotta be careful. You’re still a mighty beautiful woman, Katie. You gotta watch out for those sonsabitches.”

  “I do,” she said. “Now get back to business.”

  He did, sliding his fingers between her legs and taking her nipple into his mouth again, and he kept on rubbing her and tickling that special spot between her legs, and suckling at her bosom until she came, gasping and writhing in his lap.

  And that was just the beginning of it.

  At roughly dawn, Slocum was awakened by a pounding on the door. Telling Katie to stay put, he got out of bed and wrapped himself in a sheet. He opened the door to find a nervous Teddy, already dressed and ready to ride.

  “C’mon, Slocum!” he urged. “We gotta ride north today! This morning!”

  Slocum let out a long breath, then said, “Okay, Teddy. Can you wait till I get dressed?”

  “Yeah, sure. Thanks.” And he popped down the hall again, just like that.

  From behind him came Katie’s sweet voice. “You have to go, baby?”

  Without turning around, he said, “ ’Fraid so, Katie darlin’,” and softly closed the door.

  He didn’t hear anything else out of her except, “Well, shit.”

  He was dressed and downstairs in about five minutes, startling Teddy, who was coiled in the arms of Sally, the little redhead he’d taken up with the first time Slocum brought him to Katie’s. The only one since, Slocum realized. Was Teddy getting himself into something serious?

  Of course, it couldn’t hurt, Slocum thought. Teddy’d have plenty of cash when they came out of this. Enough to buy a new house in town. Enough to cover him for a few years. Maybe marriage would settle him down permanently. Maybe he’d never remember.

  “Teddy?” he said, and the boy turned around so fast that he nearly knocked himself—and Sally—over.

  “Easy, boy,” he said with a smile. “I’m gonna grab some grub first.”

  “Okay,” said Teddy, and eased himself back into Sally’s arms.

  Slocum went to the kitchen, where he found Iris and another girl, May, having breakfast. “Mind if I join you gals?” he asked while he pulled up a chair.

  “Seems to me you’re already sat,” Iris answered, grinning. “Breakfast?”

  “You got my number, all right.”

  She stood up and went over to the stove, pulling down a plate from the shelves in the process. “What’ll you have?”

  “What you got? No, wait. Don’t list it out. Just gimme some of everythin’.” After last night with Katie, he was hungry as a bear!

  Iris scooped up something from every pot and skillet, then set the plate down in front of him. “Coffee, too?” she asked.

  “You betcha.” Before him, on the plate, rested the breakfast of his dreams. Sausage, ham, bacon, eggs, hash browns, cottage fries, and two pancakes on the side, dripping with butter and syrup.

  There may have been more, but if it there was, it was hidden beneath something else. He dug into the pancakes straight away, then the sausage, then the eggs. He was most of the way though the bacon and heading for the hash browns when Katie made an appearance. She looked awful pretty this morning—a sight better than he did, that was for sure. She had slipped on a soft blue dress, low-cut but still fairly prim, and pulled her long russet hair up into a knot at the top of her head.

  She looked downright beautiful.

  Slocum dropped his fork and said, “My gosh, Katie! You surely do look a picture!”

  “Why, thank you, Mr. Slocum,” she replied, then curtsied. “Is the meal to your satisfaction?” she asked primly.

  “Now, Miss Katie, I’d like to talk to you about these hash browns,” Slocum began. He scooted his chair back from the table, turning slightly. “Please take a seat.” He held out his arm.

  She took it, and sat in his lap.

  “There,” he said. “That’s fine.” He picked up the fork again and cut off a bite of hash browns. “Open wide,” he said, bringing the fork up to her mouth.

  She obliged and took in the potatoes, although she whispered, “This is a little different than the last time I was in this position . . .”

  “Didn’t your mama teach you to chew with your mouth closed?” Slocum teased.

  She elbowed him in the ribs.

  “Slocum?” Teddy shouted from the other room. “Are we goin’ or ain’t we?”

  “Sorry, baby,” Slocum said. “Duty calls.”

  She eased herself up off his lap, purposely wiggling her backside in his face, then sat down beside him, in the next chair over.

  “Slocum?” Teddy called again. “You comin’?”

  Slocum slowly stood up, grabbing the ham slice in one hand and the rest of the bacon and sausages in the other. “Too good to leave behind,” he said sheepishly.

  “You’d best leave before that boy busts a vocal cord,” she said.

  “See you when I get done, hon,” he said. He’d explained their new assignment last night.

  She said, “I’ll be here waiting, darlin’.”

  They rode north, up toward McAlister’s ranch, which was just this side of Prescott. The trip itself wasn’t bad. Just green, rolling hills, cactus, and the occasional upthrust of rock, as if the land were practicing for the mountains to come. Slocum knew that when they started to see trees, they’d be almost there. That’d take them another day, he guessed, but the way Teddy was acting, you’d think they’d get there today and have the whole mess wrapped up by nightfall.

  The bloody little eager beaver.

  Slocum was in no such hurry. He knew that once they got there, it’d take a good while before they “noodled” out the right kind of information from the locals. Mainly because folks didn’t just open up to a stranger. It’d take a bit to gain their trust. He couldn’t wait to tell Teddy that he was gonna have to take a job at the hardware or the general store! He could just see it now: Teddy Cutler, from wanted man to whitewash salesman in a month.

  Smirking to himself, Slocum rode along in silence.

  When they finally came to a town—Squash Blossom was its name—Slocum rode into a place he’d never been before, although he’d sure seen towns like it. It was small, with one main street, dotted with wooden buildings. There was a mercantile that doubled as a dry goods store, a tiny livery with a board-fenced paddock attached to one side, a sheriff’s office and a city hall, a café, a saloon, and a blacksmith’s. That last one was over by the livery, too, and the city hall wasn’t much bigger than what you could fit a few offices in.

  The mayor’s, he figured. He didn’t know who else, in such a small place. But they did have a railroad line going through. That was likely there to mostly service the cattle ranches so they could ship their beef to market. He doubted they had much passenger traffic.

  They tied their horses to the rail in front of the saloon, and swearing Teddy to silence, Slocum led the way inside.

  There wasn’t much going on, by the looks of things. Oh, there were a few men at the bar, three more playing poker at a table, but that was it, except for the bartender. He looked accessible enough, though. Slocum decided to try him first.

  They moseyed on over to the bar—which at least was a real bar, not a plank held up wi
th barrels—and ordered a couple of beers.

  “Why’d you pick here for first?” Teddy whispered.

  “You always pick the saloon first,” Slocum whispered back. “Like with ladies, you always go to the hairdresser’s or the seamstress’s first. You go to the place where folks meet to gossip.”

  The barkeep brought the beers, offered them a sandwich if they wanted one—they said no—and then was off to the other end of the bar to polish glasses and gossip with the fellows standing at that end.

  Slocum leaned back against the bar, bringing his beer with him, and casually studied the crowd. Cowhands, mostly, except for the men over at the poker table. One of them looked like a recent train passenger—a card sharp, if Slocum was any guess. He reckoned he’d learn the most over there right now. The barkeep was too busy, chatting with his buddies.

  “Are you decent at poker?” he asked Teddy.

  “Sure. I’m whiz-bang!”

  Slocum puffed out a little sigh. “I mean, really. There’s a sharp sittin’ over at that table, and I ain’t stakin’ you to no million dollars.”

  Teddy’s eyes went down to the floor. “Guess I’m not up to playin’ with no card sharp. You goin’?”

  Slocum said, “I aim to.” And just like that, he was walking across the room, beer in hand. He figured they had only three players, and a fourth would make them real happy. Fresh money, and all.

  When he got to the table, he put his hand on the back of the empty chair. “This a private game, or can anybody play?”

  16

  “Have a seat, friend,” the sharp said.

  And the other two echoed his invitation, although a little belatedly. The taller of the two said, “You just travelin’ through town, mister?”

  “Name’s John,” Slocum said, “and I’m lookin’ for work. Generally don’t stop, but I need a little tidin’ over.”

  The shorter one said, “Howdy, John. I’m Shorty, Shorty Simpson. This here,” he said, nodding toward the taller man, “is my brother. We call him Hawk.”

  Hawk smiled and retorted, “If you heard the half of it, you’d pick Hawk, too. Same deal for Shorty.”

  Shorty grinned and asked, “Whose deal is it?”

  “Your brother’s,” said the sharp, then introduced himself to Slocum. “Hello, John. Glad to have you in the game. I am Wendell Howard. Call me Dell.”

  Slocum nodded while Hawk shuffled. “Glad to meet all’a you. Glad to see some cards, too. Haven’t played since I left Phoenix.”

  “Aw, that ain’t so far,” said Hawk, dealing the cards. “Couple’a days, if you know the right paths to take. Straight five-card draw, nothin’ wild, two-bit limit.”

  Dell, across the table from Slocum, looked annoyed, but didn’t say anything. Slocum figured he should have known what to expect when he saw the town. But then, maybe he was running dry, too, as Slocum claimed that he was. Maybe it was just a stop-off for a little pocket cash.

  Hawk finished dealing, and they began to play. The first hand went to Shorty. It was Slocum’s turn to deal next, and Shorty won that hand again. Then Shorty dealt and Hawk won.

  While they were playing, Slocum learned that both Hawk and Shorty rode for the same outfit, the Double A. Slocum also learned that it was McAlister’s old outfit, the only one in the nearby vicinity, and that they were looking for hands, on account of it was time to break horses.

  Slocum jumped on that like a duck on a June bug. “What’s McAlister pay?” he asked, although he was well aware that the old man was dead.

  “Dollar a day and found,” replied Hawk. “ ’Course it ain’t McAlister’s place no more.” He bowed his head. “He passed away last Saturday. Gut shot by some goddamn cattle rustler!”

  Hawk held back his tears, but Shorty couldn’t. A lot of sniffling and snuffling started coming from his side of the table. Slocum didn’t look at him. The man deserved some privacy. But to Hawk, he said, “You got rustlers around here?”

  “Accordin’ to the new boss, we do.” Hawk appeared not to be in his camp.

  “Who’s the new boss?”

  “McAlister’s son-in-law,” Hawk replied. “Heber Johnson.”

  Slocum cocked a brow. “He Mormon?”

  Hawk shook his head. “I guess his folks was, though. He don’t claim to be anythin’. Married the boss’s daughter, though. Dora. Awful nice gal to get mixed up with trash like that.”

  “Hawk!” Shorty hissed sharply. “Don’t go talkin’ about our employer that’a way!”

  “It’s the truth, Shorty. A pig’s ear don’t get changed into a silk purse on account’a who he weds or who he works for. Or what he owns.”

  Shorty just sat there, sniffing. “Not cryin’ for him,” Shorty mumbled. “For McAlister.”

  “Then go right ahead. He was a pig-headed old fool, but he paid good and fair.”

  Slocum butted in, “Why you sayin’ he was pig-headed, Hawk?”

  “Just certain ways. Not all’a the time. Like that water rights thing he had goin’ on for years ’n years with the Hendrickses. That was just plain stupid. We got plenty of water, and so did Hendricks. McAlister just wanted it all for himself, and that was that. It was Hendricks’s boy—a middle-aged man by now—who supposedly shot him. He was rustlin’ cows out on the south range. McAlister found him and took a slug, then Heber come and chased Hendricks off. Accordin’ to Heber anyhow.” Hawk didn’t look any too convinced.

  Slocum found this information to be interesting and perhaps useful. “Like to ride out to the ranch with you or at least get directions. I’m a pretty fair hand at bustin’ broncs.”

  “You sure?” Hawk arched a brow. “No offense, but breaking horses is generally a young man’s game.”

  “Don’t worry about me, none,” Slocum said. “I can take care’a myself. By the way, who’d you say your foreman was?”

  “Didn’t. Was Heber, but now it’s me.”

  Slocum laughed. “Been talkin’ to the boss the whole time!”

  Hawk just grinned. “So, you interested in that job?”

  “I sure am. Oh, and the whole of my name’s John Quincy,” Slocum said off the top of his head. He figured he could remember it, on account of President Adams. “Should I keep on callin’ you Hawk, now that you’re my boss?”

  “Probably wanna call him worse than that,” said a smirking Shorty from the other side of the table.

  And from beside him, the card sharp, Dell Howard, said, “Now can we play another game?”

  Slocum laughed. “Sure. And I’m sure sorry, but I don’t believe I seen you shuffle those cards, Dell. Mind?”

  “Of course not,” Dell replied, although he looked like he minded quite a bit. But he shuffled the cards a few times, shoved them over to Hawk to cut, which he did.

  Resigned, Dell began to deal.

  Slocum said, “Mind if I start tomorrow?”

  “Not a problem,” replied Hawk, intent on his cards.

  “Gotta get my little brother settled in,” Slocum said, tipping his head toward Teddy. “He ain’t much for ranch work.”

  Shorty, who had at last stopped weeping, said, “I heard that old man Fowler’s lookin’ for somebody. Down to the hardware,” he added by way of explanation.

  “I thank you a lot,” Slocum said, nodding. “I’ll get him right down there, soon’s I finish this hand!”

  “What’s your name?” Slocum asked for the hundredth time. Or it seemed so to him anyway.

  “Ted Quincy,” came the tired reply. Teddy was about to fall asleep in Slocum’s armchair. “I’m from Alabama. I’m twenty-four. I don’t much like ranch work.”

  “Where in Alabama?”

  “Albany. And why I gotta say I’m from Alabama in the first place?” Teddy whined. “Can’t I be from Phoenix? I at least been to Phoenix!”

  “I know. But you can bet none’a them has been to Alabama.”

  Teddy sighed. “What about fightin’ in the War? Surely some’a them was through there!”

  “T
he War’s nearly thirty years past, Teddy. And most’a the men round here just ignored it anyhow.”

  There was a long silence while Teddy thought. Then, at last, he said, “My name’s Ted Quincy, I’m twenty-four, I’m not likin’ ranch work for much’a nothin’, and I’m from Albany, Alabama, on Windsong Creek, and you’re my big brother, John.”

  He put a heavy emphasis on Slocum’s first name.

  Slocum said, “You keep that up, I’m gonna change your first name to Candy Ass.”

  “Sonofabitch,” Teddy growled.

  “There, that’s better. That’s more . . . brotherly.”

  “Bite me,” Teddy said while he stood up.

  Slocum was at least taking it with some humor, and he said, “Only if’n you’re snake-bit, brother Ted.”

  Teddy didn’t answer, just let himself out. Just as well, Slocum thought as the door softly closed. He knows the drill anyhow.

  He wandered over and sat in the chair by the window, pulling his ready-mades from his pocket. After lighting one, he sifted through his pockets again to make certain he still had the directions out to the Double A spread.

  He did. It ought to be easy to find.

  He could just about hang Heber right now, but he’d had enough doings with the law to know that he needed hard evidence, not just say-so. And hard evidence was what he hoped to ferret out at the Double A.

  And someone to testify to it.

  That was going to be the hard part, he knew.

  Puffing on his smoke, he stared out over the town. Well, what there was of it anyway.

  Morning came, and when it did, Slocum and Teddy went over the café and grabbed some breakfast, then down the street to the mercantile, which had a side entrance marked HARDWARE. While Teddy nosed around, Slocum found Fowler, then signaled Teddy. “This here’s my brother I been tellin’ you about,” said Slocum.

  “Hello, Ted,” said Mr. Fowler, a kind-faced man with gray hair and a goatee. “I understand you’re lookin’ for work.”

  Teddy took off his hat without being told and held it in front of him with both hands. “Yessir, I am, sir,” he said. Slocum almost passed out. The kid actually had some manners!