Slocum 419 (11 page)

Wolf struck a match as he bent over the body of Jimmy John.

“That murderin' bastard,” he gruffed. “Look at what he did to Jimmy John. Probably snuck up on him in the dark and slit his throat, the sonofabitch.”

“There's scuff marks all around, boss,” Hobart said.

Clemson gagged at the ugly sight of Jimmy John's slashed throat and the copious amount of blood pooled up under his head.

Wolf's match went out and he struck another. He went over the landing and saw that Hobart was right. The dirt was roiled and there were partial boot marks. He traced the marks away from the landing. He struck more matches and began to piece together what had happened to Jimmy John.

“A woman brought Slocum here,” he said. “He did sneak up on Jimmy John from twixt them buildings. They likely tussled some before Slocum did his dirty work with his knife.”

“Jimmy John would have put up a hell of a fight, all right,” Hobart said.

Clemson stepped away from his vomit and wiped his mouth. His stomach was still queasy and he stank of stale beer.

“Yeah,” Wolf said as his last match went out. “He put up a hell of a fight, but his knife is still on his belt.”

“So is his gun. Still in his holster. He fought the bastard bare-handed.”

Hobart knelt down and unbuckled Jimmy John's gun belt with the knife and pistol holster attached.

“Jimmy John was a damned good man,” Wolf said, a bitter tone to his voice.

“The best,” Hobart said.

“Well, we know who did it,” Clemson said in a scratchy voice. He could not look at the dead man, but just stood there, pulling in gulps of air. He could taste the sour beer still.

“Slocum, no doubt,” Wolf said. “Question is, who was the woman who led him here? One of the saloon girls, maybe.”

“Maybe,” Hobart said. He buckled the gun belt and slung it onto his left shoulder.

Wolf thought back to the time when the three of them had entered the saloon. In his mind, he recounted each move that he and the other men had made.

Hobart had walked to the end of the bar and stationed himself there as his first lookout. He and Faron had walked to the tables at the wall and each taken separate ones. He remembered ordering from Wendy and she had taken Clemson's order as well. Maureen was somewhere in the middle of the room, bowing and curtseying as she greeted regular patrons. The bar was lined with several men who were jabbering to each other and to Joe, the barkeep.

Amy Sullivan had nodded to him, but had not stopped by his table. She'd stood near the bar, looking over the house.

When he had looked again, he didn't see her. She was gone. He assumed she had gone to the ladies' room to use the chamber pot and dab powder on her nose.

She had been gone a long time.

When he saw her again, she stood near the bar as before, but seemed more alert.

Then Tom had come in and he had lost track of Miss Amy Sullivan. He had paid her no attention, but something in the back of his mind told him that she had disappeared again. She was a striking figure, with her beauty and that dress in the colors of the Mexican flag.

“Do you think Clara might have told Slocum about Jimmy John being out back?” Hobart asked. “She was the only other one who knew.”

Wolf growled in his throat.

“No, it wasn't Clara. I think I know who told Slocum. Let's get to the house. I have to, by God, think all this through.”

“If not Clara, then who, Wolf?” Hobart asked as the three of them left the landing and walked up the alley toward Wolf's cabin.

“I'll keep that to myself for now. But it was damned sure a woman. You can't trust any of them.”

Just then, a block away from the saloon, they saw a man run out from between two buildings and dash up the alley.

Wolf knew who it was. He called out.

“Tom,” he yelled, “where you goin' in such a hurry?”

The man stopped and peered at them through the darkness of the unlit alley.

“Wolf, that you?” Tom called out.

“Yeah.”

“I was just goin' to see you. I saw him, Wolf. I damned sure saw him.”

Jessup ran toward them on awkward, seemingly disjointed legs.

Wolf held out both arms to stop him in case he tried to run over them.

“Whoa, Tom, whoa up there,” Wolf said. “Who did you see?”

“That man. Slocum. He come into the saloon.”

“Don't jabber, Tom. Take it easy and tell me what you saw.”

“He come up to me at the table. Big man. Tall, all dressed in black.”

“So?” Wolf kept walking. He dragged Tom along with him.

“He give me a message, boss. I told him I didn't want no message, but he said if I didn't give it you, he'd kill me.”

“What's the message?” Wolf stopped in his tracks. The others stopped, too.

“He said he's a-comin' after you. But he says for you to haul ass out of town and he won't bother you none.”

“Another threat, eh?”

“Uh-huh,” Tom said.

Wolf started walking again, pushing Tom ahead of him.

“That all, Tom?”

“He said you got to go real quick.”

Tom looked over his shoulder as if to see if anyone was following them.

“He was real mean and real sure about it,” Tom said.

“All right. Calm down, Tom. I'll take care of it.”

“Boss, you gotta hurry and get out of town. He's a-comin', I tell you.”

Hobart choked off a laugh. Clemson gagged on some leftover vomit in his throat. He bent over and choked it up, spat on the ground.

“What do you think I ought to do, Hobart?” Wolf asked, holding on to Jessup was like handling a boneless marionette. Tom wriggled and danced a jig as they walked along.

“We ought to bushwhack the sonofabitch. Teach him what's for.”

“Faron, you got any ideas?”

They crossed over to the next street. Light glimmered on the window of Wolf's cabin. They could all see the silhouette of a man at the window, Loomis.

“Might be best to light a shuck and lay low for a few days,” Faron said. “Maybe Slocum will just go back where he come from.”

“Yeah, that's not a bad idea. Slocum don't live here. He's just a drifter. But he's stickin' in my craw and murderin' everybody I know.”

“You mean you'd turn tail and run, Wolf?” Hobart said.

“For a while, maybe. Give me time to think.”

“What if he follows us?”

“We could bushwhack him like you said. Plenty of hiding places up on the mountain.”

“That's true,” Hobart said.

They reached the house. Loomis pressed his face against the window. Wolf waved to him and Loomis sat back down.

“Tom,” Wolf said. “You delivered the message. Now git and find yourself a hidey-hole until all this boils over. Likely Slocum won't come after you. I mean, he let you go, didn't he?”

“Yeah, he did. I'm goin', boss. I hope I never see that man again.”

Wolf laughed and watched Tom run off toward the stables on his skinny legs. He didn't expect to see Tom anytime soon.

Loomis opened the door.

“Howdy, boss,” he said, seemingly with great relief.

Wolf and the others swept by him.

“Anybody been by?” Wolf asked.

“Nope. It's dead quiet around here.”

“Good.”

“What're you goin' to do, Wolf?” Hobart asked.

“First, I'm going to pour myself a drink of whiskey, then I'm goin' to reconnoiter,” Wolf said.

“What's that ‘reconnoiter'?” Hobart asked.

“Take a look at the situation and decide what to do next,” Wolf said as he walked to the kitchen, where he kept his liquor in a cabinet.

“Boss,” Faron called out, “I'm goin' home. Lessen you need me.”

“Naw, go on, Faron,” Wolf said as he opened a cabinet with a squeaky door. There was the sound of clinking bottles as he reached for one of them.

Hobart walked to the kitchen.

“I'd like a taste myself, Wolf,” he said.

Wolf took two glasses from the cupboard and set them on the sideboard. He filled the glasses almost full.

“There you go,” he said as he handed one glass to Hobart.

“You trust Clemson, Wolf?”

“About as far as I can throw this cabin,” Wolf said. “Why?”

“I think Faron's goin' to light a shuck. The man's about to pee his britches right now. Every time Slocum's name is mentioned, he jumps half a foot inside his skin.”

“I know. He's always been that way. A born coward if there ever was one. He's got a spine made of raspberry jelly.”

“Why keep him around, then?”

“I've got reasons.”

“Mind sharin' 'em?” Hobart asked. The two walked into the front room.

“He's my stand-in with Clara,” Wolf said.

“Huh?”

“He keeps watch over her for me. He and Clara ain't hooked up. Never were.”

“I thought . . .”

“That's what I want everybody to think. Clara's always been my woman, but I never wanted anybody to know about her and me. We go back a long ways, her and I.”

“I never would have guessed,” Hobart said.

“That's the way I wanted it. Clara's useful, but I don't trust her much. You know, women are devious sluts at heart. Treacherous. They're like elephants, too.”

“Like elephants?”

“They never forget nothing. They carry a grudge long after it's wore out.”

“I never saw . . . I mean, you and her never, you know, acted like you were real close.”

“You mean you never saw us hug or kiss or see me take her to my bed.”

“Well, yeah. None of that.”

Wolf sat in his easy chair. Hobart took a place on the divan.

“Whatever I once had for that woman is long gone,” Wolf said. “But Clemson keeps an eye on her for me. You know the old sayin', ‘Keep your friends real close and your enemies even closer.'”

“Yeah, well, is she your friend or your enemy?”

Wolf smiled. “Let's just say that Clara and I share a secret, and as long as she's alive, that secret's safe. She does what I say and I keep my distance.”

“Do you hate her, then?” Hobart asked.

Wolf looked up at the beamed ceiling.

“No, I don't hate her. I just know what she is and what she suffers in her mind. She's got a companion she can talk to, Clemson, but she don't tell him what's really on her mind. He plays his part, and she plays hers.”

“I don't understand none of it,” Hobart said and swallowed some whiskey from his glass.

“It's beyond anyone's understanding, my boy.” Wolf drank. “Except mine,” he said.

He was already thinking about something else and the conversation died out like a wind that rises and falls into stillness.

He was thinking about Slocum.

Maybe, he thought, he should lie low for a while. Take to the timber and let Slocum fret and then leave town and go about his business.

The more he thought about batching it up in the mountains, the more he liked the idea.

And tonight would be an ideal time to leave town and find a place to hide until Slocum coughed up whatever was in his craw.

Stacey was still sobbing when her mother came into their cabin. She sat up on the couch and looked at her mother.

“Did you . . .” Stacey started to say.

“I saw her, Stacey. Mr. Monsanto brought in his cosmetologist, Peggy Mendoza. She's very good and is making Lacey look as pretty as possible.”

Clara laid her purse on the table in the dining room. There was a grim, haggard cast to her face. Her eyes were rosy from crying, and there were small tracks of tears still on her face.

She sat down and put her arm around her daughter. She gave her a loving squeeze.

“Thanks, Ma. I feel so terrible about what happened to Lacey. I wish I had been the one who got shot.”

“There, now, Stacey. You can't change what happened. It was Fate. Or maybe it was God's will. You're alive and you must go on. No matter what happens to us in life, we must go on. You and I will keep Lacey in our memories and someday we'll all see each other again.”

“You mean after we're dead,” Stacey said.

“Yes, but I believe some part of us lives on. Maybe in Heaven, maybe in some far-off paradise where God makes everything right.”

“I wish I could believe that.”

“Well, it helps if you believe in something, my daughter. If I didn't think I'd never see Lacey again, I would just give up. But I won't give up. And that's what has kept me strong all these years, ever since you were born. I think we have to have something beyond ourselves, beyond the miseries of life, so that we can help and teach others. I want you to believe that you and Lacey will be together again and that you will always be happy. Life is so hard, there has to be something better.”

“I never thought of it that way, Ma.”

“I've made terrible mistakes and I have to think that someday I will be able to look back and know how I could have changed things in my life. Especially the bad things.”

“Oh, Ma, I love you so much. You've been so kind and loving to me and Lacey. I just wish she was still here.”

Clara took her arm from around Stacey's back and stood up. She walked to her bedroom. Stacey followed her. Clara went to the wardrobe and began removing clothing from the pegs, her trousers, a heavy chambray shirt, a sheepskin-lined leather coat, boots, and a gun belt with a small .38-caliber Smith & Wesson revolver in a holster.

“Ma, what are you doing? Where are you going?”

“Lacey was the last straw. I'm going to do something I should have done a long time ago.”

“What?”

“Kill Wolf Steiner. Or help Slocum kill him.”

“You can't be serious, Ma.”

“Oh, I'm serious all right. I never told you the whole story or even most of it, but I've lived with it all these years.” She paused and looked at Stacey as she began to unbutton her blouse. “Honey, go make us some coffee, will you. Then I want to tell you the whole story, one I've kept from you since you were old enough to understand.”

Stacey looked puzzled.

“I'm almost afraid to hear what you are going to say, Ma.”

“It will clear up a lot of doubts you may have had all these years and know why I made you and Lacey do such horrible things.”

“Well, sure. I've had a lot of doubts and a lot of questions. But I never questioned you, Ma. I knew you were . . . well, that you were just trying to help us all out in life.”

“Make that coffee, darlin'. I won't be long.”

“Ma, you're scarin' me now, with that gun and all.”

Clara smiled wanly.

“I'm a good shot. But I've never killed anyone before.”

“But Wolf? He's a dangerous man. A killer. And he's mean.”

Clara waved a hand at her daughter.

“Shoo,” she said. “I'm in a hurry, but there are things you have to know before I go.”

“All right, Ma, but I don't like it none.”

Stacey left the room.

The door was still open, so Clara could hear her daughter walk down the hall to the kitchen. Could hear her banging the coffeepot and the stove lid, opening the firebox, and putting kindling in it.

She stripped off her skirt and shoes, her stockings. She dressed in gray riding pants and the chambray shirt, put on heavy woolen stockings, and slipped into her riding boots. Her trail togs, she called them. She left the jacket on the bed and walked back into the living room.

A few minutes later, Stacey came into the room. “Fire's going and the coffeepot's on the stove. It'll be boiling pretty soon.” She gave her mother a measuring look.

“That's what you wore when we rode here to Durango. Where's your pistol?”

“I'll strap on my gun belt just before I leave.”

“Where are you going?”

“I'm going to try and find Mr. Slocum. But first, I'm going to pay Abel Fogarty a visit and tell him I've quit my job with him.”

“Wolf made you go to work for him anyway, Ma.”

“I know. Wolf wanted me there. Part of his damned scheme.”

“But you did it.”

“Stacey, we'll talk over coffee. I'm nervous as hell and I need something to calm my nerves. And I need these few minutes to collect my thoughts.”

“Sure, Ma. I'll see if the water's boiling yet.”

Stacey left the room and Clara could hear her in the kitchen. She heard the cupboard door open and the rattle of cups and saucers.

Her mind was a tangled briar patch of thoughts. There were so many things on her mind at that moment that she had difficulty sorting them out. There was Abel Fogarty, of course, and Slocum. She hoped she could find him. If not, she'd have to go to Wolf's cabin by herself and speak her mind before she shot him dead. She wondered if she had the courage to do such a thing. Lord knows, she had thought of it often enough. But Wolf was a dangerous man and he had dangerous men around him. Still she forced herself to put down her fears and would die, if need be, to rid the world of the monster who had ruined her life.

Stacey entered the room with a small wooden tray and two cups and saucers, a small coffeepot that was spewing steam from its spout. There was also a bowl of sugar and two spoons. She set the tray down on the small table in front of the couch and sat beside her mother.

“Do you want to pour, Ma, or should I?” Stacey asked.

“I'll pour. You just sit back and listen to what I have to tell you.”

Clara poured brewed coffee into the cups.

“Sugar?” she asked.

Stacey shook her head.

Clara spooned sugar into her coffee and stirred it. Then she sniffed the hot liquid, and blew on it before she drank. She leaned back as she swallowed her coffee.

“What did you want to tell me, Ma?”

“I guess I should just start at the beginning, or maybe at present and then go back to the beginning.”

“You sound so mysterious, Ma.”

Clara laughed. It was a nervous laugh. And she had to quell the shaking that was starting with her fingers.

“First of all, Stacey, Faron Clemson isn't your father. Did you ever wonder?”

“I wondered why you and him didn't act like man and wife. He didn't act much like a father either. Lacey and I talked about it some. We just thought that was the way it was for people who've been married a long time. But we knew you weren't married to him. You just tried to act like you were married sometimes.”

“Faron was just as much a prisoner as I was. Maybe not walled in, or shackled, but prisoners nevertheless.”

“How so?” Stacey asked.

“Now to the beginning, Stacey,” Clara said.

Stacey sipped her coffee and waited for whatever was to come from her mother.

“When I was young, I was attracted to a boy. Hans Steiner. He had a twin brother, Wolf. They were identical twins, but I could tell the difference. Hans was a gentler soul, and he had a sense of humor. He made me laugh. And he was very tender. We planned to get married as soon as we were out of school. But Wolf was attracted to me, too. And he was very jealous of Hans. In fact, he tried to break us up and he fought with Hans more than once.”

Clara took another swallow of her coffee. Stacey scooted to the edge of her seat.

“Wolf asked me to marry him,” Clara continued. “I refused. He told me I'd be sorry. He said he was more of a man than his brother would ever be.”

“That's terrible,” Stacey said.

“It gets worse. Hans and I were both seventeen years old. We got married in secret, but Wolf found out about it. My parents had given us a little cottage on their property and that's where we went after the preacher joined us in matrimony.”

“But I guess Wolf found out where you were living,” Stacey said. “Did he, Ma?”

“He found out. Hans carried me over the threshold, and that night, when we were getting ready to consummate our marriage, Wolf came into our cottage.”

“Oh no,” Stacey exclaimed.

“He had murder in his eye, and he cursed Hans and then killed him. He raped me on what was to be my marriage bed. He raped me all night while Hans was lying dead in the front room.”

“How horrible,” Stacey said. She looked stunned. And she was.

“He did it to me over and over. I was in shock. I couldn't believe all that was happening to me. I thought I had to be dreaming a bad dream.”

“But you weren't, were you?”

“No, it was all too real.”

“Then what happened, Ma? Didn't Wolf want to marry you?”

Clara took a deep breath. She set her cup back down in its saucer and sighed.

“No, Wolf did not want to marry me. He hated me for picking Hans to be my husband instead of him. He said he'd never marry me and that I would never marry another man as long as he lived. He made me go with him, and he left town and began his outlaw life. I had to tag along, and he had his way with me whenever he pleased, but there was no man to satisfy my longing to be loved and cared for. When you girls were born, he made Faron act as father to you, but told him if he ever so much as touched me, he'd kill him.”

“So we grew up thinking that Faron was our father,” Stacey said, “when Wolf was our real father.”

“That's the way Wolf wanted it. I felt sorry for Faron, but he's a spineless weakling. I kept hoping someone would come along and save me from my fate. I wanted a champion to take up my cause and wipe out all the ugliness and torment in my life.”

“But nobody ever came,” Stacey said in a dull tone of voice. She sat there in shock, buried under the weight of this new knowledge.

“No one, until I saw John Slocum,” Clara said.

“Slocum is your champion?”

“He might be. The minute I saw him, I knew he was the one I had been waiting for.”

“Yet you gave him to me and Lacey.”

“My gift to both of you. I know I'm not young and pretty anymore, and I just wanted to live a dream through you and your sister.”

“My God, Ma, I can't believe you. You're still young and pretty. I think Mr. Slocum would want you.”

“Hmm,” Clara said, “I wonder. I could be pretty again if I wanted to. But I think most of my life has passed by. I just want to believe that there is a good man around and Slocum is my idea of that good man.”

“But he's a gunfighter, Ma. Just like Wolf and his henchmen.”

“But for good, Stacey, for good. Not evil, like Wolf. Wolf made me do things, not only to myself, but to you and Lacey.”

“I know,” Stacey said. She looked and felt sad.

“He said he'd have me arrested for the murder of his brother if I didn't do
everything
he asked. He'd tell the sheriff he actually saw me kill Hans.” Clara sighed and got up from the couch. “I'll be right back,” she said.

Stacey sat there and waited.

When Clara returned, she had her gun belt around her waist and her jacket under her arm.

“I'm going, Stacey. I hope I get back in one piece, but if I don't, I want you to know I love you very much.”

“Don't say that, Ma. You'll be back.”

“I hope so. But if I'm not, make a good life for yourself, my sweet daughter.”

Clara embraced Stacey when she stood up. She kissed her on the cheek and patted her on the head.

“Good-bye, Ma,” Stacey said as her mother put on her coat and walked out the door.

“Good-bye, Stacey.”

Clara sighed with relief as she walked toward Abel Fogarty's home the next street over from hers.

Then she would go to the saloon, and if Slocum wasn't there, she'd try to see him at the hotel. And if she did not, she would go to Wolf's and play out the rest of her hand. But it wasn't a game, she knew. It was life or death. She was glad that she had told Stacey the whole story, had finally gotten to tell someone the truth of what had happened to her twenty years ago.

This, she told herself, was something she should have done a long time ago, long before they had all come to Durango.

Her daughters had been caught up in her life of crime, and one of them was dead. Now all she had was courage and determination.

The past was past. There was nothing she could do to change all that had happened. But if her hunch was right, there would be a future. She hoped and prayed that her hunch was right.

And as if Fate had answered her prayers, she saw someone emerge from Fogarty's cabin. Someone she had not expected to see.

For coming out of the house, dressed all in black, was the man she had picked to be her champion.

“Good evening, John Slocum,” she said in an artificially merry voice.

“Is that you, Miss Morgan?” he asked as she drew near.

“Call me Clara, please,” she said.

“Clara, then. I just told your boss that his days were numbered, and if he was smart, he'd hightail it out of Durango before something bad happened to him.”

“He's not my boss. I was coming here to tell him I had quit and that I would testify against him in a court of law when he was arrested.”