Slocum and the Spirit Bear (9781101618790) (3 page)

“I'm no liar, Mr. Slocum.”

“Yeah. I can see as much. Either that, or you're a damn good one. Whichever it is, I don't have much business left to conduct here in town. In fact, as you've already seen, I've got one big fat reason wearing a star on his chest to put this place behind me and not look back.”

“Being on the law's bad side is a tough row to hoe,” Ed agreed. “Also, it sounds like you're short on funds after that gambling business and those fines that were levied.”

“I've been poor plenty of times and will be plenty more times again before it's all said and done. What really matters isn't the money or lack of it. The important thing for me is to keep from letting grass grow beneath my feet.”

“Even so,” Ed added with a chuckle, “money doesn't hurt.”

“No sir, it most certainly does not.” Slapping the bar like a judge rapping his gavel, Slocum asked, “So what's my fee without factoring in those mining claims?”

Ed couldn't help looking away when he said, “A hundred and fifty dollars. Maybe a little less depending on how long it takes to get across Nebraska. Of course you won't have to worry about food or shelter along the way. At least, the sort of food and shelter we can provide.”

“And with the claims?”

Brightening up considerably, Ed replied, “Some of those mines paid out fairly decently last year and that was before they were being worked properly. With me and some of the others working them, you won't have to wait long before you earn at least—”

“All right. I'm sold.”

“You . . . you are?”

Slocum nodded, examined what remained inside the whiskey bottle, and then stuffed the cork back into it. “I won't force you to speculate on how much you'll pull out of some mine. I've been meaning to get back to Leadville anyway, but the train tickets are no longer within my price range. Also, this here town has worn thin with me. When do we leave?”

“Tomorrow morning. Bright and early.”

3

Ed woke up before sunrise the next morning, eager to shake the dust of Saint Joseph from his boots. When he didn't find Slocum there to meet him at the spot they'd agreed upon before parting ways the previous night, he wondered if he'd been swindled for something as little as a bottle of whiskey. But Slocum arrived a few minutes later, somewhat worse for the wear.

“Forgot to mention,” he said as he rode up on the sloped back of a dark gray mare with light speckles in her coat, “I'm gonna need a new horse. That's part of my fee and I don't want it to come out of the rest of it.”

Narrowing his eyes, Ed asked, “Is this some sort of bonus . . . in advance of you doing anything to earn it?”

“You could think of it that way. Or you could consider it a show of good faith. Or . . . you could consider it a favor for the man who saved your life.”

“I suppose, when you put it that way, it seems like a fairly decent offer.”

“I thought so,” Slocum said. “There are some fine horses being sold down the street. Good prices, too.”

“You'll have your new horse once we meet up with the wagons,” Ed told him. “They're from hearty stock and are plenty strong enough to make it the rest of the way.”

“What about the ride into Nebraska? You think I can make it on this bag of bones?”

Ed walked over to Slocum's horse and began circling the animal while examining it from head to toe. Slocum sat impatiently in his saddle, biting his tongue until Ed was through. Finally, with a solid pat on the gray horse's rump, Ed declared, “This gal may be old, but she's got plenty of ride left in her. Enough to make it to where we're going anyway. Once we're there, I'll trade you for one of the horses in my own team.”

“No trade,” Slocum said. “I'll sell this horse off first chance I get after buckling my saddle over a better one.”

“Pitch in twenty-five percent of the sale to the travel fund and you've got a deal.”

“Ten percent.”

“Fifteen.”

Slocum pondered that for all of three seconds before extending his hand. “You got a deal, but only if the horse you're offering is worth it.”

Ed shook his hand. “You're coming out ahead in this deal, I promise you.”

“You're a hell of a trader,” Slocum said with a subtle nod. “Should do well when you get a business of your own.”

“I've had businesses of my own, Mr. Slocum. A few of them, in fact. They've all prospered. Once we get to Colorado, I'll be trading up for a business that's even more fruitful.”

“I imagine you will. And like I already told you . . . call me John.”

* * *

The ride from Saint Joseph wasn't a sociable one. Slocum and Ed rode hard from sunup to sundown, resting only when their horses needed it. By the time they made camp, neither man had enough steam to do more than have a sparse meal, stretch out their legs, and fall asleep. Apart from a few passing words, the only sounds to fill their ears were the thunder of hooves upon the cold ground and the rush of wind as they sped northward into Nebraska and then west toward Lincoln.

They met up with the others as the wagons plodded slowly along their appointed trail. As he drew closer to the wagon at the back of the group, Slocum became aware that he was staring down the wrong end of a rifle. His eyes were sharp enough to spot the firearm in the hands of a man on that wagon, but before he could voice his concerns, Ed motioned for him to ease back while he snapped his reins to charge forward.

“It's me, Josiah!” Ed hollered. “Put that rifle away!”

The voice that came back was harsh as gravel scraping against the bottom of a tin pan. “Who's that with ya?”

“This man will be riding with us!”

“You hired a gun?”

“Just put the rifle away!”

Even from a distance, Slocum could read the rifleman's hesitance as he lowered the rifle from his shoulder and eased back down into the driver's seat. After that, all he could see was the back of the wagon swaying to and fro as its wheels clattered over a bumpy stretch of trail. Slocum flicked his reins to coax some more speed from his horse. The poor old gal had started wheezing during the latter portion of the previous day's ride, and he knew she wouldn't be able to go much farther at anything quicker than a brisk walk. Fortunately, the wagons ground to a halt to meet both riders before Slocum's horse spat its last breath.

The man with the rifle stood up after setting his brake to prop one leg upon the edge of the seat and his rifle stock against his hip. He had a body that looked more like a set of bones wrapped in dusty clothes and a face that was covered in coarse stubble. Dark eyes were narrowed into slits from staring for too long down the sights of his Winchester. Easing a battered hat farther up along his head, he said, “Thought we gave up on hiring on a gunman.”

“This here is John Slocum,” Ed announced. “And he's no gunman.”

“If he ain't handy with a gun, then we don't need him.”

“Mind your manners and give him a proper welcome. John, this is Josiah Pincher.”

Slocum rode forward and shook a hand that felt more like a bird's talon. “Pleased to meet you,” he said. “And just put your mind at ease, I can handle a gun just fine.”

“But he's not just some gunfighter,” Ed was quick to point out. “He's a good man who saved my life in Saint Joseph. He'll do just fine to see to it that we all make it into Colorado.”

By now, several other faces were emerging from within some of the wagons or rising up over others like prairie dogs poking their noses up from their mounds. The last wagon was Josiah's and it looked to be stuffed full with blankets and large items like bureaus and tables. The next wagon in line rattled noisily even after it had come to a stop, thanks to the pots and pans hanging from a rack just inside the wooden frame. More rattling came from inside that wagon as other cooking implements were knocked against cups, plates, or any number of things put to use by the round-faced man who announced himself to be Franco, the cook. He sported an ample gut on a lanky frame as well as a beard that joined one sideburn to another like the strap of a nonexistent helmet.

More introductions came swiftly from there. The wagon in the middle of the group was occupied by a tall woman named Theresa Wilcox. She had black hair that fell in a wave of tight curls well past her shoulders. Her skin was smooth, pale, and as beautiful as her hesitant smile. She displayed no hesitation whatsoever when it came to wrangling the young boy who attempted to jump down from the wagon to get a closer look at Slocum. He was a skinny wisp of a lad with tousled brown hair and a set of wire-framed spectacles that made his eyes look even wider as he stared at the new arrival. “This is my son, James,” Theresa said.

The boy continued his attempts to climb down from the wagon, but was held in place by the back of his shirt like a puppy being restrained by the scruff of its neck. “Can I see your pistol?” he asked. “Is that a Colt? What caliber is that? Have you killed anyone? I want to kill someone someday!”

“James!” Theresa scolded. “None of that talk!”

Finally, the boy stopped trying to get away from his mother and instead nestled against her. “I meant I'd kill bad men, Momma.”

Theresa patted her son's head and shook hers at Slocum by way of an exasperated apology.

The next wagon was teeming with even more activity. Two children crawled inside, tugging at the tarp so they could alternate between peeking out through the back and hiding when Slocum's eyes came anywhere close to finding them. One was a girl with straw-colored hair and pale skin. Slocum couldn't see much more than that because she was doing most of the hiding. A young boy with thick, dark, curly hair and large eyes struggled to open the back of the wagon a little more, but was held back by the girl. A woman with a long face leaned over from the driver's seat to get a look at Slocum while a large man climbed down to approach him directly.

“If Ed speaks for you, that's good enough for me,” said the man, who was a few inches shorter than Slocum but several inches wider. His hat hung around his neck as if it was unsuited for the task of covering his large head, which, in turn, was covered by a thick mat of hair arranged in unruly curls that had most definitely been passed on to the boy in the wagon. “I'm Tom McCauley. That's my wife, Vera.”

The woman lifted herself up a bit so she could wave tentatively at Slocum. She had a cautious demeanor that made her look too weak to lift her hand more than a few inches over her head.

“Those two are my children,” Tom continued. “Elsie and Michael.”

“Hello,” both children said in almost perfect unison.

“Howdy,” Slocum replied.

By this time, Ed had already ridden up to the wagon at the front of the line. He swung down from his horse and displayed more spring in his step than he'd shown in the last several days when he raced around to catch the woman who practically jumped down to land in his arms. After the couple had exchanged a few words only they could hear, Ed escorted her over to Slocum. “This is my wife,” he said. “May.”

May had a light complexion that seemed even fairer due to the golden hair that was kept in place by a bonnet showing all the wear and tear one might expect while riding at the front of a wagon train through the harsh prairie winds. There was a strength about her that made it plain to see she didn't need to be escorted and protected as much as Ed insisted on doing for her, but allowed him to perform those services because she knew he liked doing so. “You're welcome to ride with us, Mr. Slocum,” she said. “But it looks like your horse might not be up to the task.”

“You made some progress in the last day or so,” Ed said. “More than I was expecting. I thought we would catch up to you twenty miles back.”

“Just because you dawdled about looking to hire on a gunman when we agreed we didn't need one after all,” Josiah grunted, “that don't mean we should sit around waiting for you to grace us with your presence again. For all we knew, you'd fallen from your saddle and broken yer neck.”

James gasped at that, but Theresa was there to rub his back and assure him that nobody was going to break their neck.

“No need to frighten the children with that kind of talk,” May scolded. “Ed was only a day late, but I'm sure there was a good reason for it.”

“The ride to Saint Joseph was a bit longer than I recalled,” Ed explained. “Also, there was some trouble while I was there.” Before either of the anxious little boys could press him for details, Ed quickly added, “But it wasn't anything that I couldn't handle, especially with the help of my new friend here.”

Feeling all eyes fixing upon him, Slocum busied himself by climbing down from the saddle and examining his horse.

“And to address what was said before,” Ed continued, “he is no gunman. John is capable enough to lend us the assistance we need and he's also got some business to tend to in Colorado. Fortune smiled by bringing us together like it did, so I made him the offer to ride with us and he accepted. I know we'd given up on trying to hire on someone for protection, but when fortune smiles, it ain't wise to ignore it.”

Noticing the sour expression on Josiah's face, Slocum said, “As far as my gun arm goes, it's strong enough to do the job you folks need done. I'm also no stranger to scouting, riding, or anything else you people could need. I guarantee you I'll earn my fee.”

“How much is that fee?” Josiah asked.

“That's business to be discussed later,” Ed told him.

“Better not be the same we talked about earlier,” the skinny rifleman said. “That was only if we all got to approve him.”

“Business for later, I said.”

Josiah sighed and locked eyes with Slocum. For a moment it looked like he might fire a shot at him from the rifle in his hands. Instead, he grunted under his breath and placed the Winchester where he could get to it at a moment's notice.

“Yes sir,” Slocum said under his breath. “It's a long way to Colorado.”