Slocum 394 : Slocum and the Fool's Errand (9781101545980) (11 page)

Jack snapped his fingers. “I just thought of something! We can also look for blood spilled on the ground.”

“Yours?”

“No! I was shooting at them. Sure it was raining, but I was also shooting at them when they tried to come at me again. I emptied a whole cylinder firing at those monsters and had to hit something.”

Slocum had his doubts about that. Not only was Jack panicked, but he was most likely not using his right hand to hold his gun. His left hand would have been unfamiliar and shaky. Even under the best conditions, he doubted anyone could hit a moving target with a cobbled-together firearm like the one hanging on Jack's hip. Rather than piss on the other man's fire any more than he already had, Slocum said, “It's most likely the blood was washed away.”

“Ahh. You're probably right about that. But those are the tracks! They're fresh enough, and if there were that many coyotes or wolves around here, odds are some of them would have taken a run at me between here and that town.”

“Now there's a good point. Some of the tracks lead toward your camp, but others head to the east.”

“You sure about that?”

“As sure as I can be. Again, you don't trust my judgment, you're more than capable of hiring someone else for the job.”

“No, I trust you, John. I just didn't think we'd actually have a chance in hell of catching those things. What that animal took from me is mighty valuable. Looks like I may actually see it again.”

“Don't get excited yet. We just started this ride and could lose those dogs anywhere along the way.” Since his horse was already there, Slocum waited for it to stop drinking and then climbed into the saddle. “It's your ring that was swallowed, so you're the one that'll sift through any of the scat we find.”

“You think it would've worked its way out so soon? I mean . . . something that size should be lodged inside of that beast for a while, right?”

Slocum shrugged. “I've learned plenty of things in my years of doing odd jobs and riding from one side of this country to the other. The time it takes for a piece of metal to work its way through a wolf's ass isn't one of them.”

“All right, then. I'll do the dirty work.” Jack climbed into his saddle, which was much more of an ordeal than it had been for Slocum. Although, considering it had been less than a day since his fingers had gone missing, he seemed to be compensating for them pretty well.

“You sure you're up for this?” Slocum asked. “You're looking a little green around the gills.”

Jack started to nod, wavered for a moment, leaned over to vomit, but only managed a few dry heaves before sitting up again. “I'm fine. Don't ask again. Makes me think about it too much.”

Slocum surveyed the terrain from the slightly higher position atop his horse. “Animals like this won't leave a steady amount of tracks for us to follow, and we don't have time to look for any if they did. Our best bet is to think ahead and figure where they might go.”

“You mean . . . think like a wolf.”

“More or less. Look for more watering holes or any carcasses that they might have brought down. Hopefully we can pick up their tracks somewhere along the way.”

“Or catch sight of the beasts,” Jack said.

“Right. Maybe we'll get lucky enough for them to catch your scent and take a run at you to finish the meal they started.”

Jack lost some more of his color and choked back another dry heave. “That ain't funny.”

 

They fanned out and rode abreast of each other so they could scour as much ground as possible. Although Slocum had started off the day skeptical as to whether he would be able to find much of anything, he found reason to hope that he might just earn his fee after all when they caught sight of an elk that had obviously been killed and partially eaten by a pack of wild animals. Tracks led away from there, where the terrain remained mostly flat in front of them. The Potrillo Mountains always seemed to be just out of reach, and every time Slocum looked at those mountains, he dreaded being led into them. He didn't have any doubt that he could safely cross the rocky slopes. It wasn't as if they were as daunting as a pass through the Rockies, but finding one pack of coyotes or wolves in them would be tough. Trying to find one before it could squeeze out a very uncomfortable piece of jewelry was damn near impossible.

If the wolf was hurting, it could make a lot of noise. But there was also the chance that it had already died and stopped leaving tracks.

It was later in the afternoon when the sun's rays hit the ground at an angle that bounced perfectly off several spots on the desert floor, causing them to glimmer like mirrors embedded in the earth. Before he lost sight of them, Slocum signaled to Jack and pointed them out. “Looks like more watering holes,” he said. “You take a look at the ones over there, and I'll take these closer to me.”

Jack waved excitedly and rode toward the spots. It wasn't long before the angle of the sun no longer hit the puddles just right, but they were fairly close together and Slocum found almost all of the ones he'd been after. Unfortunately, the ground around them was either solid rock or too muddy to hold a print. An exasperated sigh was still leaking out of him when Slocum heard a sound from the opposite end of the emotional spectrum.

“John! Come over here! I found something!”

Slocum rushed over to where Jack was standing. Despite his haste, he still thought the other man might jump out of his skin before he arrived. “What is it?” he asked.

Jabbing a finger down to the ground, Jack exclaimed, “Look right there! Look at them tracks and tell me they ain't the same ones we saw by the cave and that first watering hole!”

“There seems to be enough of them.” After climbing down from his horse, Slocum gazed at the imprints in the mud. “They're not as deep. That means they were left behind when the ground wasn't as wet.”

“That falls in line with our timetable.”

“It does.”

“And to make things better, they lead in a perfect line in that direction!”

The good part was that Jack was mostly right. From what Slocum could see of the tracks, the paw prints came from the west, circled around the watering hole, and then led off to the east. The bad part was that they were headed toward the mountains.

“I think I see some watering holes further along!” Jack said. “Let's get after 'em!” He was excited enough to climb into his saddle without being tripped up too much by his wounded hand, and Slocum wasn't about to do anything to slow him down. On the contrary, he was perfectly happy to let Jack take the lead as they raced toward the next set of puddles.

Most of those puddles turned out to be anything but. Some were half-buried wagon wheels that had caught the light properly to cast a convincing reflection. Some were shiny rocks. The rest were most likely mirages drifting through the addled mind of a wounded and delirious man. No matter how many false leads he found, Jack wasn't close to losing steam. As the sunlight began to wane, he only grew more enthusiastic.

“Come on, John!” he shouted. “I see another one! Definitely more water this time!”

Slocum snapped his reins to catch up with the other man. When he did, he signaled, motioned, and finally shouted to get him to stop. As soon as he had a chance, Slocum said, “We can't go chasing every shiny thing we see!”

“Time ain't on our side,” Jack replied. “For all we know, them wolves are already gone.”

When Jack started to move away from him, Slocum reached out to grab the black gelding's bridle. Fortunately for him, the horse was also tired of all that running around.

Jack turned on him with ferocity in his eyes. If he'd still had his entire right hand, he might have made a move for his pistol. “What do you think yer doin'?”

“I'm keeping you from wasting any time. How long did you stop to look at those last couple of spots? A second or two?”

“If that! How's that a waste o' time?”

“Because I can think of a dozen things you could have missed by being in such a rush,” Slocum said. “If you're gonna do something half-assed, there's no point in doing it at all.”

Jack sighed and nodded. “You're right. Should we go back to have another look at those first watering holes?”

Slocum let go of the other horse's bridle and settled into his saddle. When he shifted to cast reluctant eyes at the mountains, he said, “Something tells me we won't be able to do that.”

“Why? Because we're runnin' out of daylight? Maybe you think we should just head into them hills?”

“We've got to consider those things. Also,” he added while pointing to a ridge on one of the nearby slopes heading into a rocky wall, “there's that.”

Jack turned to look at where Slocum was pointing. When he saw the row of Indians on horseback staring down at them from atop a ridge, his hand snapped to his holster. A snarled curse gurgled from the back of his throat when his right hand knocked against tooled leather.

“Yeah,” Slocum said. “I agree with that sentiment.”

Young had followed Dan's directions by cleaning up and putting on his other set of clothes. Dan couldn't decide if his altered appearance spoke more for the ability of the barber who'd trimmed Young's hair, the quality of that extra set of clothes, or the amount of dirt that was normally caked onto Young's face. Whatever it was, the difference was striking.

“So,” he said to the elderly gentleman who owned the barber shop as well as rented bathtubs to anyone with fifty cents burning a hole in their pocket, “this seems like a pretty quiet town.”

The barber laughed and said, “Normally, I'd say yes. Things have been fairly loud recently.”

“Really? Why's that?”

“Bunch'a men charged through here this very morning.” His wrinkled face scrunched into a series of deeper wrinkles as he studied Young closely. “One of them was about your size, I reckon.”

Young held up his hands and grinned. “You got me. Should I walk on over to the sheriff now or after I get a splash of something to make me smell good for the ladies?”

The old man laughed and reached for a glass bottle full of his cheapest cologne. “Didn't mean to offend you, mister. Have a splash on the house. Though you won't hardly need it if you go to the Dusty Hill Saloon.” He winked and said, “Just ask for Caroline. Sweet little blond thing who works there if you catch my meaning.”

“I think I do. What happened with these men that charged through town?” Since he wasn't interested in a story he already knew, Young made it look as if he were listening just to let the old man get comfortable in his role as storyteller. When the barber paused to take a breath, Young asked, “Was one of those men named Jack Halsey?”

“Don't know if I caught any names. I bet the sheriff knows, but he may be kinda busy since he just got back from riding on a posse.”

“You really keep abreast of current affairs.”

The barber didn't have a hat, but he tapped a finger to his brow as if there was one there anyway. “Small town, you know. Anyone on Main Street saw that commotion.”

“Anyone else on Main Street who might know about who came through town?”

“You just curious or are you a friend of this Halsey fellow?”

“I'm a writer,” Young said with complete confidence that only a writer or a very good liar could attach to that statement. “Been riding through the territory looking for something worth selling to a newspaper. You point me in the right direction and I'll be sure you get credit for it.”

“In print?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Mention my shop as well?”

“In black and white,” Young assured him.

“There was a fella who rode with the sheriff on that posse. Name's Slocum, I believe. He was stayin' at the Dusty Hill Saloon with one of the girls that works there. If he ain't available to answer your questions, he may have spoken to someone else. Sheriff Reyes is pretty tight-lipped about official business.”

“Sounds like you know from experience.”

“Like I said before,” the barber replied. “Small town. Only news we get is what we can dredge up on our own. Fact is, I already been pestering the sheriff about what happened with the commotion and such, and if I pester him any more, he's likely to get sore. A man in my position can't afford to lose customers. Maybe you should just ask Dale at the saloon. Between him and those girls of his, there's always someone watching what goes on around here.”

“Ain't that always the case? Should have started there anyhow.” That was the truth, and if it hadn't been for his need of a change in appearance, Young would have walked straight into the saloon to ask his questions.

“Will I still get that mention in print?”

“Yes, sir.”

It was only a matter of minutes before Young found himself in the Dusty Hill Saloon speaking to a sweet little blonde named Caroline. She wore a dark red dress that hugged her ample curves. A bright smile was framed by flowing gold hair. She obviously knew what she was doing when she brightened her smile even more, but Young kept his focus.

“I've heard of Jack Halsey,” she said. “One of the other girls here was staying with the man who rode with the sheriff and he told her all about him.”

“Did he mention where Jack's staying?”

“I don't know about that.”

“What about the man who rode with the sheriff?” Young asked. “What's his name?”

She straightened up like a little girl who was proud to know the answer of a question posed by her favorite school teacher. The gesture caused her bosom to swell beneath the constraints of her corset as she replied, “John Slocum.”