Slocum and the Spirit Bear (9781101618790) (2 page)

2

Ed's hands were trembling. “I could definitely use a drink. But . . . shouldn't we wait here for the law or whoever will clean this up?”

“I reckon someone will find us before we get to the River Wheel.”

Now that they were walking down the street, Ed could see the River Wheel Saloon up past the next corner. He'd only been to Saint Joseph twice before, which wasn't enough for him to be familiar with the place. All he knew was the way out of town, but something kept him from taking that very attractive prospect just yet. “I ought to buy you that drink.”

“Yes,” Slocum replied with a wry smirk, “you should.”

They were halfway to the corner when Ed asked, “So you were out looking for that Vaccaro fella?”

“Nope.”

“Then you knew there could be trouble?”

“Not as such.”

Ed kept staring at Slocum, which did nothing to elicit a response. “So what were you doing at that spot at that particular time?”

“I was headed to the general store for some coffee,” Slocum said. “Tomorrow I'm riding out. Speaking of which . . .”

“Yes?” Ed chirped as he watched a man walk straight for them with purpose in his strides.

“I still need coffee.”

“Mr. Slocum,” the purposeful man said. He wore a dusty Stetson and a rumpled yellow shirt beneath a wool-lined jacket. His wide face bore a smile that was as short on humor as it was on patience. “I heard shots. Am I wrong in thinking you were in the vicinity when they were fired?”

Slocum stopped and hooked his thumbs over his gun belt. “I was there, Sheriff. Vaccaro meant to kill me.”

“What happened?”

“I killed him first.”

The man in the Stetson turned to face Ed. He placed his hands upon his hips so as to display the star pinned to his shirt pocket as well as the gun strapped around his waist. “And who might you be?”

“Ed Warren, sir. I came by to visit a friend of mine from way back.”

“You know Mr. Slocum here?”

“Only just got introduced,” Ed said while lifting his chin. “He saved my life.”

“Yeah, well, don't let that color your expectations,” the sheriff said. “Most folks who spend too much time around him just get shot.”

Slocum took that barb in good humor. “I'm sure you don't mind the occasional shot being fired around here,” he said. “Especially since it means someone else is doing your job for you.”

The big lawman nodded. “Speaking of my job, I've got some business to tend to right now. I believe you owe me some money.”

That brought an end to Slocum's good humor. “What for?”

“The disturbance just now. Seems there's a dead body that wasn't there before.”

“I told you Vaccaro meant to kill me,” Slocum said.

“And I believe you, which is why I'm not hauling you away right now. Instead, I'm fining you for disturbance of the peace and for taking the law into your own hands. Also, after your last confrontation with Mr. Vaccaro, I recall asking you to hand in your weapon and not fire another one within town limits.”

“How much is the fine?”

After milking the next few moments by scratching his chin thoughtfully, the lawman told him, “Two hundred sounds about right.”

“I don't have that much.”

“Then perhaps there's still a cage in your future,” the sheriff said, punctuating his statement with a sharp jab of his finger against Slocum's chest.

Slocum stared directly into the sheriff's eyes. His body tensed in a way that made the air crackle like a storm that was less than a minute away from spilling rain onto the town. Ed could feel more violence approaching and didn't have the first idea of what to do about it. Before he was forced to run or pick sides, Slocum defused the situation by reaching into his pocket and pulling out a slim wad of bills. “This is all I have,” he said.

The sheriff snatched the money away from him as if he was expecting repercussions. All he got was a look from Slocum that could have peeled the paint off the side of a barn. “I only count seventy-five dollars here.”

“Take it,” Slocum growled.

“You know I will.” Good to his word, the lawman pocketed the money and stepped up so he was close enough to butt heads with Slocum. He leaned in and stopped just shy of knocking his hat against the other man's forehead. “Next time there's a problem in town, you find me. And the next time you decide to leave another body on one of my streets, you should bring enough to pay the piper. Hand over that gun next time you pass my office.”

“You're the piper, huh?” Slocum chuckled. “I suppose you spout more than enough wind to fit that bill.”

The sheriff continued to nod as he walked away. The moment he saw he was being watched by a group of locals, he raised both hands and strolled toward the building behind which Vaccaro's body was lying. “Everyone just take it easy! I'm sorting this mess out right now. Go about your business, folks!”

Slocum furrowed his brow and let out a breath that appeared as steam curling from between his lips. “Think I'll need two drinks.”

“They're both on me, friend,” Ed was quick to say.

“They'd better be. What money I got stashed in my boots is hardly enough to see me through a day or two. If that pig found out I had that much, he'd scrounge for it himself.”

“I thought he would take your gun,” Ed said.

“Nah. Then he wouldn't have an excuse to fine me again later.”

When the two of them got to the River Wheel Saloon, Ed tied his horse to a post outside and followed Slocum into a room that was somehow warm and inviting despite the fact that it stank of stale cigar smoke and spilled beer. Slocum approached the bar, slapped his hand against it, and asked for a bottle of whiskey with a pair of glasses. Once Ed came up beside him, Slocum pushed one of the glasses over to him and said, “I don't expect you to buy the whole bottle. Just chip in for your share.”

“I will buy the bottle,” Ed said loudly enough for the barkeep to hear. “I'll need it to keep me warm for the ride back to Nebraska.”

“Cold time of year for that trip,” Slocum mused. “Much easier during the spring.”

“We headed out months ago, but were delayed by a bad bit of luck involving those robbers I mentioned earlier.”

Slocum tipped his glass back and allowed the firewater to run its course through his body. “That's right. You did mention it.”

“We tried to get going sooner, since it became clear that the longer we waited, the poorer we'd become.”

“That's usually how it works.”

“Yes sir, it is,” Ed sighed. He took his drink and winced slightly at the burn that started at the back of his throat and became a more bearable heat as it trickled down. “Sounds like you've had a recent spot of trouble yourself, Mr. Slocum.”

“Might as well call me John. And yeah. There was some trouble. Nothing that a lawman who works to earn his pay couldn't fix.” Slocum was sure to say that last part loudly enough for his words to carry throughout the saloon. Most of the folks in there either raised their glasses or had better things to do than grouse about the local civil servants. Lowering his voice to a more sociable level, Slocum said, “There was a dispute over a gambling debt.”

“What . . . uh . . . what kind of dispute?”

“Some asshole swore two pair beat three of a kind and he thought he could prove it with a knife.”

“What did you do?”

“Waited until I was sure he meant business and shot him. Last time he ever gets confused about the pecking order in poker hands. He was a loud son of a bitch anyway. Would've jumped me soon as I left that table with my winnings. Vaccaro and a few others tried that very thing and I shot most of them, too. Messy affair, but not my fault. That sheriff warned me to get out of town. Called me a troublemaker. Can you believe that?”

“Yes,” Ed replied. “I can believe it.”

Slocum looked over at him with newfound respect. He then slapped him on the back and laughed wholeheartedly. “You got a good head on your shoulders, Ed. I like that.”

“Great! Then maybe you wouldn't mind riding with me and my wagons out to Colorado?”

Frozen with a glass to his lips, Slocum eased it back down to the bar and reached for the bottle. “Why would I want to do that? Hell, for that matter, why would
you
want me to do that?”

“Because we could use a man to ride with us for protection. We're headed through Indian territory.”

“You'd be dealing with the Pawnee and Cheyenne, most likely. Stick to the trail, mind your manners, and you'll most likely be all right. Or are you more worried about another robber gang looking to finish the job the first one started?”

“They're all concerns.” Pushing away the glass containing the last bit of his whiskey, Ed said, “We're five wagons and nine good people. Ten if you count me. Three are children, three are women, and one is an old man who does the cooking. Apart from me, only one of us is any good with a rifle. We've already been hit hard once, John. Can't afford to be hit again.”

“Then maybe you should consider turning around and going back to where you come from.”

“We struck out from Illinois hailing from as far east as Boston. We've all come too far to just head back now.”

“Then have your wagons sit tight where they are. There are plenty of folks who make camp for a season or two while scraping together some money to push on. I'd say that's your best prospect. Especially,” Slocum added, “since it seems this journey of yours is something close to cursed as it is.”

“Are you trying to discourage me?” Ed asked.

“Yeah. I am. And if you think about the trials and losses you've already told me about, you'd probably agree with my reasoning.”

Ed shook his head solemnly. “All them good people I told you about threw in with me for a reason. I swore to get them to Colorado and that's what I intend to do.”

“I'm sure they'd rather have you make some changes to that plan before more of them were killed.”

That struck a nerve within Ed. It was as plain to see as the twitch on his face and the tension in his hand as he nearly drove his fingers through the bar. Finally, he picked up his glass so he could finish the last sip of whiskey. “If we turn back, all our sacrifice would be for nothing. Also, we'd probably just be going straight into the sights of the same men that burned our wagons in the first place.”

“Didn't the law round them up?”

“Mostly. The ones that got away surely reached out to some friends of their own. If murderous animals like that truly have friends.”

Slocum let out a slow breath and gazed straight across at a row of dusty bottles on the shelf behind the bar. “Men like that always got friends,” he said. “Animals tend to run in packs.”

“Even if we were heading back, we'd still need someone to watch out for us. Seeing as how we all sold everything we owned for a better chance in the Rockies, turning back just doesn't make much sense.”

“The Rockies, huh? Making your way through the mountains can be a whole lot rougher than crossing a prairie.”

“I know that,” Ed snapped. “I ain't stupid. None of us are. We're a group of investors who pitched in to buy the rights to a whole mess of mining claims that were put up for sale through a broker friend of mine. He's the same fellow I know here in town. And since I cashed in what little credit and favors I had with him, me and everyone else in that wagon train are in this up to our ears. There's no road back, and even if there was, we wouldn't take it.”

Slocum leaned an elbow against the bar. “Sounds to me like you and the rest of your bunch are in up to this higher than your ears. Maybe higher than you can manage.”

“Maybe so,” Ed admitted. “That's why I'm asking for your help. We can pay you.”

“I thought you were a group of impoverished pioneers. How do you intend on paying me?”

“We've still got funds for the rest of the journey. Before we started looking for another gun arm, we agreed on what we'd pay such a man should he agree to join up with us. I'm sure I don't need to tell you what sort of opportunities there are for any man in a land as rich as Colorado. Or . . . perhaps I do.”

“No, I've heard the sales pitch a few times,” Slocum replied. “Even been out that way myself a time or two.”

Lowering his voice, Ed continued, “Part of your fee would be shares in a few of those mines I mentioned.”

“I'm no miner.”

“There's already been gold discovered in all of these claims. It's not a lot, which is why they're being sold. The broker who collected the deeds doesn't have the funds or compunction to head out there to work the mines himself, but they're genuine enough.”

“And how do you know that? This supposed friend told you so? A man your age should know better than to believe what anyone tells you where distant gold claims are concerned. That's one of the oldest tricks in the book, especially when the ones being duped won't find out they've been had until they're hundreds of miles away with no means to get back.”

Those words hit Ed like a punch to the stomach, and he poured another drink to cushion the blow. Before he could lift the glass, it was held down against the bar.

“Answer me something, Ed,” Slocum said while keeping the other man from having his drink. “How many people did you say are on this wagon train of yours?”

Without blinking, Ed replied, “Ten including me.”

“And where are they now?”

“Headed into Nebraska. We were to take a trail leading from Omaha all the way into Colorado. Long as the man I left in charge follows the plan, he'll start heading southwest just east of Lincoln. Once they do, they're to set up camp and wait for me to catch up to them.”

Slocum's eyes bored into Ed like a pair of drills. His hand lifted away, freeing Ed to have his whiskey. “I make it a general rule to never trust someone full of promises of gold and job offers.”