Slocum and the Warm Reception (7 page)

Throughout the better portion of that day, Slocum had been waiting to hear a horse or two gallop to catch up to him so the town's sheriff could give him what for. If anything, he figured Marshal would be bent far enough out of shape that he would simply have to remind him about jurisdiction and authority and any of the other long words spouted by men like him. But the only thing Slocum heard was the rumble of iron horses riding the tracks spanning one end of the country to the other.

After a while, he wondered if he might catch sight of a thief masquerading as an Indian brave sitting on a high ridge somewhere. But he didn't see that either. All that filled Slocum's line of sight that day was flat terrain, sun-baked rocks, trails of smoke from steam engines, and the occasional clump of parched scrub bushes. Before long, even the trains were too far away to see or hear. Critters scattered as his horse rumbled by, seeking shelter in little caves or dens scratched out of the uncompromising ground.

As far as deserts went, Smoke Creek wasn't a large one. He could have circled around it while only adding a few days to his ride, but that involved passing through some terrain that was just a little more difficult to traverse. As long as he knew there was an end in sight, riding through a desert was actually not so bad. In fact, forging through a cauldron of heat and arid harshness did something to cleanse a man's soul. If Slocum had to ride more than one long day, he would have grudgingly picked one of those harder routes instead of the one that led straight to Mescaline. As it was, he'd committed himself to his course and was too stubborn to veer from it now.

The first time he'd come this way, he didn't have so many choices. He'd been riding scout for a small wagon train full of prospectors with their eyes set firmly on the mines scattered throughout Nevada. They'd lost a few horses, which made for a bad situation, and when one of the men decided to steal the savings of everyone else in the wagons so he could strike out for a new life, the situation turned bad. When Slocum had arrived in Mescaline back then, crawling in from the desert nursing a few wounds, things got even worse.

He'd been introduced to Jeremiah Hartley when the outlaw had tried to kill him just to prove that he made every decision in Mescaline, including who got to come in and who got to leave. Mescaline had been a little town far from the reaches of the law. Even if there were a few well-meaning sheriffs scattered throughout the other neighboring towns, their reach didn't extend far enough to help the people there. Hartley got to do what he pleased, and when a man as cruel as him was given that kind of leverage, it didn't bode well for anyone who got in his way.

Locking horns with Hartley hadn't been easy. In the end, however, Slocum was the one who walked away from it with his life and Hartley was dumped into a shallow hole. A fitting end for a man who'd created so much misery in an already miserable world.

The people in Mescaline had been grateful. They'd heaped their praises upon Slocum's shoulders and waved tearfully when he left. While Slocum wouldn't have minded reaping a bigger reward, he hadn't taken on Hartley for that. He'd done it because he simply had no tolerance for small men imposing their will upon good people. Also, he wasn't about to become a smaller man himself by staying around like a dog that had worn out its welcome just so he could lap up a bit more attention. On the other hand, being known as something other than a vagrant or stranger in a place could serve a man well.

Slocum did have business to conduct, and selling gold with someone who was playing straight was a much brighter prospect than trading with a man looking to put one over on someone. Also, there was Anna Redlinger. Slocum had spent plenty of nights with her while he'd been in Mescaline. They were nights a man dreamt about when he was forced to sleep alone on a bedroll beside a dying fire surrounded by all manner of vermin and inclement weather. Even after the night he'd spent with Vivienne, Slocum still had a smile to spare when he thought back to his time with Anna.

Any of those reasons would have been enough to bring him back to Mescaline. On top of that, he was also curious to see how the folks he'd befriended there were doing after they'd been given their lives back. Slocum was feeling downright cheery when he spotted the first angular shapes in the distance marking a spot where the desert gave way to civilization. Dusk was swiftly approaching and there was a mighty hunger gnawing at his belly.

Tapping his heels against his horse's sides, Slocum allowed the gelding to run as fast as it liked for the last stretch. With an animal as spirited as his, it was all Slocum could do to keep his grip on the reins as the horse charged toward Mescaline. When he pulled back on the leather straps, Slocum felt as if he was arriving in a cloud of dust like something that had rolled all the way down from a mountaintop. Unfortunately, there wasn't anyone there to appreciate his dramatic flair.

In fact, he couldn't see anyone there at all.

Slocum rode slowly down the street leading straight through the middle of town. Although the buildings on either side were vaguely familiar, none of them matched his memories of the place. Rather than take time to ponder the many ways he could have embellished things while thinking back on them, he steered toward the closest place that looked as if it could offer him a good meal. The place called Slim's had been there on his first visit, and if he remembered correctly, it served a fine cut of steak.

The smile on Slocum's face appeared for two reasons: hunger and the fact that Anna Redlinger had been working at Slim's when he'd first met her. The water trough in front of the place had recently been filled, so he tied the gelding there and walked inside.

Slim's was just as he'd remembered it. A dining room the size of a closet that was filled with the aromas of cooking meat. There was one other customer inside, so Slocum tipped his hat to him and found a seat at a table away from the front window.

The woman who stepped out from the kitchen was not Anna Redlinger. In fact, she was large enough to be two Anna Redlingers. She waddled in, wearing an expression that was neither a smile nor grimace, huffing as if every step was a trial in balance and stamina. The rounded sides of her plump figure brushed the tables and chairs she passed enough so that the other customer there had to grab his glass of water before it was knocked over.

“What can I get for you?” she asked as she trundled to a stop at Slocum's table.

“How about a steak?” he asked.

“Just served the last one. It's late for supper.”

“Try telling that to my stomach,” Slocum said good-naturedly although his comment was not received as such. Since the expression on the large woman's face hadn't changed, it was difficult to say if it was received at all.

Without moving any more than was absolutely necessary, she replied, “Too late for supper. No more steak.”

“What do you have?”

“Coffee.”

“Anything to eat?” Slocum asked in a monotone that was almost a perfect match to the large woman's.

“Pie.”

“Anything with meat?”

Twisting her face into a disgusted expression, she asked, “You mean like meat pie?”

If Slocum had had a white flag to wave, he would have surrendered the conversation right then and there. “Yeah,” he sighed. “Meat pie. That's exactly what I mean.”

“I'll go check.”

“You do that.”

She waddled back to the kitchen, leaving Slocum to wonder why the hell he'd bothered coming back to Mescaline. His curiosity was so far gone he could barely recall what it felt like. As for putting some distance between himself and Davis Junction, there was a perfectly good desert out there with caves that were more hospitable. Any other reasons he might have had slipped his mind altogether.

The big woman's steps as she returned to his table sounded like someone dragging a dead body over the floorboards. “We got a few pieces left,” she grunted.

Slocum looked up at her and asked, “Of what? Meat pie?”

“Yes.”

He blinked, wondering if she was joking. It didn't take much to see that she probably didn't know how to do such a thing with anybody. He might even go so far as to say that the severe lines on her face, like so many cuts in an oversized lump of clay, weren't made to express anything but the frumpy expression she showed him now. “I'll try it,” he said. “Thanks very much.”

She shrugged off his gratitude and shuffled back to the kitchen. A few minutes later, she came back with a plate in one hand and a glass of water in the other. “I warmed it on the stove for a bit. Brought you something to drink. You want anything asides from water, it'll cost extra.”

“Water is fine.” Slocum leaned forward and drew in a long breath through his nose. The scents he inhaled brought a smile to his face. He looked down at the plate and saw it was covered in a generous portion of meat, brown gravy, some carrots and peas, as well as several chunks of potato within a flaky pie crust. “What kind of meat is that?” he asked.

“Beef and a few scraps of lamb. Had a farmer sell off his livestock on account of he was stupid.”

“Stupid for selling?”

“Stupid for dragging livestock through a damn stretch of desert. Anything else I can get for you?”

“No, ma'am. This will do me just fine.”

“Suit yerself. I'll be in back if you need me.”

Slocum dug into the meat pie with the fork that had been wedged under his helping. It was rich and flavorful. If he didn't purposely slow himself down, he might have cleaned his plate before the rotund woman made her way to the kitchen. Even though the pie wasn't heated all the way through, it was still warm enough to suit his needs. To be honest, he would have downed his portion as well as another if she'd brought it to him cold.

It wasn't until he came up for air that Slocum realized he was being watched. The only other customer in the place had a face resembling a rock that had been stuck to the desert floor since before any man had dared to cross it. Deep lines etched into his cheeks extended all the way up to his eye sockets. Like many locals in such a dry climate, he looked like he wouldn't break a sweat if he was standing at the edge of a fiery lake in the bowels of hell. When he looked at Slocum, however, he might as well have been examining something dredged up from that very same lake.

Smiling in a way that he knew was showing a good portion of the meal he was enjoying, Slocum said, “Howdy.”

The older man, who could have been triple Slocum's age, didn't return the greeting. He sat there, eyeing him carefully like an old vulture waiting for a wounded jackrabbit to stop kicking.

More than happy to focus on his meal, Slocum continued scooping bites of the pie into his mouth. It was amazing how much brighter a man's outlook could become after his belly was appeased. His mood improved even more as he washed down some of his dinner with water that was as cool as the bottom of a dark well.

“You from around here?” the old man asked.

The question came after Slocum had taken a few more bites. He was enjoying his food so much that he wasn't thinking of anything else. When he looked up from his plate, Slocum found the old buzzard looking just as he'd left him. “No, sir,” he replied. “Just here to conduct some business.”

“What kind of business?”

“I'm looking to see Ed Leigensheim. Does he still have an office here in town?”

The old man nodded. “He does. What business you got with him? Looking to sell something?”

“I am.”

“You'll have to wait until tomorrow. His place is closed for the day.”

“Figured as much,” Slocum said. “It's a bit late for business. I'm in the market for a place to stay, though. Is the Three Star still down the street?”

The old man didn't nod. His eyes narrowed as he replied, “It is. Sounds to me like you been here before.”

“I have, but it's been a while.”

“I reckon it has.” Leaning forward as if that extra inch or two would allow him to see more, the old man said, “There's a familiar look about you. When were you here last?”

“It's been some time.”

“Back in the days when Jeremiah Hartley was runnin' this town?”

The smile that had been put onto Slocum's face by the meal slowly dropped away. He set his fork down and took a sip of water that felt as sobering as if it had been splashed onto his face. “Yeah,” he said. “Right around then.”

When the old man grinned, it was a humorless expression that barely caused one corner of his mouth to creak upward. His eyes were sharp as nuggets of coal that had been scraped to a point and baked to a hardened sheen. “That'd make you John Slocum.”

“You got that much from what I told you?”

“I says you have a familiar look,” the old man replied. “I just now recall where I remember seeing you. What the hell are you doing back in Mescaline?”

“I wasn't aware that I'd worn out my welcome.”

“Now you know.” The old man pushed his chair back, took the napkin from his lap, and then slammed it down upon the table. “It's best if you just finish yer meal, drink yer water, and be on yer way.”

Whenever Slocum put his neck on the line to help someone, it was mainly because he knew he was doing the right thing. He didn't risk his life so others would be indebted to him, but a bit of gratefulness went a long way to see him through tough times. He couldn't help but think about the grateful smiles he'd seen on so many faces just before he'd left Mescaline the last time.

“What's brought this on, old man?” he asked. “I just got here.”

“Last time you was here, you did enough,” the old man told him. “If yer looking for a hero's welcome now that you dragged yourself back into town, you ain't gonna find it. I recall what you did. I recall how you escorted Jeremiah Hartley straight to hell, which is why I'm givin' you this friendly piece of advice. Leave town. Now.”