Slocum 419 (5 page)

Faron Clemson sat at the long table with his two daughters, Lacey and Stacey, identical twins in their early twenties.

The room was a converted kitchen and dining room connected to a bunkhouse next door that had been converted into a three-bedroom dwelling. In this room, the stove remained and was still used, along with the dining table and chairs.

The three were eating lunch, consisting of roast beef sandwiches, boiled new potatoes, and cooked turnips.

“You girls did a good job this morning,” their father said. “Clean and neat.”

“You set up all the wires and dynamite, Daddy,” Lacey said. “All I had to do was push down the plunger.”

“I was nervous waiting for Lacey with just me and the horses,” Stacey said.

“Well, that was a special idea of mine,” Clemson said. “I didn't like that guy anyways, and he had his eyes on both of you.”

“He gave me the willies,” Lacey said.

“Me, too,” Stacey said. “But I don't like that kind of thing.”

“What kind of thing?” Faron asked.

“Murder,” she said.

“Aw, think of your lives ahead, when you're both rich,” Faron said.

“That's what you keep promising, Daddy,” Lacey said.

“I wonder what Ma thinks about us killing that man,” Stacey said.

“Your mother's got ice water in her veins. She don't care one whit. Lord knows, her own hands are plenty dirty.”

“You could never tell it by looking at her,” Stacey said. “Where is she anyway? I thought she was coming for lunch.”

“She'll be here,” Faron said.

As if on cue, the door opened and their mother walked in. She looked harried and her gray hair was streaming in all directions.

“You're a mite late, Clara,” Faron said. “I'll get you a sandwich.”

She sat down in one of the chairs. She and Faron had never married, but she had given birth to the two girls and they had been together for more than twenty years. And they had been on the run for the last ten years.

“I'm too nervous to eat,” Clara said. “I'm in a tizzy over what happened at the office this morning.”

“Fogarty give you a bad time?” Faron asked.

Her daughters looked at her with questioning eyes.

“No, it was a man who came in snooping around about that deed transfer.”

“What man? The law?”

“No, but I think he knows more than he should about Wolf and the rest of the bunch. He asked a lot of questions and forced Abel to produce the transfer papers for the Jenkins mine. He knows the papers are a forgery.”

“Who in hell is this jasper?” Faron demanded.

Clara looked at him. Her hands were shaking as they rubbed back and forth on the table.

“Slocum. John Slocum. I don't know why he's asking all these questions. He's not from Durango. He's big and tall and wears all black clothes. He looks mean to me.”

“Slocum, eh? Never heard of him. Maybe he's kin to Jenkins.”

“No, I don't think so. But he's got something stuck in his craw and I don't think he's going to go away. He could find out about the whole scheme. I think he's going to get a search warrant from the judge and ransack Abel's office.”

“He can't prove nothin',” Faron said.

“I just don't know. Abel's sick about it. So am I.”

“Well, Wolf's got to know. He's forging papers on that miner we blew up this morning. He won't like it none.”

“I'm worried about you girls,” Clara said, looking at her daughters. “You might go to prison over this if that Slocum finds out what you did.”

“Well, I'm not going to prison,” Lacey said. “I'll run first. As far as I can.”

“Me, too,” Stacey said. “Oooh, I couldn't stand to be locked up in a prison.”

“Faron,” Clara said, “I think we all ought to leave before this goes any further.”

Faron shook his head.

“No need for that. This Slocum feller's just one man. Wolf's got enough guns to get rid of this jasper.”

“What if the constable backs up Slocum?” she asked. “And maybe hires on some deputies. Faron, I'm scared. Scared stiff.”

“Wolf can take care of Slocum. He don't like folks buttin' into his business.”

“Where does it all stop, Faron?” Clara asked. “If Wolf gets rid of Slocum, he might have to kill the constable, too. Then we might get federal marshals in here, and we'll all go either to prison or the gallows.”

“Calm down, Clara. We've gotten this far with no trouble from the law. Wolf can get us out of this fix right smart.”

“I don't know,” she said.

“I think Ma's right, Daddy,” Lacey said. “We ought to git while the gittin's good. I never liked the whole idea of Wolf jumping claims.”

“And I hate this filthy town,” Stacey said. “Wolf's made us into murderers while he sits on his fat ass copying signatures and swilling down whiskey.”

“You'd better not say such around Wolf,” Faron said. “He's going to make us rich, you'll see.”

“Gold won't help us in prison,” Lacey said. Stacey pouted and nodded her head.

“Maybe there's a way we can get to Slocum,” Faron said.

“How?” Clara asked.

“Set him up like we did with that Jenkins feller,” Faron said.

“Oh no,” Lacey exclaimed.

“Be easy for a pretty gal like you, Lacey. Or maybe both of you can brace him, then Wolf can bust in and shoot him dead.”

Clara frowned.

“That's putting our girls in danger,” she said.

“What? For ten minutes of work? If this Slocum is a real man, he won't pass up the chance to bed a couple of good-lookin' gals.”

He looked at Clara for support.

She looked at Lacey and Stacey. Tears welled up in her eyes. She wiped them away with dabbing fingers.

“There is a lot of money at stake,” she said. “Enough to send our girls to college. That's what I dream of. That's why I go along with your schemes, Faron.”

“Then, we'll go to Wolf and tell him how he can get to Slocum. Girls, you'll have to help us out on this.”

“Oh, Daddy,” Lacey said. “We're not whores.”

Faron jerked back as if he had been slapped in the face.

“No, you ain't,” he said. “And I ain't askin' you to go the whole way with this Slocum feller. Just get him into bed. Get him drunk if you have to. Then, you both step aside and let Wolf do his work. You can leave before he shoots Slocum so you won't have to see it even.”

“I don't like it none,” Stacey said.

“Too risky,” Lacey said. “We'd have to both play like we was whores.”

Faron took a bite out of his sandwich. He chewed it and swallowed before he spoke again.

“No, you just be yourselves,” he said to both girls. “You flirt and talk sweet and he'll see that you're not whores, but just two eager girls who want to bed him.”

Clara laughed harshly.

“If I were younger . . .” she said.

Faron shot her a scowl.

“Clara, honey, you'd—”

“Don't say it, Faron.”

“In your day, you could have any man you wanted.”

“This one is quite handsome,” she said.

“Oh?” Lacey said, her eyebrows arching like a pair of caterpillars.

“How handsome?” Stacey asked.

“Beautiful handsome,” Clara said. “If I was ten years younger, I might—”

“You just shut up, woman,” Faron snapped.

He got up from the table and walked to the wall. He took his hat off a peg and slammed it down on his head.

“Where are you going?” Clara asked.

“I got to tell Wolf about this Slocum feller and about how we can get rid of him using the twins.”

“You're a cold-blooded bastard, Faron,” Clara said. She reached across the table and grabbed a hand from each girl. She squeezed them hard.

“It would only be for a little while,” she said. “As a favor to me and your pa.”

Faron stalked out of the room.

Clara jumped when the door slammed shut. She released her grip on the girls' hands.

“I'll make it up to you,” she said to them. “Buy you some pretties when this is all over.”

“Tell us again about how handsome Slocum is, Ma,” Lacey said.

“Yes, do tell us, Ma,” Stacey said.

Clara smiled at them and patted her hair. She closed her eyes and thought of Slocum and how to put her feelings into words. It would not take much, she thought, for Slocum to stir up the lust in her own heart.

And she wished she were ten years younger.

Lou Darvin saw the two men crouching behind a juniper bush behind his building. He held a bucket of feed to take to the horses in the back corral. Jasper Nichols was already out there, working the pump handle up and down to fill the water trough.

Lou felt his heart skip a beat. Something inside his belly froze into a hard cold mass. The two men were looking at Jasper, who did not see them lurking behind the small juniper.

Lou opened his mouth to shout a warning. He took a step toward the back lot, his face ruddy with alarm.

That was as far as he got. His voice never left his throat. Instead, he felt a crushing blow to the top of his head.

His head flopped back and the sky overheard spun in a dizzy whirlpool of blue pinwheels with white clouds caught in the spiral spool.

The pail fell from his hands and struck the ground. Corn and oats splayed from the bucket into the dirt like so much confetti. Then everything went dark as he fell to the ground, knocked out cold.

Grunting, Art Nestor dropped the piece of lead pipe to the ground and walked out into the open. He lifted a hand to signal to the two men in hiding.

Whit Grummon and Bert Loomis both stepped out. They walked with long strides toward Jasper, who could not hear them over the creak and grind of the water pump as he pushed and pulled on the long iron handle.

Slocum entered the large storeroom in time to see Lou crash to the ground and hear the dull clang of the bucket. He saw the man throw down the pipe and raise his hand.

“You there,” Slocum called.

Nestor turned and saw the silhouette of a tall man framed in the light from the open door behind him. He wheeled and his hand darted downward for his pistol.

“Back off!” Nestor yelled as his hand pulled his pistol from its holster.

Slocum crouched and his hand was like lightning as it streaked for his .45 Colt. Before Nestor's gun could clear leather, Slocum's pistol was hip-high in his hand and his thumb pressed down on the hammer to cock it.

There was a loud click in the empty storage building and Nestor knew he had a split second to live.

“Damn you,” he growled.

Slocum's finger squeezed the trigger and his pistol roared. It spewed smoke and fiery sparks from the muzzle.

Nestor's front sight caught on the lip of his holster.

The lead ball from Slocum's iron slammed into his chest with the force of a sixteen-pound maul. Blood squirted from a split breastbone and drenched Nestor's belly with a crimson stain. He staggered backward. His fingers relaxed and the pistol fell from his hand, tumbling from the lip of his holster.

He hit the ground with a thud, gasping for air from collapsed lungs.

Outside, Whit Grummon and Bert Loomis stopped when they heard the shot from inside the storage building.

Jasper stopped pumping and looked over to see his boss lying on the ground and another man falling backward.

“Get him now,” Whit growled at Bert.

Bert drew his pistol and shot Jasper in the back.

Jasper spun around from the force that tore out a chunk of soft flesh from just above his hip.

Whit pulled his own pistol free just as Slocum stepped into view. He saw the tall man in black out of the corner of his eye.

Jasper staggered away from the pump, his hand on his wound, the fingers running red from the gush of blood.

Whit fired at the young man. It was a quick shot and struck Jasper just to the left of his spine. Jasper crumpled and fell to the ground. Pain flooded his senses as his head struck the ground. Dirt and grit lacerated one side of his face.

He groaned in agony.

Whit turned to fire at Slocum, who stepped over Nestor's body and ran toward the two gunmen in a zigzag course.

Whit fired his pistol and he knew his shot would go wild.

The bullet whistled past Slocum's ear and he fired at Whit on the run.

His aim was true. The Colt bucked in his hand, but the barrel held steady when he squeezed the trigger.

Whit doubled over in pain as Slocum's bullet slammed into his abdomen with the force of a pile driver. He grunted and bent over.

Behind him, Loomis stood frozen for a moment. He saw his partner buckle to his knees and his face drained of color. He fired one shot that sizzled over Slocum's head. Then he turned tail and ran down the alley.

Slocum followed him. Loomis turned and took aim, but Slocum was faster, squeezing the trigger of his Colt. His bullet struck Loomis in the left calf.

Adrenaline pumped through Loomis's veins, and he continued to run until he was out of sight. Then the pain caught up with him, and he limped between two buildings and stopped to catch his breath. The pain was intense, but the bullet had gone clean through. He tore a handkerchief in half and stuffed one half in each bullet hole.

Then he tied a bandanna above the wound and limped onto the street, heading for the quarters he shared with Wolf and the other men in his gang.

Slocum reached the dying Whit and looked down on him as a tendril of smoke lazed from the muzzle of his Colt.

“Bastard,” Whit spat. His face was contorted in agony and he tried to lift his pistol up to fire at Slocum.

Slocum stepped on Whit's wrist and ground down on it with his heel. Whit's fingers went limp and the pistol slid from his hand.

“Wolf send you here to do his dirty work?” Slocum said as he gazed down at the stricken man.

“Go to hell,” Whit grunted. Blood pumped from a black hole in his abdomen. He grimaced in pain.

“I'll meet you there by and by,” Slocum said.

“Who in hell are you?” Whit muttered through his teeth.

“I'm not a boy you can shoot in the back like the coward you are,” Slocum said.

“Wolf will tack up your hide on the barn door and set it afire,” Whit said.

“He'd better have a big hammer,” Slocum said.

“You just goin' to let me die like this?” Whit asked. There was an urgent pleading tone in his voice.

“How do you want to die?” Slocum asked.

“Not slow. Not like this.”

“Sometimes a man doesn't have a choice,” Slocum said.

He listened to the sound of Jasper's groans a few feet away.

“You gutshot me,” Whit said. “No man should have to die like this.”

“You're not a man,” Slocum said. “More of a snake, likely.”

“You rotten sonofabitch,” Whit said.

Slocum kicked Whit's pistol away with the toe of his boot. Whit saw it slide through the dirt, out of reach.

“It takes one to know one,” Slocum said. He cocked his pistol.

“You goin' to shoot me again?” Whit gasped as a ripple of pain coursed through his body.

“I'm wondering if you're worth another bullet,” Slocum said.

“Oh God, the pain,” Whit said. His body vibrated with a wave of pain. His abdomen continued to pump blood and his back constricted in the pain from the exit wound.

“Maybe the pain will make you think of that kid you shot in the back,” Slocum said. “Why did you do it?”

“I ain't talkin' to you,” Whit said.

“No last words?”

“Go straight to hell, mister.”

“You give me orders you can't back up,” Slocum said.

He didn't know how long the man could live, but his guess was that if he didn't see a surgeon real soon, he would slowly bleed to death and his heart would stop.

He eased the trigger back to half cock and holstered his pistol.

Whit let out a sigh.

Slocum walked over to where Jasper lay. He was writhing in agony.

He knelt down beside the young man.

“Help me,” Jasper whispered.

Slocum put a hand on Jasper's shoulder. “Do you know who shot you?” he asked.

“No,” Jasper grunted. “N-Never saw him before.”

Slocum looked at the two wounds. One was a flesh wound in the young man's side. The other was more serious.

“Get me a doc?” Jasper wheezed.

“Is there one close?” Slocum asked.

“No. Not close. Six, seven blocks, on Arroyo Street.”

“I don't think you have that much time, Jasper. I can't stop the bleeding and you've got some damage to your innards.”

“I know. I'm real woozy.”

Slocum knew, from the pool of blood beneath Jasper, that he had lost a couple of pints. Blood was no longer reaching his brain.

The young man was dying.

“If you know any good prayers, Jasper,” Slocum said, “this might be the time to start saying one of them.”

“I—I'm dyin', ain't I?”

“You've lost a lot of blood and there's no way to get it back in you.”

“I'm dyin', then.”

“Yes. I'm sorry, son.”

Jasper started to cry. Slocum squeezed his shoulder.

“It's gettin' kind of dark,” Jasper said.

“You got any kin in Durango?”

“No. My brother. He was the onliest one.”

“Well, maybe you'll see him soon,” Slocum said.

He didn't know what else to say. There was no saving the young man. He was pumping out blood in smaller and smaller flows now. His face was blanched almost pure white. His eyes were glazing over, wet with tears.

Jasper tried to turn over to look up at Slocum, but the pain was too great. He slumped even closer to the ground and one of his hands made a fist. A pitiful fist, as if he was trying to hang on a little while longer.

Jasper gasped something, but Slocum could not understand what he was trying to say. The young man closed his eyes and shuddered.

Then he was still.

Slocum leaned down close to Jasper's mouth to listen for signs that he was breathing. Jasper's mouth was closed and so, now, were his eyes. Slocum could feel no pulse when he touched a finger to the big vein in his neck.

Jasper was dead.

Slocum stood up and looked toward the man he had shot.

“Is he dead?” Whit asked.

Slocum did not give him the satisfaction of an answer.

Lou Darvin stirred. He pushed up with both arms and looked over at the dead man nearby.

Slocum heard the sound of a loud grunt and turned to see Lou struggling to get to his feet.

“Mr. Slocum, that you?” Lou called out. He stood up and swayed on his feet. He gingerly rubbed the top of his head and staggered toward Slocum.

“Take it easy,” Slocum said.

Whit groaned in pain.

“What the hell happened here?” Lou asked when he saw Jasper lying there and another man lying on his back, bleeding from a hole in his abdomen.

“That man there shot and killed Jasper,” Slocum said.

“That's Whit Grummon,” Lou said. “We boarded his horse for a few days.”

“He's one of Wolf's men,” Slocum said.

“Wolf?”

“An outlaw in town.”

Lou walked over to Jasper, looked down at him with sad eyes.

“I got jumped,” he said. “I wish I could have—”

“Not your fault, Lou,” Slocum said. “Jasper never had a chance either. He was backshot.”

Lou turned and looked at Whit. Then he strode over to him and glared down at him.

“You're a worthless chunk of shit, Grummon,” Lou said.

Slocum walked over to stand beside Lou.

Whit's eyes closed tight in pain. He did not have the strength to reply.

“Let me have your gun, Mr. Slocum. I'll kill this no-good sonofabitch.”

“No need, Lou. This sonofabitch is just a sliver and a slice from being cold meat.”

Whit's eyes opened.

They were already glazed over and wide with fear. More blood oozed from his wound. Then his eyes closed and he quivered a moment and stopped breathing. His legs shook for a few seconds and then were still.

“He's gone,” Slocum said. “There was another man with him. He ran off, but he's toting a lead slug in his leg.”

“Somebody's got to pay for what was done to Jasper,” Lou said.

“Somebody will,” Slocum said.

Lou turned his head and looked into Slocum's green eyes.

“Promise?” he said.

Slocum nodded.

“I promise, Lou.”

Then he put an arm around Lou's back and held the swaying man, who seemed about to crumple.

The stench of death was in the air, heavy as a coastal fog.

Slocum knew why they had come after Jasper and killed him.

The young man was the only living heir to his brother's mine.

Now Wolf would have a clear path to ownership of Wilbur's mine. With forged transfer papers, of course.

Slocum vowed that Wolf would never lay claim to that mine or to anything else.

It was just a matter of time.

But he would hunt the man down and call him out.

That, too, was a promise.