by Jake Logan
“What? Anybody who can handle horses like that can surely teach us somethin’ about cows!”
Slocum shook his head, and hugged the rail that much tighter. “Nope. I’m not a cattleman. Jus’ lemme know where a plate of it’s at, and I’m on it like a bluebottle fly on a bucket’a gizzards. But that’s it. Sorry.” But secretly, he had enjoyed schooling these boys in the way of gentling horses, enjoyed their admiration, and enjoyed seeing them come to respect themselves in the process. There probably was a lot he could teach them about managing cattle, too. But the plain truth of it was that his real business here was done, and it was time to ride south again.
He figured Teddy would be pleased, at least. He hoped the kid had dug up something in town, too. And he hoped that Jonas Hendricks wasn’t pacing a groove in the floor of that cell, down in Phoenix.
And then he figured that maybe he could phone the marshal’s office from here. He hadn’t seen a telephone in the marshal’s office, but they had a railroad station that he hadn’t set foot in. There, he would very likely find a telephone. He hoped. The sweetest thing would be if Pete told him to pick up Heber right then, and bring him on down. Kill two birds with one stone, so to speak.
“I gotta get movin’,” said Slocum, who had only paused to talk to Hawk on his way down to the barn to rescue Ace from his life of leisure. He’d been locked up down there for almost five days, and Slocum figured he’d have a whole lot of hoppy toad to get out of his system.
Hawk shook his head sadly. “If you gotta . . . But if you’re around this time next year, stop by. There’ll be a new string to break, and half the hands will’ve been run off by Heber’s rotten nature—”
Slocum nodded. “I’ll keep it in mind, Hawk. Thanks.”
Hawk suddenly threw both hands in the air. “Hell, I forgot I gotta pay you, Quincy! You go get that wild-colored horse’a yours, and I’ll go get your money.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Slocum said, and set off for the horse barn.
When he rode into town again, the first thing he did was to stop by the hardware and check on Teddy.
And he was astonished when the boy seemed none too eager to quit his job!
“I got all kinds’a dirt, Slocum,” Teddy whispered. “Got it writ down on paper, too.” He produced the little notepad, now dark with his scrawl. Six pages were full of it.
“Can I borrow this?” Slocum asked him.
“Sure,” Teddy answered, but there was a question in his eyes.
“Gonna go to the depot and try to find a telephone,” Slocum said by way of explanation.
Teddy nodded, and Slocum went on up the street, which was just as empty as the day they rode into town. The depot wasn’t showing any signs of activity either. There wasn’t a horse hitched to the rail or a buggy waiting, so it must not be any time close to a stop.
He climbed down and tied Ace to the rail, even though the place looked deader than a doornail. He walked up to the door and gave it a little tap with his knuckles. Just enough to rattle the glass. When nobody answered, he tried the knob. It opened right up.
“Anybody home?” he shouted.
“Geez, mister!” The sound had come from below the counter’s height, and the boy that stood up behind it—no older than seventeen or eighteen, with sandy hair and a scraggly mustache—looked plain scared.
“Calm down, kid,” Slocum said. “Just wanted t’know if you had a telephone I could use.”
The boy calmed visibly, and said, “Yeah, over here. It’s a dime a minute, though.”
Slocum smiled. “Who keeps the clock on me?”
The boy cleared his throat nervously. “I—I—I do, mister. I start timin’ you from the time you start talkin’.”
Slocum nodded. “Sounds fair. You the telegrapher, too?” The boy nodded.
“You got a name?”
“Yessir. John Quincy Carpenter.”
Slocum nearly buckled over, laughing. “Small world,” he finally managed. He walked right up to the counter and stuck out his hand. “I’m John Quincy.” And then, remembering that he’d need to identify himself to Pete, said, “Slocum. John Quincy Slocum.”
The kid lit up. “I’ll be danged! Another John Quincy! Now, if that don’t beat everythin’!”
Slocum smiled. “The phone?”
“Oh, yeah. Hang on just a second . . .”
That evening, Slocum and Teddy sat in the café, discussing events and plans over beef and noodles, served with honey and biscuits and coleslaw.
Slocum had made his call and got hold of Pete, reporting what he knew, plus the things in Teddy’s notes. He was surprised that Teddy had managed to glean so much information, and told him so.
“T’weren’t nothin’,” Teddy said, shrugging. “And you was wrong to tell me the best places for lady gossip’s the hairdresser’s and the dressmaker’s. It’s the goddamn hardware store! Ladies’ll tell a nice young feller, sellin’ them paint and such, most anythin’. Never seen the like, Sl—I mean, John.” Embarrassed, he forked a wad of coleslaw into his mouth. The dressing dribbled down his chin.
“Well,” said Slocum, ignoring Teddy’s mess, “told Pete everything—least, what I could with the telegraph clerk hangin’ on my every word—and he says for us to go collect ol’ Heber and bring him down to Phoenix. In chains, if necessary. He’s sending up a few deputy marshals to do some more investigatin’ once we get Heber outta the way.”
“Neat!” Teddy said.
Slocum had taken the time to start chewing another mouthful of noodles and beef before Teddy’s curt reply. He’d counted on it being longer. He finished chewing, and swallowed.
“Teddy, you make it sound like it’s gonna be all fun an’ games. This Heber, he’s killed three people inside the last few weeks, includin’ his wife! I don’t think he’s gonna get all sentimental over takin’ a few potshots at us.”
“Well, don’t we have to be, like, official? To go arrest him, I mean.”
“Yes, we do. I got deputized before we left Phoenix. Got a badge for you in my pocket. I’ll deputize you tonight, after we get back to the hotel.”
“Me? A deputy marshal?” Teddy’s brows shot up in astonishment. “For true?”
“Shh.” Slocum waved him down, both in volume and in height, because he was halfway standing inside a second. “Keep your voice down and your ass in that chair,” Slocum hissed. “Don’t go givin’ us away now!”
There was not much chance of that. The café was, for the tiny town, crowded this night, and the air was full of the buzz of conversation.
“Like I said, we’ll get you deputized tonight, and come morning, we’ll take a ride out to the Double A and pick up Heber. He’s prob’ly gonna go kickin’ and screamin’, but he’ll go. Just watch yourself, okay?”
Teddy thought about it for a minute. “Okay. I got you.” For a few moments, they were both quiet as they ate their suppers. And then Teddy surprised the hell out of Slocum by asking, right out of the clear blue sky, “You ever think about gettin’ hitched?”
Slocum was lost for words. He just shook his head.
“You think it’s right for a feller to marry a whore?” he asked solemnly. “I mean, if he loves her and everything, and she loves him back, and he can make a livin’ to support her?”
Slocum studied him. “Why you askin’?”
“I been missin’ Sally, missin’ her somethin’ terrible. I think if I asked her, she’d say yes. And when we divvy up the reward money, it’ll be enough that I can go into business with my half. I already done a lot’a dreamin’ about it.”
Slocum truly didn’t know what to say. Teddy had actually thought about this, thought it through, so far as Slocum could see. Except . . . “What kind’a store you figure to open?”
“Hardware,” came the answer. “But you didn’t answer my question. About Sally. About me marryin’ her.”
Quite suddenly, Slocum heard himself say, “Fine by me. I wish you the best’a luck, kid. Mean that.”
&nbs
p; All the nervousness went out of Teddy, and his grin was practically ear-to-ear. “I love her, Slocum, I mean, I really love her, and I hope she loves me even half as much.”
“Well, you’re sure enthusiastic, I’ll say that for you,” Slocum said, then ordered himself another cup of coffee. At least Sally was one of the few girls at Katie’s who hadn’t come on to Slocum. He figured that gave her a few extra points. And she was a pretty little redhead, with a sexy little pout, a pert nose, and blue, blue eyes fringed with dark lashes.
She and Teddy would make some pretty babies, all right.
21
“I do,” Teddy said, one hand on the Bible and the other raised, palm out.
Slocum nodded. “Congratulations, Deputy,” he said, and pinned the badge onto Teddy’s proud chest. The kid was trembling with excitement.
To tell the truth, Slocum was getting quite a kick out of the proceedings. He’d been temporarily sworn in a heap of times, but he was never the one doing the swearing in of somebody else. He was tickled to be doing it, but he still took the whole process very seriously. It meant a lot, that deputy marshal’s badge, no matter which side of it you were on. And Slocum knew. He’d been on both sides of it.
When he had finished the pinning, Teddy grinned wide and said, “Hot damn! Thanks, Slocum! I don’t think . . . I don’t think I ever been this proud!”
Slocum couldn’t help smiling at him and nodding. “It’s a big responsibility, that badge. You remember that, okay?”
“I will,” said Teddy. He paused a moment. “Slocum? From now on, I’d appreciate it if you’d start callin’ me Ted.”
Slocum nodded. “All right, Ted. Be happy to do it for you.”
“Good, then.” Teddy fingered his badge, then looked up. “Be much obliged.”
Long after Teddy had gone to his room for the night, Slocum sat by the window, smoking. He’d had the presence of mind to buy a fresh pack down at the general store when he’d picked up Teddy. He smiled to himself. No, that’s Ted to you, Slocum.
Anyway, the cigarettes weren’t the right brand and they tasted just slightly of cow piss, but they were still better than rolling his own. Maybe he was just losing his taste for quirlies.
He looked down at the street. The town was pretty much boarded up for the night. But he’d bet that Ted was still up, and still staring at the badge.
It was funny. Here, Teddy had been a wanted man, robbed stages and killed people, and not much more than a month later, he’d pinned on the same badge the man he’d killed had worn, and he wore it reverently. Again, Slocum found himself hoping like hell that Teddy wouldn’t remember, not ever. And that if he did, he’d suck it up like a man and keep the information to himself.
Be better for everybody.
Except maybe that Alice Swan. Why the hell’d she have to pop out of the woodwork again anyhow? And what kind of a line of work was this for a woman? It didn’t make any sense to him.
They’d pick up Heber in the morning. Easier said than done, and certainly a whole lot tougher than Teddy—no, that was Ted—was imagining it to be.
But then, Teddy brought Slocum luck. Because of Teddy, Slocum had shot Wash Trumble. Because of Teddy, he’d gotten to visit Miss Katie more times in a month than he usually did in a couple of years. Because of Ted, he had a whole pocket full of notes and names and places.
Maybe Ted was right. Maybe it’d be easy.
He genuinely hoped so.
The next morning, they set off for the Double A. Once again, Slocum noted the peacefulness of the ride. It was along the edge of the woods, and birdsong filled the clear, clean air. He had a feeling this was the last bit of peace he was going to experience today.
Before they left town, he had told Ted to take off his badge and put it in his pocket for the time being—he could always produce it later—for there was no sense in alerting Heber to what was coming. Slocum had already slipped his into his vest pocket.
He hoped he was right. He hoped they could ride right up to the house, knock on the door, arrest Heber, and that would be that.
But he knew things didn’t generally work out like you wanted, or even like you hoped.
They took the final curve south, and soon had ridden to the clearing—actually, an island of dust in a sea of grass—where the ranch was located. The hacienda itself really impressed Ted. He sat his mare with his jaw hanging open, and all that came out was, “Gosh!”
Slocum replied, “Yeah, ain’t it somethin’?”
“Not worth takin’ three lives,” Ted replied. This was the same boy who’d taken three lives himself, and for just their watches and pocket change, Slocum noted, though he said nothing.
“Well, what now?” Ted asked. He was getting antsy, shifting back and forth in the saddle and fiddling with his reins.
“We go in,” Slocum replied, calm as a windless pond and sober as a judge.
They rode straight up to the house, tied their horses to the rail, and went to the front door. Slocum had just lifted his knuckles to knock when a shout came from behind him.
“Hey, Quincy! You should come see how good that sorrel gelding’a mine’s doin’!” It was Shorty.
“Maybe later?” Slocum called.
Shorty nodded. “Good t’be seein’ you! I’ll tell Hawk you’re here!”
“Shorty, don’t—” Slocum started, but Shorty was already down by the corral, and didn’t hear him. “Shit,” he muttered.
Just about the time he turned back toward the door, it opened, and there stood Heber, eyeing him curiously with those narrow-set eyes of his. To call him hatchet-faced would have been a compliment.
Instead of What can I help you with? or What can I do for you? or even Good Morning, he just sneered, “What?” Distaste fairly oozed from him.
Slocum subtly moved his foot into the door. “Heber Johnson?” he asked.
“Who else?” came the mean-spirited reply.
Slocum scowled. He could be just as nasty as this boy. He said, “My name’s Slocum, and I’m with the U.S. marshal’s office. I’m here to arrest you for the murders of Mr. Ebenezer McAlister, Deputy Dale Henderson, and Mrs. Dora Johnson, and the attempted railroading of one Jonas Hendricks.”
Heber’s expression changed to one of shock, and the first thing he did was to try to slam the door.
That plan didn’t get very far, because the door met with both Slocum’s foot and the weight of Ted’s shoulder, then Slocum’s weight as they pushed the door open instead of closed.
Heber took off down the tile-floored front hall, his thin knees knocking, but Slocum drew and fired a shot. He stopped immediately to stare at the place where the figurine Slocum had just shot had stood. All that remained on the table were a few chips of porcelain.
“Philistine! Idiot!” Heber shouted. “That was Ming Dynasty!”
Ted, standing with arms folded, said, “Now it’s Blown-Up Dynasty. Got anythin’ else you want exploded or shot?”
Slowly, Heber shook his head, and Slocum handed the cuffs, also on loan from Pete, to Teddy. No, it really was Ted now, he realized. The kid had changed, gone from a bloodthirsty boy to a grown-up man, ready to marry and settle down, in a little more than a month’s time. It was pretty damn amazing, when you thought about it.
Ted moved forward and cuffed Heber behind the back, then said, “C’mon, killer,” and walked him back to Slocum just as somebody else pounded on the door.
Slocum opened it. Hawk stood outside, hat in his hands. Slocum said, “Howdy, Hawk.”
Surprised to have Slocum open the door, Hawk said, “Hey, Quincy. Say, if you were goin’ to bring back that extra I slipped into your envelope, you should’a come down to . . .” He trailed off as, looking past Slocum’s bulk, he saw his boss in handcuffs. “What you doin’, Quincy?” he demanded.
“Calm down, Hawk,” he replied, and slipped his badge from his pocket. He pinned it to his shirt. “First off, my name’s not Quincy. It’s Slocum, and I’m with the U.S. marshal’s office. Meet
my partner, Ted.”
Ted, keeping a firm hand on Heber’s elbow, nodded seriously.
Slocum continued, “We came out this mornin’ to arrest your boss, here, for murder. Three murders, actually, and one attempted. There’s gonna be a couple more deputy marshals comin’ up from Phoenix to search the house and question all the hands, I reckon. Don’t worry. Me and Ted, we don’t suspect anybody else of any wrongdoin’.”
Hawk was flabbergasted, and just stood there, with his hat in his hands, stuttering, “B-but what ab-bout the ranch?” he finally got out.
Slocum put a hand on his shoulder. “Just keep it runnin’ like usual. Be a while before the court figures out what to do with it, I reckon.”
Hawk, reduced to silence, just nodded.
“Mind gettin’ his horse tacked up, so’s he don’t have to walk back to town? We’re takin’ him down on the eleven-fifteen, so somebody can pick it up after that.”
Hawk regained his composure. “Where?”
“At the livery. That okay with you?”
“Ain’t nothin’ about this that seems right. But I guess.” He turned around and hollered, “Hey, Shorty! Get Heber’s saddle horse tacked up and bring him up here, would you?”
Shorty, who was halfway down to the horse barn, hollered back, “Why?”
Hawk shouted impatiently, “Tell you later. Now hurry your ass up!”
Shorty took off at a trot.
Five minutes later, he was leading a flashy palomino gelding up to the porch. And when Slocum and Ted brought Heber down the steps and helped him up on his horse, Shorty nearly fell right down.
“H-Hawk?” he asked.
“Tell you later. Slocum, you’d best be takin’ those reins. Old Goldie, here, he’s trained to knee rein.”
It was the closest Hawk had come to helping with the capture, and it was merely a subtle warning, but Slocum nodded and said, “Thanks, Hawk. ’Preciate it.”
“You’ll pay for this,” Heber hissed from atop the palomino. “You’ll all pay!”
