Slocum 394 : Slocum and the Fool's Errand (9781101545980) (19 page)

“Look, I . . .” But Jack didn't have to be scolded for his mouth to be shut. All he needed was to see the chief's clouded eyes boring through him like sunlight focused through a magnifying glass.

“Three of our hunters were killed,” Ilesh continued. “Three more are resting now after spilling their blood while you sit here healthy enough to speak to our chief. Tell me why you hunted Cha'to or you disgrace our people by disgracing yourself in front of them.”

Jack took a breath and shot half a glance over at Slocum. He didn't seem to have it in him to do much more than that before saying, “That wolf took my fingers. When he did, I wasn't wearing no ring.”

“Damn it,” Slocum growled.

“I came after that wolf because I was holding something when I was attacked. I hid it in my camp, heard the wolves, and dug it up so I could get the hell away from there. The wolves got to me quicker than I thought they would. I was still holding it, and when they came at me, they took it with my fingers.”

Ignoring everyone else in the area, Slocum faced Jack and asked, “What was it? What the hell was it that caused this much grief?”

Although Jack's words had come out of him like water from a cracked bucket, he was squirming too hard to say much of anything anymore. Slocum lunged, grabbed the front of his shirt, and stood up while dragging him along with him. “Tell me, God damn it!” he said while drawing his Schofield and jamming its barrel underneath Jack's chin. “Or by God, I'll give these men a treat by blasting your head clean off'a your neck!”

“It was a key!” Jack said.

“A key?”

“That's right! I swear it!”

“Why the hell should I believe you?”

“Because,” Ilesh said, “I also believe him. It was a key.” Extending his hand so Slocum could see what he'd taken from the pouch, he opened his fist to reveal a small key that glistened in the firelight. “I also believe this is the key.”

That was the key all right. Slocum could tell as much by the look on Jack's face. Like any liar, he was relieved to finally have the truth brought to light. It was a difference that was so drastic, Slocum felt like a fool for not having pieced it all together before. He threw Jack aside as if he were tossing garbage from a moving train and stormed out of the teepee. Rather than walk among the rest of the tribe that was still preparing the feast, he circled around the back of the teepee and walked until there was nothing but open ground and trees in front of him.

Slocum patted his shirt pocket and found half of a cigar that had been stuck in there since the last poker game he'd played just over a week ago. It was burnt and stale, but tasted good enough to distract him for a few moments until his heart stopped hammering within his chest. His pulse quickened again when he heard footsteps coming around the teepee.

“If that's you, Jack, do yourself a favor and walk somewhere else.”

The other person didn't say a word, which was enough to tell Slocum that it wasn't Jack. When he looked over, Slocum was surprised to find a face that looked as if it had been fashioned from weathered driftwood.

“You should not treat your friend so harshly,” Gopan said.

Shocked to be in the presence of the Apache chief, Slocum forgot about the cigar in his mouth until the smoke stung the back of his nose. When he removed it, he didn't know whether he should stamp it out or apologize for not having one to offer the old man. He settled for keeping the cigar in his hand as he said, “That one's hardly a friend of mine.”

“Then you walk many miles through much fire to protect a stranger.”

Gopan's voice was barely more than a grating wheeze and yet it carried more weight than most men's loudest boasts. Hearing it, Slocum couldn't help calming himself so he could behave properly in the chief's presence. “He fed me a lot of bullshit,” Slocum said with a wince afterward. “Pardon my language.”

“I have heard much worse,” Gopan chuckled. “Your friend is a liar.”

“Yep. And I'm a fool for riding with him this far.”

“No,” Gopan said while gazing out at the trees surrounding his tribe. “He is a liar. Just as Cha'to was a strong, hungry animal. We had to hunt Cha'to, but it is not our place to condemn him.”

“He was just doing his job,” Slocum said.

Gopan clasped his hands in front of him and laughed as the faraway look once more drifted into his eyes. At that moment, he just seemed like a gentle old man taking in the sights. “Yes. Just doing his job. I like that.”

“If you don't mind me saying, you're not like most of the other Indian chiefs I have seen.”

“I am just a man. Older than most. My tribe is made of people. They want me to lead them. I do.”

“I'm sorry about Jack.”

“Snake Catcher told me about the hunt. I listened to the stories that were told around my fire. I heard enough to know that Jack Halsey did his part to make the hunt a victory. Some of my own warriors rode after Cha'to in righteous anger over losing their loved ones to the teeth of those wolves. Some rode for motives that were not so noble. In the end, Cha'to will kill no more. That is what matters most.”

Slocum nodded and took a puff from his cigar. The stale taste was growing on him, and since the chief didn't seem to mind the smoke, he refrained from stamping it out. “So . . . about that key.”

Gopan smiled and stood like a totem that had been planted deep enough to withstand an earthquake. “Ilesh brought it to me.”

“How did he get it?”

“I do not know. Does it matter?”

“Yeah. It does to me. There's been too many things getting past me and I've been too content to let them slide.”

“Why would you help a man you dislike so much?” Gopan asked.

“I took the job because I knew Jack had the money to pay the fee he offered. I also knew Jack was full of shit . . .” Slocum paused and felt a pang of conscience when he cursed in front of the chief. He was no stranger to harsh language, but speaking that way to Gopan just didn't set well with him. “Knew that, but didn't think he was into anything terrible. Also, there are men after him. They came at us in Rocas Rojas and we were lucky to get away.”

“Of course there are.”

“Do you know about them, too?” Slocum asked.

“No, but men who lie frequently have to run from those they have angered.”

“Yeah, well, the men coming after Jack are a bit more than angry. I was gonna head out to see if they've tracked us this far.”

“What will you do when you find these men?”

“I don't know. Maybe hand Jack over to them. The little bastard's got it coming.”

“You don't think that,” Gopan said with absolute certainty.

“I don't?”

“Maybe he has it coming, but you don't think about handing him over to be slaughtered. You are not that kind of man.”

“Maybe you don't know me very well,” Slocum said.

“I have gotten to be this old by being able to see who men are as soon as they reveal themselves. You may be surprised with how little time you have to wait for them to do this. John Slocum is not the sort of man to hand another over to be killed. Not unless he is a much worse man than the weasel who rode with him against Cha'to.”

Slocum had been the cause of many deaths, but the chief was right. He wasn't about to end a man's life just for being a pain in the ass. “I should still go and see if those other fellows are coming after him. If not for Jack's sake, for the sake of your tribe.”

“Our scouts always protect us. My tribe has many enemies. We have withstood the guns of the white man's army. We can withstand a few bandits chasing a weasel.”

“I saw these men before. I'll be able to pick them out as something other than a couple of men riding through the Potrillos.”

“Then go with my scouts, but fill your belly first. The feast, after all, is for all of those who killed Cha'to.”

“Don't mind if I do.” Slocum wanted to shake the chief's hand, but the old man kept his hands clasped firmly in place across the front of his body as he turned to walk back around the largest teepee. After he was gone, Slocum stood and finished his cigar. Another set of footsteps found him, but he knew his luck wasn't good enough to dodge the same bullet twice.

“John? Mind if I have a word?”

“Figured it was you, Jack. What do you want?”

Jack approached tentatively and made certain to stop just outside Slocum's reach. “Like I said. Just a word.”

The cigar flared in Slocum's mouth. He chewed on the smoke and then expelled it in a strong breath.

“Didn't mean to lie to you, John.”

“Really? So it just slipped?”

“I suppose I just—”

Slocum wheeled around to stare directly into Jack's eyes. His jaw clamped shut almost tightly enough to drive his teeth clean through his cigar when he said, “You don't owe me an explanation. I knew what kind of asshole you were the moment I heard you scream like a little girl as you staggered into that doctor's office.”

“Hey now!” Jack said. “In my defense, I just lost most of my hand!”

“Spare me. I've heard men that had been gut-shot whine less than you. But fine. I'll give you that one. Then it turns out you've got killers coming after you. To be honest, that was never much of a surprise.”

“Yeah, I heard you and the chief talking about that.”

“I was the one who took the job you offered,” Slocum said. “I've worked for plenty of assholes and I'll work for plenty more. You owe me money, so hand it over.”

Jack's hands reflexively went for his belt, telling Slocum precisely where the cash was being stored at the moment. “Those men are still after me. They could still find me.”

“But you got what you were after with that wolf pack. I want the rest of what you owe me to pay for the portion of the job that's been done.”

“And what about the rest of the job?” Jack asked.

“Take your pick,” Slocum said from behind the stump of a cigar clenched in his mouth. “You can either consider my payment a show of good faith for putting up with your moaning for this long, or you can consider it a quick way to keep me from putting a bullet through your head just to rid myself of you.”

Jack's smile was wide, but shaky. “I heard you talking to the chief, remember? You said you wouldn't wanna shoot me.”

“I believe
he
said something along those lines. Not me.”

“Well, he also said you're not the sort of man to just hand someone like me over to die. Killing me is even worse, ain't it?”

“Funny, but it seemed so when I was talking to the chief. Now I'm not so sure.”

Jack's smile had been wavering at first, but now that he was being pushed a little further, he was unable to keep it in place. Letting it go along with the breath that had been in his lungs, he reached beneath his shirt and pulled out some cash. “Fine,” he said while handing it over. “Take it. I don't know if that's all of it, but there you go.”

Slocum took the money and arranged the bills so they could be folded and tucked into his pocket. After studying Jack's face for all of two seconds, he said, “You didn't think I was going to take it, did you?”

“Not really. The offer was more of a show of good faith,” Jack replied, putting the emphasis on
show
.

Slocum said, “Tell me about the key.”

Jack eyed the money for as long as he could before admitting to himself that he wasn't getting it back. “It unlocks a strongbox that's buried in . . .” His eyes flicked to Slocum's before snapping away again. “It's buried somewhere safe.”

“Good place for a strongbox. Other than a bank, that is. Why's it buried?”

“It belonged to my uncle. He did some work for a bunch of men in Texas.”

“Let me guess,” Slocum said. “Your uncle knew some outlaws or crooked politicians or maybe even stole the money himself and squirreled it away to keep it out of reach from men like the ones that are after you now.”

“You know my uncle?”

“Nope. I've just been to this dance a few times before.” From what he'd seen of Jack Halsey, Slocum had a fairly good read on the man. Once again, he could thank his poker instincts as well as a strong dose of common sense for that.

When Jack spoke about his uncle, it was quickly and comfortably. “My uncle's name ain't important,” he said, “but I will tell you he didn't do more than four honest days' work in his entire life. He was a crook, but he never did kill no one!”

“I never accused him of anything.”

Jack nodded sternly and looked at his feet while nudging a rock with his toe. “He was the man other crooks came to when they needed to hide their money or sell stolen property. Far as anyone in the family could figure, he was taking only a sliver of a percentage from those outlaws because he never seemed to get rich.”

“That's probably how he managed to stay alive and in business for more than a year,” Slocum pointed out.

“That's what we thought. He was an affable sort, too. Could charm a nun right out of her habit if he was so inclined. As it turned out, he was actually shaving off a little more of that money for himself and hiding it away.”

“He stole from outlaws?”

“Yep,” Jack replied. “Don't know when it started, but he took a little here and a little there. He only told me about it once, and I still don't fully understand the details of how he got paid or how he explained it to the men whose money it was. Something about making them believe he was paying out fake bribes or telling someone else about taxes or some other sort of fee that had to be paid which he never paid.”