Slocum 419 (6 page)

Wolfgang Steiner listened to Bert Loomis talk about his encounter with a man dressed in black. Bert spoke through clenched teeth while the local doctor, Herman Alcorn, cleaned the wound in his leg.

“The man ain't human,” Bert said.

“Hold your leg still,” Doc Alcorn said. He held a reeking wad of cotton in one hand, a long slender probe in the other.

“He's human,” Wolf said. “And I know who the bastard is, I think.”

“Who in hell is he?” Bert asked as he winced in pain.

“According to Abel Fogarty, the man's name is John Slocum. He's been snoopin' around, checking on that claim transfer I filed.”

“Never heard of him,” Bert said as Doc Alcorn swabbed his wound and poured some yellowish fluid into it.

They were in Wolf's house, a log cabin that had once been the town's first small boardinghouse. Bert lay flat on his back atop a long table in the center of the front room. Tony Hobart sat in a chair by the window nearest the front door. He was on watch, and most of his attention was focused on the front yard and the street outside. The room was Spartan, with no pictures on the walls, a cold fireplace swept clean of ashes, three empty cane chairs, and a sofa where Wolf sat, spinning the cylinder on his converted Remington New Model Army in .44 caliber.

Wolf was hard-muscled and lean, with no fat on his bones. He had a chiseled, square-jawed face, high cheekbones, and a Roman nose. His eyes were wide-set, brown as agates, and seemed to glow with his inner avarice. He was a greedy man and had attained dominance over lesser men because of his willingness to kill anyone who stood in his way. He craved power and money and gathered around him the kind of men who had no conscience and little brain power.

He was already concentrating on how to find this Slocum feller who had killed two of his men and was butting into his business.

The doctor finished cleaning Bert's wound and pushed a salve into both holes in his calf, then wrapped the leg with a soft bandage, tied it tight.

“Stay off that leg for a week or so, Mr. Loomis,” Alcorn advised. “If it starts to bleed again, come see me.”

“Can you give me something for the pain, Doc?” Loomis asked.

“You shouldn't have more pain than you can bear once the swelling goes down. If your wound doesn't get an infection, you should heal pretty fast. I can give you some pills that will tone down the immediate pain, but take them sparingly.”

“It burns like hell, Doc,” Bert said.

“That's because I reamed it all out. The pain will go away by tomorrow morning.”

“Jesus,” Bert said.

The doctor rummaged in his bag and found a small box of aspirin. He poured a dozen pills out and placed them in Bert's hand.

“Take one or two now. Drink lots of water. No whiskey for a week, and stay off that leg.”

Alcorn closed his leather bag and walked over to Wolf.

“Two dollars for the visit and the doctoring,” Alcorn said.

Wolf dug into his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. He peeled off two one-dollar bills and handed them to Alcorn.

“Thanks, Mr. Steiner. If he starts to bleed or screams out in pain, you know where to find me.”

“Okay, Doc,” Wolf said. “I'm betting Bert's not going to need you no more.”

“I'll take a look in a few days and change his bandage. See that he stays off his leg as much as possible.”

“Will do,” Wolf said and holstered his pistol.

Alcorn left and Hobart watched him walk away as he gazed out the window.

“Quack,” Wolf said.

“What do you mean?” Bert asked. He turned over on his side to look at Steiner.

“Them sawbones. They're all the same. They act high and mighty, dab on some liniment, and give you some pills that don't do a damned thing.”

“You sound like you got some experience with doctors, boss,” Bert said.

“I've patched myself up a time or two,” Wolf said. “I got no use for a quack sawbones.”

“Somebody's coming,” Hobart said from his perch by the front window.

“Who is it?” Wolf asked.

“Clemson, I think.”

“That peckerhead,” Wolf said. “He's got the spine of a jellyfish. I can't stand his constant whining about one thing or another.”

“He looks like he's got a weight on his mind,” Hobart said.

“Yeah, his hat,” Wolf said. “He has the brains of a pissant.”

Hobart laughed. Loomis grimaced in pain as he tried to sit up.

“Hobart, help Bert get off that table and into a chair.”

Hobart got up and walked to where Loomis was struggling to sit up. He helped him down from the table. Bert leaned on Hobart's shoulder as they walked to a chair. Bert groaned as he sat down. He was out of breath from the effort.

There was a knock on the door.

“Let Clemson in,” Wolf said.

Hobart opened the door. Clemson walked in, adjusting his eyes to the dimmer light inside the room.

“What you got on your mind?” Wolf asked.

“That man what's been pokin' around at the claims office, Slocum. I got a way to get to him, Wolf.”

“Set down and let's hear it,” Wolf said.

“Well, sir, I got my two gals. And they're willin' to put that jasper into, what shall I say, a compromisin' position over at the hotel. Clara's willin' and she'll point him out when he gets back to the hotel.”

“Did you know Slocum kilt two of my best men? Put a slug into Bert's leg to boot?”

“Naw, who'd he kill?”

“That's beside the point. Like you said, Slocum's puttin' his nose where it don't belong. So you aim to put your twins up to what? Seducin' that sidewinder?”

“Well, it worked before. My gals are willin' and able.”

“Then what? You goin' to shoot Slocum while he's dallyin' with your gals?”

“Well, no. Not me personally. Maybe, when the time's right . . .”

“I don't want to get my hands dirty just yet, Clemson,” Wolf said. “There's a man or two I can send over with you.”

“That would work,” Clemson said. He kept shifting his weight from one foot to another. And his hands trembled slightly as he stood before Steiner.

“When?” Wolf asked.

“Clara wants to do it tonight. When Slocum comes back to the hotel.”

“What if he don't?” Wolf said.

“I reckon he has to sleep somewhere. Clara's goin' to find out which room he's in. Then she'll plant my girls in the lobby, all prettied up. Believe me, no man could turn them down.”

“You're pretty free with them gals,” Wolf said.

“All in your service, Wolf. That's the way we planned it and it's worked so far.”

“You got the conscience of a snail,” Wolf said. “And the morals of an alley cat.”

“Yes, sir. I want to get rich, same as you.”

“I'll send Rafe Overton and Jake Snowden with you. But this better work. Slocum's one big pain in my ass.”

“Oh, it'll work all right. Just make sure them boys don't shoot my girls.”

“Haw,” Wolf laughed. “You tell 'em to keep out of the way.”

“Oh, I will.”

“What are you goin' to do?” Wolf asked.

“I'll keep watch out front of the hotel, and when the gals walk to Slocum's room, I'll send Rafe and Jake after him. After a little wait, of course.”

“You go with them, Clemson. Make sure they got the right man. I want Slocum dead as a stone, hear?”

“I hear you, Wolf,” Clemson said. “Uh, should I wait around for Jake and Rafe?”

“No, go on over to the hotel. I'll send 'em by after the sun goes down.”

“I reckon that's when Slocum will be comin' in,” Clemson said. “I don't know where he is right now, but he'll want to clean hisself up some before he hits the saloon after dark.”

“You got him figured, have you?” Wolf said.

“No, but Clara has. She knows men like she knows the back of her hand.”

“Well, she didn't learn about 'em from you, did she?”

Clemson's face flushed a soft rose and he looked sheepish.

“Clara's had some experiences here and there.”

“Yeah, I imagine she has. She's smart, I'll say that for her. Cagey, even.”

“Yeah, she is that,” Clemson said.

“Well, you better hightail it. Won't be long before that sun drops behind the mountains. You'd better be right about this. I don't want to lose any more men and I don't want Slocum stirrin' up trouble while I'm grabbin' up minin' claims.”

Clemson left then, and Wolf snorted as the door closed behind him.

“What do you think, Hobart?” Wolf asked.

“Clemson ain't the brightest spoon in the drawer, but his old lady's smart as a whip.”

“I agree. I think Clara just stays with him because she can boss him around. She looks quiet, but that woman's got more balls than a Brahma bull.”

“Yeah. She gives me the willies sometimes. She can tame Clemson with just one look. A look like a damned dagger.”

“That's why she's at the center of this whole claims thing. Did you know she killed her first husband?”

“No, Wolf, I didn't.”

“He cheated on her. She cut him up with a butcher knife.”

“How do you know all this?” Hobart asked.

“My older brother, Hans, was married to her.”

“Did she get arrested and thrown in the hoosegow?”

Wolf rose from his seat and walked to the window. He looked out at all the buildings across the street, the dark corridors in between.

“No, she didn't,” Wolf said as he watched the shadows gather and crawl up the sides of the cabins across the way.

“How so?” Hobart asked.

“She claimed self-defense,” Wolf said.

“But . . .”

“It was self-defense. Hans made the mistake of hitting her in the mouth. Puffed up her lips. He hit her again and split her cheek. That's when Clara charged straight at him and buried a knife in his gut, clear to the hilt.”

“And you don't hold no grudge against her?”

Wolf laughed.

“Hell no. Hans was a bastard. He was mean and he treated that woman like dirt. Just like he treated our ma. He was no good from the start. I learned a lot from him, but I didn't give a damn that Clara killed him. He deserved it.”

“Jesus,” Loomis exclaimed across the room.

Wolf turned to him.

“Was that a prayer, Bert, or a curse?” Wolf asked.

Hobart guffawed.

Wolf peered into the dark spaces between each of the buildings across the street. Shadows crawled up the fronts of them and pooled up in between each one like some kind of dark tide.

He had the odd feeling that someone was watching him as he stood in front of the window next to Hobart. But he saw no one. The pane darkened as he watched, and he knew it would not be long until sunset.

“Time to light the lamps,” he said to Hobart.

“Want me to stoke 'em up?” Hobart asked.

“No, I'll light 'em. You keep lookin' outside.”

There was a strange tone to Wolf's voice as he walked away from the window toward the nearest lamp.

Hobart looked outside. The street was empty.

He thought he saw movement between a log cabin and a clapboard house. Something moved, something darker than the shadows, he thought.

He rubbed his eyes and looked again.

The blob of black was gone.

Spiders crawled all over the nape of his neck.

Had he seen something or someone?

He wasn't sure, and now the sting of a lit match's sulphur crept into his nostrils and he staved off a sneeze.

No need to mention what he hadn't seen to Wolf.

No need at all, because he just didn't know.

Slocum made sure that Lou Darvin had regained most of his senses before he headed up the street to follow the blood trail of the man he had winged in the leg.

“Tell the constable I wounded one of the men and I'm going to track him.”

“Will do,” Lou said. “God, I'm sick about Jasper. Poor kid.”

“These killers just didn't happen by here,” Slocum said. “Somebody sent them here. I have a good idea who. Now I'm going to prove it.”

“How?”

“I have a hunch that the man who got away will run right back to the man who gives the orders.”

“Hellinger would like to know who you think is behind this so he can arrest him.”

“I think a man named Wolf Steiner sent these backshooters here to kill Jasper.”

“Huh? Why? Jasper never hurt nobody.”

“Maybe not. But my guess is that he was the only living heir to his brother Wilbur's mine. I think Wolf is just waiting to forge papers to take over Wilbur's mine.”

“Good God. This is too much for me to handle.”

“Start strapping on a pistol, Lou. With a man like Wolf, nobody's safe in this town.” As if to emphasize his advice, Slocum opened the gate on his .45, slid the plunger through the chambers with the fired cartridges. They ejected, one by one, until all three fired chambers were empty. Then he plucked cartridges from his gun belt and inserted them into the empty tubes. He spun the cylinder, pulled the hammer back slightly to half cock, and holstered his pistol.

“Yeah, I might just do that.”

Slocum left him and strode to the first spatter of blood glistening the street. That was where he had nicked the fleeing gunman somewhere on his leg.

From there on, there was a clear blood trail up the street.

He noted the boot tracks of his quarry, too, and saw where the man had stopped. Little shards of lint lay on the ground. That told Slocum that the wounded man had ripped up a handkerchief to stop most of the bleeding.

From then on, there was little blood, but the boot tracks were distinct. The man dragged one foot and that left its marks.

He caught up to the man as he went between two buildings and crossed the street.

Slocum saw him limp up to the door of a cabin and pound on it with his fist. A man appeared in the window to see who was knocking. Then the man turned away for a moment. Seconds later, he opened the door.

Once the man was inside, Slocum retreated down the corridor between the buildings, walked to his left, and entered another passageway. He crossed the street, knowing he could not be seen by the man in the window. He hurried between two other cabins and counted two buildings until he arrived at the one the wounded gunman had entered.

He slunk along the side of the cabin toward the front. There were no windows on that portion of the house. He stopped and put his ear to the wall.

He heard talking, but could not make out the words. He moved closer to the front and pressed his ear against the wall near the front window.

Then he could hear every word.

He heard the wounded man speak to another and call him “Wolf.”

Wolf called the wounded man “Bert” and “Loomis.”

Another man spoke from the middle of the house.

Slocum heard the man called Wolf tell the man to go and fetch the sawbones.

The man he spoke to was named Jimmy John.

Moments later, that man went out through the front door. Slocum listened to his footsteps until they faded from earshot.

Slocum waited, but there was little talk. He heard a table being moved and the stamp of boots by the man at the front window. Then there were groans from someone, probably Loomis, and from the conversation, Slocum knew they had helped him get atop a table.

Some twenty minutes or so later, Slocum heard footsteps scrape on the street. They stopped at the front door.

“Just go inside, Doc. We got a wounded man in there.”

“What about you? Aren't you going in?”

“Naw, Wolf wants me to buy him a coupla quarts of whiskey. It looks to be a long night. You go on in, Doc.”

Slocum heard a jiggling noise.

“It's locked,” the doctor said.

More footsteps as the man with the doctor walked to the window and tapped on it.

“Open up, Hobart. The doc's here.”

More footsteps as Hobart went to the door.

“You better go get that whiskey, Jimmy John,” Hobart said. “We're dry as camel shit in here.”

“I'm a-goin',” Jimmy John said, and Slocum heard his footsteps as he trotted down the street and crossed it.

The doctor went inside.

Slocum listened to the snatches of conversation as the doctor cleaned Loomis's wound, bandaged him up, and then left.

He shrank back against the building, hugged a shadow when he saw a man cross the street at an angle and head for Wolf's cabin.

Later, he heard Wolf call the man “Clemson.” He pressed hard against the wall and listened to the entire conversation about the plan to have him seduced by Clemson's two daughters. And he heard the story about Clara and Wolf's brother. Slocum was surprised that the prim and proper “Miss Morgan” had a notorious past.

He had heard enough, so he went back across the street the way he had come and took up his station in the gathering shadows where he could watch the cabin.

The sun was easing down over the high peaks, and soon Slocum was immersed in shadow. He still saw Hobart at the window after Clemson left and then he saw a man come to the window, stand there, and look toward him.

He knew, without ever having seen the man before, that Wolf Steiner was staring straight at him. He could barely make him out, but made note of his features, his clothing, and his build.

Finally, Wolf turned around and disappeared from the window.

When he saw the man who had brought the doctor return with a sack that clanked, Slocum eased back along the shadowed side of the building.

He had seen enough.

He walked back to Main Street and headed toward his hotel.

There were things he knew he had to do before he was approached by the twin girls. It should be an interesting evening, he thought, as he drew a cheroot from his shirt pocket and bit off one end of it.

Somebody, he thought, was going to be mighty surprised.

And it wasn't going to be him.