Slocum and the Glitter Girls at Gravel Gulch (9781101619513) (13 page)

“Sounds to me as if you are expecting trouble, John. Gunplay maybe?”

He smiled and pulled smoke into his mouth and lungs. He let the smoke out slowly and leaned back in the chair.

“I am going to be very quiet while I prowl through town,” he said.

Laurie cocked her head and gave him a skeptical look.

“Like a cat?” she said.

“Like a cougar.”

“Still, if some of his men see you, they might open fire on you. With pistols or rifles. Maybe both.”

“They might,” he said. “I can’t read Canby’s mind, but I imagine he’s given orders to his men.”

“What orders?”

“Shoot on sight,” he said. “Shoot to kill.”

“And what orders do you give yourself, John?”

He looked out the front window, down the long valley.

“The same,” he said, “with reservations and conditions.”

“Now that’s not very straight talk, John. What reservations? What restrictions?”

“I always give a man the chance to back down, to think it over if he plans to draw down on me.”

“It’ll be dark. You’re wearing dark clothes, as you say,
and you’re tall. You’d be unmistakable against the men who work for Orson Canby.”

“I’ll be small tonight,” he said and smiled.

“Oh, you. You’ll probably just shoot anybody you see who looks suspicious. Harvey said you were a fast draw and had deadly aim with a six-gun. There are not many men who can shoot that well, he told me.”

“I have a lot of practice with a six-shooter,” he said. “I’ll still give a man a chance to think about living or dying.”

She was silent for several moments while Slocum smoked. He tapped the cheroot over the ashtray to drop the ash.

“I’ll worry about you tonight,” she said.

“No need to worry.”

“You don’t know how vicious Canby’s men are. How sneaky.”

“I have a pretty good idea,” he said.

She uncrossed her legs and Slocum admired the clean lines of her body, the flare of her hips, her delicate throat, her beautiful patrician face. She was a beautiful woman and wise in the ways of men. He wondered how far she would take him if they ever drew close.

It was not something he would pursue on such a slender thread of friendship, but the desire was there. At least it was in him. He did not know about Laurie. She was, like many beautiful and smart women, mysterious and elusive.

Not yet, he told himself. Just wait.

They spent the afternoon talking as he smoked, and when the sun began to set, Laurie arose from her chair and went to the kitchen.

“Just enjoy the evening,” she said. “I’ll call you when supper’s ready.”

He nodded and looked at the dining area a few feet from the front room.

He heard her as she set out plates and eating utensils, the clank of pots and pans from the kitchen. He carried his bedroll, saddlebags, and rifle to the room that had been Harvey’s and set them on the table. There was a space to hang clothing and store his saddlebags. He laid his bedroll on the bed and punched one of the pillows. It was soft and his fist impression disappeared as it resumed its shape.

They ate at the dining room table. The sun sank below the end of the valley, and all the long shadows congealed into a single dark patch. The light lingered on the rims of the buttes for a long while as they forked pork and boiled new potatoes into their mouths, speared string beans, and spooned up apricots and pitted olives.

“I would have baked a pie if I had known I’d have a guest in my home,” she said.

“I haven’t had pie in six months,” he said.

Laurie laughed.

“Maybe I’ll bake one for you tomorrow,” she said.

Neither of them wanted to mention that there might not be a tomorrow. At least for one of them.

“Coffee?”

“Might perk me up,” he said. “Sure.”

She carried cups, saucers, and the coffeepot on the tray he had seen in the kitchen. She set it on the dining table and poured steaming coffee into their cups. Then she handed a cup and saucer across the table to Slocum.

“We can drink these in the front room if you like,” she said.

They both got up and took their coffee with them. Slocum savored the aroma of Arbuckle’s with its slight cinnamon tang before he drank the first sip.

Later, when it was full dark, he got up and looked down at Laurie. She looked sleepy.

“I’m going now,” he said. “Don’t wait up for me.”

“I won’t,” she said. “But I’ll worry.”

He walked over and gave her a brotherly hug, broke it before anything else could happen.

“Good-bye, John,” she said. “Take care.”

“Good night, Laurie,” he said and opened the door. Before she could call him back, he slipped around the house and walked slowly along the shadowed butte toward Deadfall.

He looked up at the sky and saw that there was no moon. It had yet to rise, he thought.

Perfect.

He thought of the town, what he had seen of it, and laid out his plan to slip past Main Street and start his patrol on a back street.

His senses tingled as if electrified.

He did not know what or who he would encounter.

But he loosened his pistol in its holster and walked slowly, stopped often to listen and look.

Until finally, he saw the town loom up in the darkness.

He stopped and let his eyes adjust to the absence of light.

He listened for any sound from man or beast.

He listened until he heard the muffled sound of a man clearing his throat.

It was enough for him to know that at least one man was on guard at the end of Main Street, hidden from view, cloaked in shadow, and waiting.

Just waiting.

Slocum flattened himself against the wall of the butte that bordered one side of the town.

A few yards away, he knew, stood a man on guard.

Slocum could hear him breathing in the stillness of the evening.

He scanned both sides of the street. In the distance he saw the glow of lamps in the windows of the boardinghouse, saloon, and hotel. The rest of the street was pitch dark.

The man close to Slocum shuffled his boots. There was a crunch of boot on sand as the man shifted the position of his feet.

Slocum held his breath.

He could not see the man, but he knew he was very close.

Then, from the other side of the street, a voice called out in a loud whisper.

“Boze, you see anything yet?”

The man nearest to Slocum answered.

“No, Hack. Keep quiet.”

So now Slocum knew the names of the men on watch at the end of Main Street.

The man closest to him was called Boze.

Slocum inched closer to where Boze stood. He was careful to set his boots down soft and not make any noise.

Closer still and Slocum froze.

Now he saw the man’s head and the silhouette of his hat.

He slowed his own breathing. He estimated that he was no more than four or five feet away from Boze.

Boze turned his head.

Slocum’s heart seemed to stop beating. His hand inched down to the butt of his Colt .45. He gripped it with slow deliberate flexes of his fingers. He held the pistol butt in his soft grip.

Boze wasn’t looking in Slocum’s direction.

He was staring at the man called Hack and then his head turned again and he was looking up Main Street.

That’s when Slocum slid away from the butte wall and drew his pistol.

He shoved the barrel into the small of Boze’s back. Hard.

Then Slocum placed his mouth next to Boze’s ear and whispered into it very softly.

“You yell out or make any sound, Boze, and I’ll blow a hole through your guts big enough to fill a hog trough.”

Boze stiffened, but said nothing.

“Now, I’ve got one question for you, Boze,” Slocum breathed. “Do you want to live or die? Just nod or shake your head. Nod for yes. Shake for no. Real slow.”

Boze nodded that he wanted to live.

Slocum slid his hand down to Boze’s pistol and lifted it out of its holster.

He tucked the pistol into his waistband.

“Now, you step out. Walk natural toward that other man, the one you called Hack. Don’t say anything unless he calls out to you and then be very careful what you say.”

Boze opened his mouth as if to reply, but said nothing.

Slocum pushed hard on his pistol. Boze stepped into the street. He headed for where Hack waited on guard. Slocum hung tight to Boze’s back and matched him step for step.

Hack called out in a loud whisper, “Boze, what’s up?”

“Don’t answer him,” Slocum said.

Boze walked on with Slocum right behind him like a Siamese twin.

“Something wrong, Boze?” Hack said, his voice rising in pitch.

Slocum jammed the barrel of his pistol hard into Boze’s back.

“Say, ‘Nope,’” Slocum whispered.

“Nope,” Boze called out.

“You ain’t supposed to leave your post, Boze.”

When Boze was a few feet from Hack, Slocum jerked his pistol from Boze’s back and smashed the butt of it into the back of the gunman’s head.

Boze dropped like a sack of meal. He was knocked cold.

Hack took a step toward Boze, and Slocum closed the distance.

“What the hell?” Hack said.

“You make one move toward that hogleg, Hack, and you’re a dead man.”

Hack backed up a step. His hands came up to show that they were empty.

“Slocum?” he said as the tall man in black rammed the barrel of his pistol into Hack’s gut.

“None other,” Slocum said in a low voice.

“Jesus, don’t shoot me,” Hack said.

Slocum thumbed back the hammer so that Hack could hear the click.

Hack stiffened into a stone statue, his arms making a trident with his head in the middle.

“I’ll give you the same choice as I gave Boze, Hack,” Slocum said. “And I’m not Jesus.”

“Yes, sir. Ask away.”

“Do you want to live or die?”

Hack did not answer right away. His mouth opened but no sound came out.

Slocum pushed on the pistol. Hack’s belly shrank two inches above his belt.

“Be quick, Hack,” Slocum said. “This Colt has a hair trigger.”

“Live,” Hack blurted out. “I want to live.”

“All right,” Slocum said. He did not lessen the pressure of the barrel in Hack’s midsection.

“Is—is Boze dead?” Hack asked.

“Not yet. His life and yours depend on what you say next. I want you to tell me where all the others who work for Canby are watching for me.”

“I—I ain’t sure.”

“You’ve got three seconds,” Slocum said. “My finger is starting to itch on the trigger.”

“There’s two others up at the start of Main Street. Them’s all the ones I know about.”

“Names?” Slocum said.

“Earl Cassaway and Roddie Nehring, I think.”

“Those the two men I saw outside the hotel this morning?”

“I reckon. They said you was there with Obie and them gals.”

“Where are those two gals?” Slocum asked.

“Uh, I think they’re at the saloon. The Wild Horse.”

“Where’s Canby?”

“I don’t know. Likely in the hotel, I reckon.”

“Anybody staked out along Main Street?” Slocum asked.

Hack shook his head.

“Naw, I don’t think so. Maybe some Mexes are lookin’ around for you and Hornaday, but I don’t know where they are.”

“All right, Hack,” Slocum said, “you and I are going to walk right up Main Street. Like we were friends or partners. You even twitch and you’re dead meat.”

“I’ll do whatever you say, Slocum.”

“That’s Mr. Slocum to you, Hack.”

“Yes, Mr. Slocum.”

Slocum reached down and snatched Hack’s pistol from his holster. He shoved it next to Boze’s.

“Now we walk, Hack,” Slocum said. “Real slow. When we get to where Cassaway and Nehring are, you call them out.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Slocum.”

Slocum looked at Hack in disgust. He and Boze were both cut from the same bolt of cloth.

Both were cowards. Backshooters. They were brave enough when the odds were in their favor or they had the jump on a man, but when they faced the black hole of a Colt .45, their insides turned to jelly.

“Real slow, Hack. Like you were out for a stroll.”

He shoved Hack toward Main Street. Hack walked slightly ahead of him.

Slocum rammed the barrel of his pistol into Hack’s side.

Slocum looked on both sides of the street, waited for anyone to challenge them.

He hoped Boze would sleep a long time. He had hit him pretty hard and heard the crack of bone when the butt of his pistol struck Boze’s skull.

They passed the boardinghouse then the saloon, with the lamps burning inside, the sounds of trumpets, guitars, and drums wafting onto the street. Through the windows, Slocum could see that it was crowded. He saw young glitter girls walking between tables carrying trays.

The hotel was quiet with lamps burning in the lobby and in some of the windows on the second and third floors. He saw no faces in the windows.

So far, he thought, so good.

The street was dark the rest of the way.

Stars peppered the black sky with glints of winking silver, but the moon was nowhere in sight.

“Just tell me where those two men are before we get there,” Slocum told Hack in a low voice.

“Pretty close now, I think,” Hack said.

“Just tell me where you think they are,” Slocum said.

“There’s a gatehouse off to the left,” Hack whispered. “Ain’t used no more, but—”

“Never mind the history,” Slocum said. “Is one of the men in there?”

“Probably,” Hack said.

“And the other man?”

“On the right is a little
tienda
. Roddie might be standin’ somewhere around that store.”

“We’ll see,” Slocum said. “When I say stop, you stop.”

Hack nodded.

They walked to the end of the street.

“Hey, who the hell’s out there?” a voice called from the deep shadows of the abandoned gatehouse.

“Tell him you’re here,” Slocum said.

“Cass, it’s me, Hack.”

“Stop,” Slocum said. He eased the hammer of his pistol down to half cock, holding the trigger in slightly so that the mechanism would not make a sound.

Both men stopped.

“Who’s that with you, Hack? Boze?”