Slocum and the Warm Reception (16 page)

They rode like the wind for the rest of the day. Several times, Slocum thought it was more fitting to say they rode like a wind being pushed in front of a storm with an even bigger wind behind it. The ground they covered was familiar at first, but Sanchez quickly veered off onto a trail that Slocum had never seen before. It seemed to be broken in several places, but when any other rider might have turned back to look for a safer route, Sanchez pressed on.

Just when it seemed the horses would collapse from lack of water, Sanchez brought them to a stop near a watering hole that was so small it could have gone unnoticed by anyone who didn't already know it was there. They let the horses drink, refilled their canteens, and pressed on.

Sunlight baked the desert without the slightest bit of pity or remorse for those who rode beneath it. As the evening approached, Slocum felt the air grow cooler and somewhat more bearable. When the skies became filled with orange and purple hues, the wind soothed his sweating face instead of raking it with hot iron claws. Not long after that, the air grew icy teeth and the entire desert became colder. Overhead, stars were spread like diamond flecks drifting on a sea of inky water. Slocum became increasingly nervous as the ground in front of him became harder and harder to see. And despite the fact that the terrain itself had become a danger, they pressed on.

The first thing Slocum spotted was the train depot. It sat at the edge of Davis Junction like a sleeping beast illuminated by rows of lanterns situated along the tracks leading into town. Soon, his eyes picked out the smaller beacons of windows illuminated from the inside by cooking fires, candles, or lanterns within homes and saloons. Slocum's eyes quickly became adjusted to the darkness surrounding him, allowing him to make out the shape of a cabin directly ahead. Sanchez and the others reined their horses to a stop outside that cabin and quickly dismounted.

“Is there any food inside?” Slocum asked. “I'm about ready to eat one of you if I don't get something in my stomach.”

“There's food inside,” Slim told him. “It ain't much, but it's better than nothing.”

Slocum followed them into the cabin while Sanchez lit a single lantern hanging from a hook on the wall. The sputtering light cast twitching shadows upon several crates stacked in a corner, a few barrels, some sacks of oats, and a pile of smaller boxes beneath a thick blanket. Mike was the one who peeled away the blanket and tore into one of the boxes. He whooped in glee when he found a bundle of jerked meat and canned beans, which he divvied out among Sanchez and Slim.

“What about me?” Slocum asked.

“You got two hands,” Mike grunted. “Help yerself.”

Once the others had moved aside, Slocum rummaged in the opened box and found more of the same. The jerked meat tasted like salty rabbit, but it sated him as he gnawed on it before helping himself to a can of beans. When he turned away from the boxes, Sanchez tossed something at him from the doorway. At first the metal thing coming at him looked like a blade, so Slocum leaned over to clear a path for it. The thing clanged against another stack of boxes and rattled to the floor near his boot. Slocum bent down, picked it up, and examined it. The can opener was innocent enough, so he nodded to the Mexican and said, “Much obliged.”

“Who's this man that was supposed to have been killed?” Sanchez asked.

“Oh, he was killed all right. He worked at one of the stables in town. I believe his name was Derrick.”

“And he was killed for speaking on Mr. Dawson's behalf?”

“That's what I heard.”

“What did he say that got him killed? Plenty of folks around here know Mr. Dawson and they don't have a problem with him.”

“I don't know what he said,” Slocum replied. “I wasn't there when the poor bastard was killed. I know where it happened, though, and I know who to talk to for a few answers.”

“Don't worry about talking to anyone unless I ask you to talk,” Sanchez said.

It was all Slocum could do to keep from knocking the Mexican onto his ass right then and there. Instead of following through with such an appealing idea, he said, “I'm just here to lend a hand. If you want my opinion, though, it might be best if nobody knew I was with you.”

“Why's that?”

“Because I asked a few questions myself before I left and the answers I got were nothing but a pile of bullshit.”

“What were you told?”

“I asked what happened,” Slocum said, “and the sheriff just told me it was some sort of drunken fight that went from bad to worse. I know that's not the case. If I go in there again, we might get that same load of manure thrown at us. I'd rather not waste any time with that.”

“You're coming with us, Slocum,” Sanchez insisted. “That's not a matter of discussion.”

Slocum held up his hands as if he were being robbed. Then he reached around his neck to untie the bandanna he'd been wearing for the entire ride. He wrapped the bandanna over his nose and mouth, tied it in the back, and then lowered his hands. “This should be enough to let me ride with you men without causing any unnecessary commotion with the local law.”

“Fine,” Sanchez grunted. “If you need to eat, do it quickly. We're heading into town as soon as we can.”

When Slocum pulled down the bandanna, he was smiling agreeably. That lasted until Sanchez left the cabin. His first order of business was to open that can as quickly as possible so he could shovel as many beans into his mouth before the ride continued.

* * *

They rode through Davis Junction like a band of outlaws. Nobody looked shiftier than Slocum since he kept a tight grip on his reins, his head down, and his eyes darting back and forth above the mask he wore.

“Where should we start?” Sanchez asked him.

Pointing toward the stable situated farthest away from the sheriff's office, Slocum replied, “Right there. But let me go in first.”

“I thought you wanted to lay low.”

“I will. I just need to take a quick look around to see if there's anyone in there we need to worry about.”

“Who do you mean?”

“I don't know their names!” Slocum snapped. “I only know them on sight. If you don't want to let me do anything, then just cut me loose and I can get a comfortable bed for the night.”

Mike started to react, but was held back by Sanchez's raised hand. “Fine,” the Mexican said. “You go in first, but we'll be right behind you. Come back out right away and let me know what you saw.”

“Fair enough.” With that, Slocum snapped his reins and rode to the stable. He listened for any horses riding directly behind him, but it seemed Sanchez was as good as his word and hanging back for now.

There was a hint of light from inside the stable. As Slocum got closer, he could see the light bobbing and swaying as its source within the structure kept moving. He swung down from his saddle and hurried toward the front door. Before he could get close enough to try its handle, the door was opened by the stable's solitary keeper.

“What do you want?” Vivienne asked. Once she got a better look at the masked figure coming toward her, she said, “We're full up. Go somewhere else.”

Slocum reached out for her, which caused her to retreat even faster. Before she could scream, he pressed his hand flat against her mouth and pushed her inside. Once he'd kicked the door shut, Slocum pulled the bandanna away from his face and told her, “It's me. Don't scream.”

She still seemed ready to scream, but stopped herself after the sight of him sank in. “John! What are you doing here?”

“There are men coming and they're hot on my heels. What's happened in regard to the man that was killed?”

Vivienne wrapped her arms around him and squeezed. “They're saying you did it.”

“On what grounds?”

“I don't know,” she replied while vehemently shaking her head. “Maybe because you rode off when you were supposed to stay and answer for what happened.”

“Who was he?”

“Just some stable hand.”

Slocum grabbed her by both arms and held her in front of him so he could look her in the eyes when he asked, “Who was he, Vivienne?”

“Why would I know?”

“Because you know plenty of men who stumble into some very unfortunate circumstances.”

“I . . . like dangerous men,” she said with a shrug. “Always have. When you came in here just now, looking the way you did . . . could you put that mask back on?”

Even with everything that was going on, Slocum found it hard to resist the hungry look in her eyes. It was even harder for him to say, “If you like dangerous men so much, then you'll love the ones that are behind me. I need you to do something.”

“And I need you to do something for me,” she purred. “Right now.”

“There are three men coming,” he said. “I need you to keep at least one of them busy.”

“How?”

Slocum pulled the bandanna back up over his nose so it covered the lower portion of his face. “Come now,” he said. “Don't tell me you don't know how to keep a man preoccupied for a little while?”

“For how long?” she asked.

“As long as you can. I'll come along to fetch him later. Just make sure he doesn't leave this stable and
don't
let on that you know me. If anyone else you know comes along, just send them on their way without mentioning a word about me being here.”

She nodded vigorously. “Tell me what's going on, John. It sounds so exciting!”

“If you know anything about the man that was killed,” he said, “now's the time to tell me.”

“But I don't—”

“Right now,” he said sternly.

At first, Vivienne looked as if she would maintain her innocent posturing. When she lowered her head, Slocum knew he was wrong to think she wasn't a part of what had happened. “I knew Derrick for a while,” she told him. “He followed me around like a lost little pup and Wendell didn't like it. Didn't like it at all.”

“Who's Wendell?”

“He owns the other stable in town. I left there on account of him thinking he owned me like I was one of them horses he brushes every other night. Wendell put his hands on me a few times, but I would rather spend my time with Derrick. He was younger and stronger and taller. One night, Wendell found us together and he went crazy.”

“How long ago was this?” Slocum asked.

“Maybe a month.”

“So what's that got to do with Derrick getting killed?”

“Maybe nothing,” she said with a shrug. “You asked if I knew anything more about Derrick and that's all I know. Well . . . all I know that would be of any help.”

The other horses were approaching. Slocum could hear them slowing as they drew closer to the stable. Making certain the bandanna was in place, he said, “Remember what I told you, Viv. It's important.”

“I remember. I'll do just like you said.”

Although Slocum wasn't completely certain he could trust her, there wasn't any time to second-guess the instincts that had brought him this far. It was too late to turn back now.

Moments after the horses came to a stop, Sanchez and Mike were stepping into the stable. They eyed Slocum suspiciously before turning their attention to the blond woman standing there. “Hello, Vivienne,” Sanchez said.

She nodded and averted her eyes.

Slocum glared at her, wondering how much more she'd forgotten to mention. Then again, he hadn't mentioned exactly who was with him or if she might have known them.

“We're at the wrong stable,” Slocum said.

The Mexican looked over at him. “You sure about that?”

“The man that was killed worked at the one on the other side of town.”

“If you're looking for people who knew him,” Vivienne said, “then you might want to stay here as well. Sometimes a few of his friends come by.”

Mike jumped in to say, “I'll stay here and wait.” When Sanchez looked over at him, he added, “The man worked at a stable, right? Isn't too much of a stretch to think that someone we might want to talk to could show up at this one, right? Besides, I think this lady has some more to say to me that she didn't tell our . . . friend over there.”

Sanchez let out a slow breath. “Stay here with the horses,” he said. “Keep them ready to go at a moment's notice. Understand?” When Mike didn't answer right away, he snapped, “Understand?”

“I heard you the first time,” Mike replied. “I know how to do my damn job.”

“Make sure of it. And you'd best be ready to do your job when the time comes.”

“Trust me. It won't be a problem.”

To Vivienne, Sanchez said, “There was a man killed here recently. Who was he?”

“Derrick Sloane,” she said. “He worked at the stable across town. If you want to know who killed him, have a word with the man who owns that place. If Wendell didn't put the knife in himself, I bet he knows who did.”

“Why was Derrick killed?”

Slocum's stomach tightened into a knot. He hadn't gotten a chance to tell her how to answer that question. One slip now could pose a mighty big problem.

She looked around at the three men in front of her. Two anxiously stared back at her, and the third was hungrily staring at her ample breasts. Finally, she shrugged and said, “I don't know why he was killed. How could I know such a thing?”

Her ignorance was such a well-practiced act that it was immediately accepted by Sanchez. The Mexican nodded and said, “Mikey, stay put and be ready to back us up if things get rough. I'll fire a shot if we need you. Do you know where the other stables are?”

“Sure I do,” he said without taking his eyes off Vivienne. “I been here before.”

She smiled and brushed a hand against his chest to run it all the way down to his gun belt. “Have you? I would think I'd remember something like that.”