Slocum 394 : Slocum and the Fool's Errand (9781101545980) (23 page)

“Yes.”

“I could use a piece of its hide.”

“Take the whole thing,” Snake Catcher told him. “Wear it with pride.”

“I will, but that old dog is going to be more use than that.”

 

The stretch of land was a lonely tract of sand-blasted clay on the bank of a dried-up riverbed six miles north of the Mexican border. Jack insisted there had been water flowing past the old graveyard the last time he'd seen it, but there wasn't even a hint of it now. After passing the bleached wooden crosses leaning in the battered patch of earth where they'd been planted, the two men rode for another quarter mile and then came to a stop.

Since he was the one to signal for them to halt, Jack was first to climb down from his horse. “This is it!” he said anxiously. “I can feel it!”

“That's what you said about the last two places we stopped,” Slocum groaned.

“And you accuse
me
of bellyaching. This is the place. The last one was just a graveyard. The one before that was a riverbed with part of a graveyard nearby.”

“There were some twigs stuck in the dirt at odd angles. They weren't markers and that wasn't a damn graveyard.”

“Well, what we just passed is a graveyard and this,” Jack said while pointing down to a spot where the ground had been smoothed out by a stream that was as dead as the men planted in the distance, “is the spot my uncle used to take me to catch lizards.”

“Then get to digging.”

As Jack hunkered down and used a small shovel to chip away at the scorched ground, two riders thundered through the graveyard without the slightest bit of respect shown to those who still rested there. Without looking up from what he was doing, Jack asked, “They still following us?”

“Yep.”

“Want me to lend a hand when they get here?”

“Just be ready and for the love of all that's holy . . .”

“I know, I know. I'll keep my damn mouth shut.”

Slocum stood his ground as the two men rode toward him. One of them drew his horse to a stop about fifty yards away while the other kept coming until he was close enough for Slocum to see the sweat glistening off of his smooth, olive-colored skin.

“I'm Salvatore Majesco,” the Italian man announced.

“What's that to me?”

“Nothing, Mr. Slocum, but I imagine the name may mean something to the nephew of Diamondback Halsey.”

“Diamondback?” Slocum asked as he cast half a glance at Jack. “Was your uncle dangerous enough to be named after a rattler?”

When Jack didn't respond, Salvatore explained, “Not hardly. One of his first jobs looking after stolen property was for a gang that stole a shipment of diamonds from a safe in San Antonio. The law as well as a few bounty hunters tried to locate the gems while the gang was in prison. When he was released, the gang's leader said that Halsey sat on the diamonds so well for so long that they must have become lodged up his . . . well . . . I'm sure you see where that is headed.”

“Yeah,” Slocum said. “I see. What is it you want from us that's important enough for you to have been dogging our tails for three days?”

“I was one of Diamondback's last clients. Whatever money you are trying to claim rightfully belongs to me.”

“We don't even know if this is the spot.”

“Mr. Halsey seems fairly excited,” Salvatore said. “He's convinced this is the spot.”

“Jack gets excited about a lot of things. Why don't you men mosey along and leave us alone? Diamondback is dead, and whatever you did to earn the money you gave him, I'm sure it doesn't entitle you to a piece of whatever he's worth now that he's gone. Easy come, easy go, right?”

Salvatore's face was cordial without being friendly. “No, Mr. Slocum,” he said through a snakelike smile. “I went through a lot of trouble to get here. I will most definitely not easily go.”

“How'd you even know about my inheritance?” Jack asked.

“At the end of his life, your uncle became very sloppy,” the Italian explained. “That is what got him killed. Many of his customers found out about what he stole, but none of them thought it was worth the trouble of coming to claim it.”

“And you're different, huh?” Nodding toward the man who still sat fifty yards away, Slocum asked, “That why you hired a bunch of gunhands to back you? Because you figured it would be worth the trouble?”

“Diamondback Halsey saw a lot of money and valuables pass through his hands,” Salvatore said. “I imagine he stashed away enough to live rather comfortably.”

Slocum studied the Italian carefully and made sure Salvatore knew he was doing it. “I may not be a rich man, but I seen enough of them to spot one from a mile away. In this situation, a rich man would have ridden up with at least four or five gunmen in his company. You brought one. You're not a dangerous man either, because that gun belt you're wearing is more for looks than anything else. You obviously used Jack's uncle's services quite a bit, which means you're probably a thief who didn't have the guts to face down a posse and would rather hand his ill-gotten gains to an old man instead of fighting to keep it where you can see it.”

“Don't test me, Mr. Slocum.”

“Or what? You'll send some killers after me? You already took your shot where that was concerned and it didn't turn out too well.” Slocum reached into his jacket pocket, which caused the man in the distance to lever a round into the rifle he was carrying.

“Easy, Zack,” Salvatore shouted.

Slocum went easy as well. Although the ride to that particular riverbed took longer than he'd anticipated, it had given him plenty of time to cut off a strip of the wolf's pelt the Apache had given him and shave it down so the fur looked less like an animal's coat and more like long, gray stubble sprouting from a piece of tattered skin at irregular intervals. Some cutting here, some trimming there, and the piece looked just rough enough to serve its purpose. It was a lot of trouble to go through when the Apache may have been just as happy to give him the real item, but carrying another man's scalp was a bit out of Slocum's range no matter who that man was. He tossed the strip of skin over to Salvatore and said, “That's what's left of the killers you sent after us. Had some help from the Apache, but I think I picked up enough tips to learn how to scalp a man on my own next time.”

Having caught the leathery strip without knowing what to make of it, Salvatore looked down at it with wide eyes and threw it to the ground. “Jesus Christ! You scalped him?”

“According to what Jack told me, the smart money was on there being someone behind those three killers who'd hired them to chase after us. I figured whoever hired them might like to know what they got for their money. Now, unless that rifleman out there is better than all of those other gunmen combined, I'd say you should both mosey along and leave us to our business.”

Salvatore looked down at the strip of hairy skin as if he were afraid it would jump up and bite his horse. He then tugged on his reins to ride back toward the graveyard. “Come on, Zack,” he announced as if he was making a royal decree. “We're through here.”

The rifleman stayed put until his employer rode to his side.

“You really think they'll just leave?” Jack whispered.

Slocum watched the two men converse between themselves and said, “If they had the stomach for a fair fight, they wouldn't have hired them other three in the first place.”

Sure enough, Slocum watched both men ride away as Jack continued to dig. About two hours later, there were several freshly made holes in the dry ground. The final one clanged when Jack drove his shovel into it. “Found it!” he declared.

After so much anticipation, Slocum had become genuinely excited to see what the dead old-timer had left behind.

“You stuck with me through this whole thing,” Jack said breathlessly while using his fingers to scrape at the dirt to reveal the edges of a dented metal container only slightly bigger than a cigar box. “I'm cutting you in for a percentage as well as your additional fee for coming all this way with me. How's five percent of what's in here sound?”

“If that's what you think is fair for getting you this far in one piece.”

Glancing nervously at the discarded piece of wolf skin as if it truly were the scalp of Slocum's enemy, he said, “You're right. Ten percent's more fair. Now let's see how rich we're all gonna be!”

Slocum looked down as Jack removed the box from the dirt.

Jack's hands trembled as he tugged at the lid.

The wind blew as if Diamondback himself were there for the show.

The box opened with a grating metallic squeal and inside, in crumpled bills of various denominations, was what looked to be about two hundred and fifty dollars.

“This has gotta be a mistake,” Jack said as he scooped out the cash and counted it up. “There's less than three hundred dollars here!”

“What else did your uncle do?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean he couldn't have made a living just by taking a little percentage of the money he was hiding. There couldn't have even been many of those jobs in the course of a year.”

When Jack turned the box over and shook it, a few bits of rock fell out that might have been gold. If so, that could add about twenty more dollars to the total.

“Tell you what,” Slocum said. “Keep your percentage. I'll just take my fee.”

“But . . .” Jack sputtered. “There was supposed to be . . . I thought . . .”

“You think this is enough to split among the rest of your family?”

“It's barely enough to pay for the expense of getting here!”

Slocum helped Jack collect his inheritance and rode with him to a hotel in the nearest town. There was always the possibility that Jack was tricking him into leaving with a minimum for payment, but he doubted that was the case. If Jack was good enough to fake what looked to be heartbroken tears at the corners of his eyes, he would have already made a fortune as an actor. As it was, he was just a poor fool with dashed hopes.

They parted ways after sharing a meal at a local steak house. The last time Slocum saw Diamondback Halsey's nephew, Jack was setting out to find Imala with hat in hand and a hundred and fourteen dollars in his pockets.

Watch for

 

 

395
^th
novel in the exciting SLOCUM series from Jove