Slocum Giant 2013 : Slocum and the Silver City Harlot (9781101601860) (13 page)

BOOK: Slocum Giant 2013 : Slocum and the Silver City Harlot (9781101601860)
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How Carstairs could have gotten up, dealt with the miners who had come to his rescue, and waited at his camp for hours before riding off to his death afforded Slocum more of a mystery than he cared to think on. Marianne might have stabbed him and penetrated his intestine or stomach and Carstairs had died hours later out on the road.

There wouldn't have been any way the pain wouldn't have hobbled him completely, though, if that had happened. None of his men had reported Carstairs being in such pain. He had mounted and left camp on his own. A stab wound to the gut would have prevented easy mounting, and riding would have been excruciating.

Slocum yanked back the shirt and looked at every inch of Carstairs's bloody chest. The belly cut was the only wound he saw. It had bled sluggishly but hardly amounted to an injury serious enough to kill him.

As he turned away from the table, he stopped and looked back at the body.

“You see that, Mr. Olney?”

“To what are you referring?”

“In the cut. If you bend down and look along the cut you see a bit of his guts all puckered up.” Slocum spread the cut as wide as he could to allow the undertaker to see what he had by accident.

“I do not understand.”

“You got a thin blade or those clamps like a doctor uses to pull out bullets?”

“I have a trocar—I use it to drain the blood.”

Slocum held out his hand and waited for the undertaker to pass it over. The thick tube had a sharp point for piercing veins. The thickness was about right, unless Slocum missed his guess.

“See that skin all puffed up.”

“It appears to be pushed back and upward.”

“From a bullet wound.” Slocum began digging around, following the path of the slug through Carstairs's body. The sharp tip banged against the bullet. A bit of digging caused it to pop out, all mashed up and bloody. He handed it to Olney.

“I don't understand,” the undertaker said.

“Carstairs died from a gunshot to the belly, not from a knife wound. It just happened the bullet went in where the knife slash had already opened him up.”

“That seems incredible,” Olney said, elbowing Slocum out of the way to better examine the wound. He poked and pulled, then rubbed his fingers together. “He was shot at close range. This is unburned gunpowder. I've seen this often when a man is killed by a gun barrel shoved up hard against him before the killer fires.”

Slocum had seen men's clothing set on fire from the muzzle blast. The blood soaked into Carstairs's shirt hid any such evidence, but the bullet showed that Marianne hadn't stabbed him to death.

“I've got to talk to the sheriff,” Slocum said. “Don't you go getting so soused you can't remember what you just saw.”

Rafe Olney turned paler, if that was possible, and bobbed his head up and down as if it had been mounted on a spring. Convincing the sheriff that the man on the table had been shot to death and not killed with a knife would be easy enough. How did Slocum convince Whitehill that Marianne hadn't been the one who pulled the trigger and then hidden the pistol?

14

“I ought to hang you, Slocum,” the sheriff said tiredly. He hiked his feet up to his desk and laced his fingers behind his head. He looked relaxed, but from the way he scowled, Slocum knew Whitehill was on a hair trigger. “Since you blowed into town, I've had bodies pilin' up somethin' fierce. You have any reason to offer why I shouldn't clap you back in a cell for killin' Texas Jack Bedrich?”

“I didn't do it,” Slocum said. “And Marianne didn't kill Carstairs either. The bullet proves that.”

“It proves she didn't end his miserable life with a knife, that's all. How do I know if she had a hideout gun somewhere? Easy enough to shoot Carstairs, then toss it into a well or just bury it alongside the road.”

“She wouldn't have confessed to being in the fight with him if she'd killed him,” Slocum said.

“There's some logic to that, but it might be she had to explain why her eye was swole shut, and she had enough bruises to make her look like a Chinee, all yellow-like.”

“Olney will confirm what I said.”

“Don't doubt that for a minute. Ole Rafe's likely takin' a pull or two on a whiskey bottle 'bout now. I go over there, and he's usually knee-walkin' drunk 'fore noon. Earlier in the day if he has a burial service.”

“Let the doctor examine the body.”

“Doc Fuller's got real work to do. Besides, he'd charge the county for a house visit if I did that.”

“You—”

“Hold your horses, Slocum,” Whitehill said, bringing his right hand around as if to caution Slocum to halt. “I'm not sayin' anything you told me's not the gospel truth. That slug came from somewhere and Rafe's likely to tell me you did pull it out of Carstairs.”

“Then let her go.”

“I explained that to you. I let you out because Tucker vouched for you. How Bedrich became deceased is a matter of some controversy 'tween me and my deputy. Tucker's inclined to say it don't matter much, that Bedrich wasn't liked that much so why bother? Now, I've been in Silver City longer than Dan and know Texas Jack wasn't a bad fellow. He ruffled feathers every chance he got, but he was on the up-and-up.”

Slocum heard more in the sheriff's words than was spoken. Whitehill hadn't cared much for Bedrich. And there was something else he couldn't put his finger on.

“There's no way you could have known Bedrich. I got a telegram out to Santa Fe and asked the marshal there to find out what business took Bedrich that far north. So far, ain't heard back, but I will or know the reason.”

Whatever had happened to Bedrich, it had been in Holst's icehouse. Slocum didn't want to muddy the water by bringing up the prospector's death, but that charge still rode mighty close behind him. Without Dangerous Dan's good words about him, Slocum knew he would be locked up beside Marianne.

“The matter of Marianne and Carstairs is something else,” Whitehill went on. “She knew him, spoke ill of him, and told anyone who'd listen, includin' me, she was going to kill him.”

“She's hot tempered.”

“Fiery,” Whitehill said, nodding in agreement. “Nothing you've told me speaks to her innocence.”

“She has to look after her boy,” Slocum said.

“Now that is a shame. I'll speak to Mrs. Gruhlkey about that.”

“No, wait!” came Marianne's aggrieved cry. She yanked down the blanket and rattled the bars. “Don't put Randolph in her care.”

“Now, Marianne, the boy needs lookin' after. Ain't gonna be a good thing lettin' him and Billy have their head. Randolph's a follower and Billy is the kind who can think up some real mischief. One day, I'll have to arrest him. It'd be a shame if Randolph joined him in a cell.”

“John, you find Randolph. You look after him until I get out of here.”

“What's bail?” Slocum asked. The question startled Whitehill.

“Hadn't given that any thought. Can't rightly set bail without a judge pokin' his nose in. Besides, she's likely to pull up stakes and leave before any trial. It's not like she has family or ties to Silver City.”

“There aren't many who do, Sheriff,” Marianne said.

“The only one in my jail for killin' a man is you, Marianne. Don't care about any of the others in town 'less they up and shoot somebody, too.”

Slocum again heard something in the sheriff's tone that made him curious to find out more. It wasn't as if he denied bail for any legal reason but rather to keep her in the cell.

Where he could watch her.

“I'll see that Randolph is all right,” Slocum said to Marianne. He was rewarded with a look of pure gratitude—and something more. He wished iron bars didn't separate them.

From the way Harvey Whitehill glared, he wanted there to be another set of bars. A new thought hit Slocum. The sheriff wouldn't toss him in the clink because that would put both him and Marianne together, bars or not. Slocum got the feeling Whitehill thought of him as a rival for Marianne's affections.

As much as that irritated Slocum, it made him feel a mite easier. Whitehill wouldn't let anything happen if he was sweet on her. Slocum took his leave and looked around, wondering where a young boy without any parental influence would go. He searched around the back of the hotel but found nothing. Asking after Randolph—and likely Billy, too—wouldn't get him far. Ignoring young boys unless they were up to mischief was too easy. Adults had jobs, concerns, that didn't include boys.

Slocum harkened back to when he was Randolph's age. He found himself going to the general store. Inside, out of the sun and relishing the cool interior, he looked around until he found the shelf with the stick candy.

“Help you, mister?” The clerk wiped his hands on a filthy apron. From his expression, he hoped Slocum had a great deal to order because working in the back room proved more difficult.

“Three sticks of that candy,” Slocum said. “Peppermint. Striped.”

“That's three cents. I'll let you have six for a nickel.”

“This is fine,” Slocum said. The candy lay on the counter. He reached over and took a small scrap of paper and wrapped them before tucking the candy away in his coat pocket. In this heat, they would turn sticky fast. “You catch those boys stealing your candy?”

“Boys? Oh, them,” the man said in disgust. “You mean that Billy McCarty and his sidekick. Don't know the kid's name but he follows Billy around like a puppy dog. Naw, I've never caught 'em, but I know they sneak a piece or two every time they come in.”

“When was the last time you chased them off? This morning?”

“Yeah, not a half hour back. I was stacking in the back room when I heard the bell ring.” He pointed to a small brass bell on a spring that alerted him of new customers. “Billy was trying to stop the bell from ringing so he and the dark-haired kid could grab some food, I suspect.”

“I just came from talking to Sheriff Whitehill, and he wants to know where those young'uns might hide out.”

“Last time they tried to sneak off with a jar of pickles, I chased them to the stock tank at the edge of town.”

“Stock tank?”

“Abandoned when Silver City started growing. This used to be free range. Don't even know what rancher built the tank, but it don't hold water worth a damn anymore. Still, there's some water in it. Might even be a fish or two, though I couldn't say.”

“Much obliged,” Slocum said, heading out with the candy in his pocket. He intended using it as a peace offering to get Randolph and Billy where he could watch them. Boys that age knew every hiding place there was. He might search for a month and never come close to flushing them out if they took it into their heads to avoid him.

Slocum sauntered along, not hurrying as he turned over everything that had happened. He didn't run from trouble, but he seldom sought it out. This time too much had found him. Where Marianne fit into the trouble bothered him the most. Memories of them together in Georgia spiced up everything that swirled around in Silver City. Before he had everything straight in his head, he caught sight of Billy peering over the edge of the stock tank.

The dirt walls had broken in several places, making what might have been a usual watering hole into a shallow pool. He doubted the general store's clerk was right about there being fish in the scummy water.

“How deep is it?” Slocum called. “Doesn't look to be more than a foot or two.” No answer. He edged through a small gap in the earthen wall and looked around the pond. “Doesn't look good for much more 'n breeding mosquitoes. Doubt there's any fish in it.”

He found himself a spot to sit. Without looking around, he reached into his pocket and took out the candy sticks. Peeling away the paper, he made a big deal out of choosing one to suck. He twirled it in his mouth, smacking with gusto now and then as he pointedly stared across the still water.

“Ain't more 'n a foot deep 'cept in the middle. Close to six foot there. No fish, though. You're right 'bout that.”

He silently held out the paper with the remaining two sticks of candy. Billy hesitantly took one.

“What 'bout the other?”

“That's for Randolph. If you'll give it to him, go on and take it.”

“Naw, if I took it, I'm not sure I could hold myself back from eatin' it, too.”

Billy sat a yard away and worked the peppermint stick around and around, reducing the end to a sharp tip.

“How come?” Billy looked out of the corner of his eye at Slocum. As it was, he kept his legs coiled under him, ready to launch himself into full flight if the need arose.

“Randolph's ma is in jail. She wants me to be sure he's not getting into trouble.”

Billy laughed, then fell silent. He cast a sidelong glance at Slocum, then stared straight ahead, as if the two of them locking eyes would be wrong.

“You're different,” Billy said. “You don't prance around the truth like most grown-ups.”

“Never had much truck with speechifying,” Slocum said. “Lying either.”

“I ain't a liar!”

“Never said you were. Truth is, the sheriff and others say a good bit about you but never has a one of them called you a liar.”

“Good. I tell the truth.”

“You know where Randolph is.” Slocum made it a flat statement.

“He's not here.”

Slocum said nothing. Billy might not lie outright but answers such as that were just as bad.

“You won't lock him up like his ma?”

“Farthest thing from my mind. You know what's happened to me since I got to Silver City. Locking anybody up isn't to my liking.”

“You'd kill, though?” Billy sounded eager at the notion.

“I didn't kill Carstairs. Randolph's ma didn't either. You have any notion who might have killed him?”

“Been thinkin' on that. Might be Texas Jack's old partner, name of Jim Frank. He chased me and Randolph off more 'n once for no good reason. Vicious son of a bitch.” Billy looked hard at Slocum, who made no sign he'd heard profanity or had any desire to chastise him.

“Frank and Texas Jack had a fallin'-out.”

“Know why?”

“They was partners in a mine. Texas Jack sold out. From what Miz Lomax said to Randolph, Texas Jack got rooked. Didn't bother him none, though, since he might have found a bigger strike. Biggest ever since Cap'n Bullard and his brother found silver back in '70. Don't know what his brother's name was. Don't matter.”

Slocum thought on this a spell. If Bedrich had made a rich strike, Marianne would have been in clover. He turned over the possibility that she might have killed him for the deed to the claim, then discarded what had to be a busted hand. Women couldn't own real estate, and more than this, Bedrich looked to have been killed in Santa Fe. There hadn't been even a hint that she had left Silver City and gone hunting for him.

“That's easy enough to learn about,” Slocum said. “Bedrich would have filed a claim in the land office.”

Billy snickered.

“Burned down. Took all the records with it.”

“Somebody burn it down or was it an accident?” In a town like Silver City, fire made everyone constantly uneasy. The buildings were constructed poorly, slammed up side by side, so if a fire did start from a kerosene lamp or carelessly emptied stove, the entire town would go up in a flash.

“Hard to say. It was the assay office, too. And the telegraph. I seen how Jerry—he was the clerk and telegrapher and chemist—stored those stinky chemicals of his. Saw him burn up a piece of paper with just a drop of one of them chemicals.”

“Where would you go to file a claim? This is the county seat.”

Billy shrugged. He worked on the last of his peppermint stick candy and then rubbed his fingers in the dirt to get rid of the stickiness.

“Think Randolph might know?”

“Why him? Oh, you mean Texas Jack might have said something to him? I doubt it. Him and Texas Jack didn't get along too good. Me, I liked Jack. He gave me whiskey when nobody was lookin'.” Billy jerked his head around, looking fierce. “He never gave Randolph none. Ever.”

“Don't much care,” Slocum said. “Bedrich is dead and isn't going to give anybody a free drink. So, where's Randolph?”

“I can give him that candy. The stick you got left.”

“You said you'd eat it if I gave it to you. Better for me to eat it myself if Randolph's not getting it.” This logic appealed to the boy.

“Randolph was earnin' a dime an hour workin' for Tom. He's the owner of the Lonely Cuss, where Randolph's ma works. Worked.”

“The fellow at the store knows you tried to muffle the door bell.” With that, Slocum stood, brushed off his pants, and made his way to the crack in the stock pond wall.

He saw how Billy shied away, then relaxed when it became apparent Slocum wasn't trying to nab him. Slocum felt the boy's eyes on him as he returned to town, heading for the saloon. It made sense that Randolph would look for work at a place his ma worked. As much as he tried to distance himself from her, he had to still feel the need to protect her—and be comforted by her when things went wrong. Heaven alone knew how much had gone wrong for the Lomax family, just in the past few days.

BOOK: Slocum Giant 2013 : Slocum and the Silver City Harlot (9781101601860)
3.47Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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