Slocum and the Hellfire Harem (9781101613382) (19 page)

In the middle of the room, Ruth stood, looking frightened and angry at the same time, tied tightly but sloppily with rope crisscrossing her body, her nightgown cinched tight to her body, her breasts painfully lashed with ropes. The top of her nightgown had been torn, so that one bare shoulder was revealed. Her face bore purple and yellow bruises, but Slocum assumed her father had done that to her. They were too old-looking to have come from Mueller.

Then she met Slocum's eyes with a hard gaze that cut to the knot of children then back to him, and told him all he suspected: Do whatever you have to, she seemed to be saying, but don't let him harm the children.

Mueller had a pistol rammed against the side of Ruth's head. His arm was tight around her neck, a scaly elbow poking through a hole in the red shirt. He peeked around her face, and as if to emphasize his position of superiority in the situation, he jerked his arm tight, causing her to gag. He smiled while he did it, jamming the barrel tip of his pistol harder against her temple.

“All right, Mueller.” Slocum stepped into the room, hands high. “Beating up a house full of old people and women and children doesn't exactly make you a tough hombre in my book. You want me, you got me. Leave these people alone and let's settle this thing outdoors, just the two of us. You want me dead and I want you dead. Let's end it now.”

“Not another step, Slocum!” Even as he said it, Tunk stepped backward one step closer to the window. The killer's nostrils flexed with his hard breathing. Slocum saw loose strands of Ruth's hair caught in the man's mouth, others moved with his breath. Mueller's eyes were tinged with a whole lot more crazy than Old Man Tinker's had been.

Slocum looked into Ruth's eyes, then glanced hard at the window, back to her, then to the window. She blinked slowly once. It was now or never. Slocum had to get the pistol away from Ruth's head as he moved forward, but there wasn't a damn thing he could do. Ruth had to do it all, and as Slocum ducked and drove forward, reaching to push away the pistol, Ruth jerked her head forward and drove backward with her entire body.

At the same time, Slocum moved in close, slashed downward, and knocked Tunk's gun hand down and away. The killer didn't drop his gun, but it didn't matter. Once Ruth set him moving toward the window, the old woman flopped flat on her back and Tunk stepped right on her, lost his footing, and Ruth kept pushing, even as Slocum snatched at her, grabbing the ropes and a handful of nightgown. It tore but he held on and Tunk Mueller kept going, folding up and collapsing through the window.

Slocum pushed Ruth down onto a ravaged straw mattress and tore out of the room, snatching up his Colt and rifle on the run. He hit the door casing hard and used the little back porch to propel himself toward the corner of the house, keeping low. As he ran straight out and angled past the corner of the house, cocking his guns, he had expected to see a stunned Tunk Mueller lying on his back on the ground.

But the only thing he saw was a mess of glass and wood. He advanced and kept his gaze locked on the front corner of the house. He glanced down quickly once and saw the unmistakable spatter of blood. Mueller was bleeding, and from the look of the trail of it, he'd taken a lot of glass to the back.

Slocum, back tight to the house, advanced to the front corner. He peeked around once and was rewarded with a bullet nicking the wood a foot above his head.

Mueller was not too cut up to shoot. Slocum looked at the ground again. But the man was definitely cut up. He bent low and risked another peek, saw Mueller stumbling for the barn. “Oh no you don't, you son of a bitch,” Slocum swore as he ran, then pulled up.

“Mueller! I got you dead to rights! Drop that pistol and turn around now!”

Tunk was halfway to the barn. He stopped, raised his arms, his pistol still held in one bleeding hand. Slocum advanced slowly, holstered his Colt, and kept the rifle trained on the red shirt, now sodden with blood and jagged hunks of glass poking from it. The back of the man's head was matted with blood.

“I said, drop that gun and turn around! Now!”

Mueller's head leaned to one side. Slocum recognized that cocky pose and wanted to just shoot the man and be done with it. But he'd made a habit of not shooting people in the back, and he wasn't about to let a murderer like Mueller break that trend.

Tunk started to turn, still holding the pistol. Slocum knew that meant the killer was going to force the play. “Fine by me,” muttered Slocum, angling sideways. And then he saw movement from the barn, beyond Mueller. Judith stepped out, hands by her sides.

“You bastard!” she shouted.

Slocum barked, “Judith, no! Get out of there!”

Mueller faced her. “Who in the hell are you?” He cocked the pistol, and before Slocum could get off a shot, he heard two shots almost on top of each other. As the smoke cleared, he saw Mueller still standing, but weaving, his back considerably more bloody and ragged than it had been seconds before. Beyond him, Judith stood, her six-guns in her hands, curls of smoke rising from the barrels. “For the twins,” she said, and holstered her guns.

Mueller looked down at his gut, said, “You little bitch . . .” As he raised his pistol again, Slocum cored his head with a rifle shot. Tunk Mueller pitched forward, facedown in the dirt.

For a moment, no one moved. Then Slocum walked toward Judith. “What the hell were you thinking? He could have killed you.”

She did not smile. “I don't think so, Mr. Slocum. I told you I knew how to use them.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I guess you do at that.” He looked past her at the barn. He hated to ask, but he had to know. “The twins?”

Her face sagged into grief and she shook her head. “I gave him one for each of them. What he did to them . . . it ain't right. I should have been there, could have helped them.”

He held her shoulders. “No, Judith. If you had been here, he would have . . .”

She leaned into him and wept, and all he could do was hold her and let her cry.

30

“Think you'll be back this way anytime soon?” Ruth stood by the Appaloosa, stroking its neck, not looking at Slocum. He touched her chin and she looked up at him, trying to smile.

“There will be at least one bounty on him, maybe two.” He nodded toward the canvas-and-rope-wrapped body draped and tied over the mule. “I'll leave him and your mule in Slaterville and make sure that the reward money gets to you. It will be enough to get you to California and begin a life there besides.”

“You could bring it yourself.” Ruth's eyes widened.

“I could . . . but I have someplace to go, some friends I want to visit. A ranching couple and their foreman. I wasn't able to say good-bye properly before I left, and I feel badly about that.”

She lowered her head, nodded. “Thank you for leaving that fine horse for Judith.” She looked toward the front gate, where Judith stood, staring southward, her back to them. “She will have need of a good horse. Something to carry her to places none of us may ever see.”

“Judith will get there. This is only an interruption. You all are strong women. You'll get to where you want to be. I can tell.” He raised Ruth's face again and kissed her lightly. “Are you sure you'll be okay? I can bury Mueller here and stay on awhile, help you get righted around.”

She squared her shoulders and smiled at him. “Don't you worry your pretty head over us, Mr. Slocum. We are, as you say, strong women and made of tough stuff. And besides, every man I've ever met has brought nothing but trouble with him. Off with you.”

He kissed her again, hard this time. She kissed him back, then pushed him away. “Off, I said. Before I change my opinion of men . . . John.”

He walked the horse and mule to the front fence, the fence where so much had occurred, and stopped at the gate. Judith, looking fresh as a spring daisy, save for her red-rimmed eyes, stood waiting for him. About her waist rode her six-shooters, oiled and holstered.

She had never looked more like a child and a woman to him, all at once, than at that moment. Someday, Slocum thought, someday soon, Judith, you will make men weep and vow to the moon and the sun anything for you. If I were a younger man and wasn't always on the run, I'd be one of them.

“Mr. Slocum,” she said in a very businesslike tone, “I have given the matter much thought.” Her eyes locked with his, then looked down again. “And I will accompany you on your travels. It is only right. I am, after all, the one who shot this foul creature.” She nodded toward the dead bundle on the mule.

“Yes, you shot him, Judith.” Slocum tried not to smile. “But I believe it was my shot that killed him. Don't forget that. It is important. Shooting someone and taking their life are two different things, after all. And you are too young to have killed someone.”

And then she broke, as he'd hoped she would, and collapsed against him, much as she had done the day before. “I . . . I can't stay here, Mr. Slocum. I can't, I just can't.”

“Ruth needs you, Judith. Just for a time. She has a lot to figure out. Your parents are not well. Your mother will heal, in time. Your father, though, I fear, will not. He is addled and is losing ground. I don't say this to scare you, but you should know what you face.”

“I am not afraid of that. As long as Ruth and Mama and the children are all right, we will muddle through. I know that.” She looked up at him. “But I need to see the world, Mr. Slocum. I cannot stay here. Something inside me is telling me I have things to do, people to see, places to go. Isn't that how you feel? You said yourself those were things you needed to do.”

She looked so hopeful to him. He sighed. “I know, Judith. Believe me, I know. I don't suppose it will help you to hear that we all go through what you are feeling. Every blessed one of us.”

She looked up at him, her eyes welling. She shook her head, and he kissed her forehead and hugged her. “Just don't be in such a rush. There's plenty of time for happiness, once you find the right person.”

“What if I already found him?” She looked at him, searching, he knew, for some sign from him, for something he could not give her.

“Then you'll both know. Trust me, Judith. You'll both know it.”

He mounted up, urged the Appaloosa, leading the mule and the dead man, south to Slaterville. From there, he would ride southeast to Arizona, and the little graveyard on the knoll at the Rocking D. To visit some friends.

Watch for

SLOCUM AND THE SPIRIT BEAR

407
^th
novel in the exciting SLOCUM series from Jove

Coming in January!