Slocum and the Glitter Girls at Gravel Gulch (9781101619513) (6 page)

“I don’t know if he does or not. He’s not much of a man, just a fat little cockroach who picks up Canby’s crumbs.”

“What about the jail guard? Do you know anything about him?”

“The night guard is a hardcase named Willie Fordyce. He goes off around this time of day and a man named Steve Beck takes his place. Beck is in his fifties, at least, carries a double-barreled shotgun, and sits on a wooden bench all day. He moves the bench around the jail so he can sit in the shade.”

“So he’s not always out front?” Slocum said.

“No. Sometimes he’s on the side of the building, or in the back. It’s a small cabin. He could hear if anyone tried to break down the door or if a prisoner was trying to escape.”

Slocum looked outside one of the front windows. The sun was rising in the east so he figured the guard would have his bench on the west side of the jail by the time the sun streamed down the valley, which lay in an east-west direction.

“What do I do with Hornaday if I can get him out? And does Beck have a key to the jail?”

“I don’t know,” Laurie said. “Probably not. There’s a big lock on the door. But it looks old. I glance at it every time I pass by.”

“So maybe a crowbar could break that lock,” Slocum said.

“It looks old and rusty.”

“The sun will be up high pretty soon. If I get Hornaday out, what do I do with him? Canby’s men will be hunting him. And me, too, most likely.”

“He’ll probably want to go to his own cabin not far from here,” Laurie said. “But that would not be wise.”

“You can’t put him up here?”

“No. There’s just barely room enough for Harve and me. And Harve wouldn’t like to attract attention to himself. He thinks he’s found a vein in his mine, and once he does, he’ll be a Canby target himself.”

“This is complicated,” Slocum said.

Laurie finished her coffee and leaned back against the divan. She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them wide.

“There’s an old abandoned mine way down at the end of the valley. Some men used to stay there until they were able to haul in timber to build their cabins. Harvey showed it to me. It had a home-made cot and some wooden boxes. Wallace could hide out there. I could bring him food. The mine is deep and he could have a fire at night, cook coffee or boil eggs in the mornings. There are all kinds of utensils there, and a place for the smoke to go and not be seen. Nobody goes there anymore now that we have a hotel and a boardinghouse in town.”

“You’d have to take me there once I get Hornaday out. If I get him out.”

“Oh, John, could you? Would you?”

He stood up. He towered over the woman on the divan and she looked up at him with the eyes of a child.

“If I get Hornaday out, I’ll bring him here and you can show me that old mine.”

“Wallace knows about it. He can take you there. It’s a long walk and you’d have to be careful. Canby’s eyes are everywhere.”

“Where is the jail exactly?” he asked.

“Why, it’s behind the stables. On the next small street. You can’t miss it.”

“When people tell me I can’t miss a place, it’s usually a bad direction.”

Laurie laughed.

“You’ll find it,” she said.

Laurie stood up and stepped close to Slocum. She put her arms around his waist and hugged him.

“I wish you good luck,” she said. “And when you get Wallace settled, come back here and I’ll have a box of food we can take down there tonight.”

He touched the brim of his hat.

“Wish me luck,” he said, her perfumed scent still lingering in his nostrils. She was soft and smooth against his body, as supple as a willow branch. She stirred something deep inside him, and he knew right then that he would surely return, whether he was successful in freeing Hornaday or not.

“Don’t hold your breath,” he said as he walked outside and headed toward town.

She stood in the doorway, and when he looked back, she dangled a sad wave at him. He waved back and stirred the dust with his boots, his mind racing on how to break out a prisoner who was due for a hanging that very afternoon.

He was taking a big chance, he knew, but he had already decided that he would do anything for the beautiful Laurie Taylor.

Deadfall was still half asleep as Slocum walked back toward the livery stable. He saw a few people opening storefronts and sweeping the ever-present red dust away from their establishments. He heard the ring of a pick down the valley and saw men leading burros down one of the creeks, while other men flashed their pans in the light of the rising sun and prepared to tackle the back-breaking task of panning for gold in the shining waters.

He turned at the corner where the livery stable was and walked to the next street.

It was small and narrow, but he saw the tiny cabin that served as the town jail.

The old sway-backed horse was still at the hitchrail outside the stables, its head drooped down low to the ground and standing hipshot as if it was sound asleep. Slocum’s stomach swirled with pity and anger. As Slocum turned down the back street, he caught a glimpse of Johnny Crowell at the back doors. That reminded him that he must retrieve his rifle, shotgun, and saddlebags before he
checked in at the hotel and got a room for the night. He saw no sign of Obie or his wagon until he saw the wagon parked down the back street minus the team and Obie.

He smelled the strong odor of Mexican food cooking at one of the cafés on the back street. Refried beans and chorizos made his stomach churn once again with hunger.

The cabin that served as a jail was set back from the street and he saw the man he took to be Steve Beck moving his crude wooden bench to the west side of the structure. The man had left his shotgun leaning against the wall next to the front door and was dragging the bench around to the side.

Slocum crossed the street at a slow, but steady pace. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Johnny forking hay from a rick onto a wooden wheelbarrow. Johnny didn’t notice him. Behind the corral, the fence was solid, fashioned of two-by-twelve boards. And there were no other nearby buildings with back windows.

He heard the scrape of the bench on the ground as Beck dragged it into the shade.

As Slocum reached the shotgun and leaned over slightly to snatch it up, he heard the bench bang against the sidewall of the jail.

The sun was rising in the east, buttering the narrow street with yellow light.

Beck turned around after setting his bench in position.

He jumped back a half foot when he saw the tall man in the black outfit come around the corner carrying his shotgun.

“What the…” Beck uttered.

Slocum smiled at him.

“Have a seat, Mr. Beck,” Slocum said.

“What are you doin’ with my scattergun, mister?” Beck asked.

“Sit down,” Slocum ordered.

He moved close to Beck, the shotgun held slantwise in both hands.

Beck backed up and slowly lowered himself to the bench.

Slocum stood square before him, looking him up and down.

Beck was a small man with a slight paunch that ballooned over his belt buckle. His hair was thinning with streaks of gray and appeared to be plastered down with pomade under his battered felt hat, which was stained with various unknown substances. He sported a scraggly mustache that was as gray as his pale blue eyes, and the eyes were rheumy, as if stung by cigarette smoke. His lips were chapped and cracked, and he appeared to be missing some important teeth when he opened his mouth in a surprised gape.

“Don’t say anything, Mr. Beck,” Slocum said. “Just listen.”

“Mmmff,” Beck said as he stared into the green eyes of the tall stranger.

Slocum leaned over so that his face was inches from that of Beck’s.

Then he reached down and slipped the guard’s pistol from its holster. He stuck the .36-caliber LeMat in his belt.

“Peashooter,” he said to Beck.

Beck opened his mouth as if to say something, but Slocum pressed a finger against his lips to warn him not to speak.

“Now, Mr. Beck, do you have a key to that lock on the jail door? Just say ‘yes’ or ‘no.’”

“Y-Yes,” Beck said.

“I’ll have that key, Mr. Beck.”

Beck reached into a pocket of his pants and withdrew a large skeleton key. He handed it to Slocum.

Slocum took the key and stepped away from Beck.

“I have another question for you, Mr. Beck.”

Beck seemed to be shivering. His body shook and his eyes glazed over with a film of fresh tears. He nodded in silence.

“Do you know the man who’s in this jail? Hornaday? Keep your voice low when you answer.”

Beck nodded. “Yes. I know him. He’s a prospector. Stole a horse.”

“Do you really think Hornaday stole that nag that’s tied up in front of the livery? Think hard before you answer, Mr. Beck.”

“It don’t seem likely. I mean Wallace and Devlin sure didn’t need to steal a horse, much less that one.”

“So do you know they’re going to hang Wallace Hornaday today?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Do you have a conscience, Mr. Beck?”

Slocum’s words were crisp and sharp, as if they had been carved out of hickory.

“I reckon,” Beck said.

“Do you care that an innocent man was hanged last night and another is due to go to the gallows today?”

“Nothin’ I can do about it,” Beck said.

“Well, you are going to do something about it, Mr. Beck. Like it or not.”

“What’s that?” Beck asked.

“You’re going to take Wallace’s place in that jail cell and wait for the hangman.”

“No, I ain’t,” Beck said.

“Get up,” Slocum ordered.

“They’ll…” Beck started to say, then clamped his mouth shut before he could finish the sentence.

“They won’t hang you in Hornaday’s stead, Mr. Beck,” Slocum said as Beck rose to his feet.

“They’ll sure as hell beat me up, thrash me to within an inch of my life.”

“I doubt that, Mr. Beck. But I’m locking you in that jail because I didn’t want to lay you out with a shotgun butt. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You don’t know the men who want to hang Wallace. They don’t give a damn who they hurt. Me included.”

“Just tell them you were outgunned and caught by surprise, Mr. Beck. And”—Slocum paused as he stared into Beck’s eyes—“tell them you were overpowered by a man named Slocum.”

“You want them to know who you are?”

“I know who they are, Mr. Beck. They might as well know my name.”

“They’ll kill you for certain sure, Slocum. You don’t know these men. Canby especially. They don’t have consciences.”

“I’m counting on it, Mr. Beck. Let them come after me.”

“You want to get killed?”

Slocum laughed a short harsh laugh.

“Not particularly,” he said.

He marched Beck to the front of the jail and opened the lock with the key. He swung the door open.

A small man with a wizened face blinked as the light struck him in the eyes.

“Wallace?” Slocum said.

“Yeah. You the hangman?” Hornaday said.

“No,” Slocum said. “You come out. Mr. Beck is going in to take your place.”

“What?” Hornaday said.

“Move,” Slocum said, and shoved Beck through the door. Hornaday stepped aside, then walked toward Slocum.

“Who in hell are you?” Hornaday said as he shielded his eyes from the sun.

“Come with me, Wallace, and just act natural. Keep your mouth shut.”

“You goin’ to kill me?” Hornaday said.

He was thin and wiry, his face burnished brown by the sun as were his hands and wrists. He wore a faded blue shirt and worn-out duck pants stuffed into work boots. He had traces of blood on his clothing where the rats had bitten him during the night. He looked a wreck, Slocum thought.

“You won’t get away with this, Slocum,” Beck said, but he shrank back into the cell and cowered there in the dim light.

“If you holler, Mr. Beck, I might just spray you with shot from this scattergun. Just sit down and stay quiet.”

Slocum closed the door to the jail and slipped the lock back in place, closed it with a snap.

Beck let out a low moan as the lock clicked shut.

Slocum unloaded the shotgun, cracking it open and ejecting two shells. He also emptied the .36 and took both around to the side of the jail and placed them beneath the bench.

“Come with me, Hornaday,” Slocum said, and started to walk around to the stables.

“Where we goin’?” he asked.

“Someplace where you’ll be safe,” Slocum said.

“Ain’t no safe place for me in Deadfall,” Hornaday said.

“I know. Just trust me for now,” Slocum said.

“Hell, I think you just saved me from getting my neck stretched.”

They reached Main Street and Slocum stopped, held Hornaday back with an outstretched arm. Then he stepped out and pointed to the gray horse in front of the livery.

“Did you steal that horse yonder, Wallace?” Slocum asked.

“Hell no. I never stole nothin’. Neither did Harlan, and I see him hangin’ from that gallows up the street.”

“That’s what they were going to do to you,” Slocum said.

Hornaday rubbed his neck.

“I know,” he said, his voice tight in his throat.

“Just walk with me, Hornaday,” Slocum said. “Like we were both going someplace with a purpose.”

“Where are we going?” Wallace asked again.

Slocum didn’t answer. He felt the heat of the sun on his back and knew that the town was stirring. He did not look back, but walked in long steady strides with Hornaday at his side, as if they were two men going to work somewhere down the long valley.

When they were clear of the town, Slocum headed toward Laurie and Harvey’s cabin, where the shadows were still long from the high bluffs that glowed red and pink under the crown of the buttes.

“Why, that’s Harve’s cabin over yonder,” Wallace said as they neared the log hut.

“You do have a friend or two here in Deadfall,” Slocum said.

“Mister, I don’t know who you are or where in hell you came from, but I’m mighty grateful to be out of that jail.”

“If you do what you’re told from here on out,” Slocum said, “you’ll likely live to a ripe old age.”

“You a friend of Harve’s?” Hornaday asked.