Slocum 394 : Slocum and the Fool's Errand (9781101545980) (2 page)

“Here they come!” a man shouted from the corner just a few storefronts away from the saloon. “Looks like Mark found 'em all right!”

“I ain't deaf, you damn fool,” another man snarled. “Anyone with ears can tell he didn't just stumble on some coyotes out there.”

The squabbling pair stood on the corner of Main and Second Streets. Gwen only needed to hear their voices to recognize them as two of the men who liked to call themselves deputies even though they weren't officially on any payroll. Stan owned part of the dry goods store, and Oscar rented horses out of a livery on the other side of town. Both liked to strut about wearing their guns as if they were real lawmen. Gwen couldn't help scowling down at the two bumbling shapes as they hopped anxiously while the real posse chased armed fugitives at the risk of their own lives.

“They're headed this way!” Oscar said. “Here they come. Here they come!”

“Shut yer damn mouth or they'll know we're—”

Two horses rounded the corner as if they'd been dropped from thin air. Between the rumble of hooves in the distance, the usual commotion inside the saloon, and the two morons arguing outside, Gwen hadn't heard the approach of the two closest animals until they were barreling down Main Street. She couldn't see much since Stan was also the one in charge of lighting the lanterns along Main and had obviously been too preoccupied by jumping out of the street like a frog with a firecracker stuffed up its ass to fulfill that duty. The men on those horses kept their bodies hunkered down low over their animals' necks, gripping their reins tightly. Gwen took half a step away from the window until she was fairly certain she couldn't be seen from the street below. The entire saloon held its breath. Once the riders had rushed past, the banjo player commenced with his song, the rowdies downstairs commenced shouting, and the kid in the next room got the bed knocking against the wall.

“They're headed for my store!” Stan wailed as he fired a wild shot at the riders.

A few seconds later, the knocking against the wall stopped and the door to that room was opened.

After making her way into Gwen's room, Caroline said, “I got high hopes for that boy. Held out for longer than I thought this time around. What's Stan going on about down there?”

Before Gwen could answer, the rest of the hooves that had been approaching town finally reached their destination. The two would-be deputies didn't have any time to squawk before being forced against the nearest building. Three men on horseback bolted from the darkness, followed by another pair that was hot on their heels and firing at their backs. When she pulled in a breath and leaned forward to get a better look, Gwen was almost shoved out the window by the overanxious blonde.

“Is that Mark and that other fella?” Caroline asked.

“Looks that way. I better go check.”

Gwen rushed from her room with Caroline following her. As the two women hurried down the stairs leading to the main floor, they created almost as much commotion as the horses that had just blazed a trail down Main Street. Dale stood at his post behind the bar, still out of breath from his trip down those same steps a few minutes ago. “Git yer asses back up them stairs, for Christ's sake!” he groused.

Gwen and Caroline ignored him, which wasn't anything new to the fat man. Rather than spend the effort it would take to go after them, he waved an exasperated hand at the women and dove back into the conversation he'd been having with one of the saloon's regular customers.

As soon as she'd shoved through the front doors, Gwen looked up Main Street to find the cloud of dust that had been kicked up by all those horses. It swirled in the cool night air as the rumbling hoofbeats rolled through town like a storm.

“You ladies shouldn't be out here,” Oscar said as he stepped up to the saloon. “Dangerous sorts are about.” He was a heavyset man, but had a build closer to an old stove as opposed to the large pumpkin shape of the fellow behind the Dusty Hill's bar.

Stan stood across the street, reluctant to leave the shadow that wrapped nicely around his spindly scarecrow frame.

“I saw five of them plus the posse,” Gwen said. “Is that the entire gang?”

“We heard tell there was six or seven of 'em riding hard out of Texas,” Oscar replied, taking a tone he saved for when he wanted to sound like an official lawman instead of a glorified errand boy. “Looks like the sheriff and that other fella dropped two of 'em outside of town.”

Gwen let out a relieved breath, which was immediately drawn back in again when Oscar tacked something on to his statement.

“Either that,” he said, “or them other killers are circling around town to meet up with the rest. Could be an ambush.”

“Ambush?” Stan shouted from across the street. “Did you say ambush?”

“Could be.”

“What?”

“I said
could be
an ambush!” Oscar hollered. Waving toward the saloon, he said, “You ladies go on inside, and I'll stop by to let you know any news I get regarding that posse.” Since he figured his job was done, he ambled across the street to resume his pointless conversation with Stan.

“Oh, for heaven's sake,” Gwen muttered as she ran to the corner where the dust had yet to settle.

Knowing that neither of the two men would even take notice, Caroline hurried to catch up. Both women had rounded the corner and were once again in sight of the horses before the blonde got close enough to say anything without having to shout at her friend's back. Breathing hard enough to form a cloud of steam in front of her, she asked, “What do you intend on doing out here, Gwendolyn?”

Much like a child hearing her whole name spoken by an angry parent, Gwen stopped short and focused on the source of the sternly worded question. “I have to see if he's all right.”

“The only thing you'd be doing right now is getting in the way.”

Unable to counter such simple logic, Gwen came to a stop. She'd lived in Rocas Rojas for so long that she could tell where she was by the texture of the boardwalk under her feet. It was a cold night and getting colder by the second, but that still wasn't enough to make her turn around and head back to the saloon.

“Come on,” Carline said while wrapping a gentle yet insistent hand around Gwen's elbow. “Let's get back inside and wait for things to die down. If the sheriff hasn't raced away from here again in an hour, we can go and see what happened.”

“We know what happened. A bunch of killers were chased out of West Texas and now they're here. How can you feel so calm about that?”

“Wouldn't be the first time some gunmen came here from Texas or Mexico. Remember those three fellas last spring? Or maybe you'd just remember the one with the beard and the big arms?”

“Don't try to distract me, Caroline.”

Tugging on Gwen's arm, the blonde was just starting to make progress in steering her toward the saloon when shouting erupted from the direction of the sheriff's office. The little building was at the end of Third Street, which, owing to the lack of any lanterns being lit along the street, was encased in shadows thick enough to make it seem as if that section of town had been washed away in a puddle of thick black ink. Two horses staggered awkwardly from behind that building as their riders jerked on the reins to force the animals to step backward while turning to point their noses in another direction.

Gwen placed her hands over her mouth, afraid that the slightest sound might draw the wrong man's attention toward her. Whoever was fighting those horses to turn around was also shouting obscenities at the top of their lungs before finally pulling triggers that illuminated their faces in a flash of exploding gunpowder.

Caroline's grip tightened around Gwen's arm as she said, “We have to get away from here!”

“No. I have to see.”

“What do you want to see?”

“I have to see if—”

One of the riders got his horse facing the saloon so he turned to look that way as well. The instant he did, he locked eyes with Gwen.

She could feel him staring at her as if his gaze were another, even stronger, grip around her limbs that was powerful enough to root her to the spot. The second rider had gotten his horse turned around, and both rode away from the sheriff's office toward Gwen and Caroline.

“Bring them along with us,” the first man said. He was tall and wrapped up in what looked to be a long blue coat that was issued by the Federal Army. The gun in his hand may have come from the same place, but his partner didn't look nearly as official. That one looked as if he'd been chewed up and spit out after drying in the hot sun for six weeks. He glared down at Gwen but, like most of the rough types who drifted through Rocas Rojas, was quickly distracted by Caroline. “What do you want them fer?”

Even as gunshots blasted through the air around the farthest corner, the man in the Army coat barely seemed to notice. “They'd make for fine hostages.”

“As well as some comfort when we get down to Old Mex,” the rougher of the two men said.

“Indeed.”

With that, the rough man climbed down from his saddle while the first one shifted around to fire a few shots at the sheriff's office. The commotion in that direction was heating up even more, causing the rough man to move quicker than a flash as he lunged for Caroline.

The blonde shared a fleeting glance with Gwen, which was all either woman needed to decide what to do next. Both of them turned away from the gunmen and started running down the boardwalk. With every step, Gwen was certain she was about to get shot. After the bullet went through her, Caroline would either be chased down by the man on foot or scooped up by the one still on horseback. After that, she didn't want to think what would happen.

“Down!”

That one word sounded like a chorus of angels to Gwen, who immediately recognized the voice that had spoken it. Without hesitation, she threw herself sideways so she could tackle Caroline while following through on the simple command. Before the two women had completed their fall, another volley of gunshots filled the air.

Unlike the shots that had come before, these were strung together in quick succession and taken without concern for conserving ammunition. Lead whipped through the air amid a series of shouts and eventually pained screams as some of the rounds found their mark. Caroline twisted around to get a look at what was happening and was just in time to see the rough man's horse rearing up. She curled into a protective ball, waiting to feel powerful hooves trample her but knowing there wasn't much of anything she could do to prevent it.

One more shot hissed overhead, cutting the horse's panicked whinny short. Its hooves thumped down against the side of the boardwalk less than a foot away from Gwen's leg. After that, things got quiet.

Men's voices came from nearby, but the blood was rushing too quickly through Gwen's head for her to make out any words.

Spurs jangled in the street and a scuffle ensued.

More steps knocked against the boardwalk and came to a stop beside Caroline. When she shifted to look in that direction, Gwen saw the face she'd been looking for the entire time.

“That was a bit closer than I'd hoped,” Slocum said as he leaned down to offer a hand to her. His rough face was covered in trail dust and some blood, but was even handsomer than she'd remembered.

Gwen took his hand and was pulled to her feet. He would have offered his other hand to Caroline, but that one was still clenched around a smoking Schofield revolver. The pistol was pointed in the general direction of the closest horse, which was shaking its head furiously and bucking in the middle of the street.

“You didn't shoot that horse?” Caroline asked.

“Hell no, I didn't,” Slocum replied as he hauled her up. “Just put a bullet close enough to whisper into its ear and point it away from you. Now those two,” he said while aiming at the nearby gunmen, “won't get that courtesy.”

The rougher of the gunmen sat with his back against a hitching post, clutching his upper right arm with blood seeping through his fingers. The man in the Army coat was bleeding as well, but still in his saddle. A small wound in his leg glistened in the moonlight, but he ignored it while sitting up straight with his hands held high.

“It's all over for you,” Slocum announced. “Climb down from that horse, Bill.”

“I already tossed my gun,” the man in the Army coat said. “But it seems fitting you'd take down an unarmed man.”

The sheriff rounded the corner, holding a gun in each hand. “You killed three men in West Texas,” he said while covering the outlaws. “Whatever happens to you or the assholes who rode with you from then on was plenty justified.”

“What about the rest of my boys down the street?” Bill asked.

Without glancing around the corner to the spot where all the commotion had been, the sheriff replied, “Two are dead. The other one surrendered.”

“Is he wounded?”

“Nope,” the lawman said with half a smirk. “Gave up real quick once you and this other one bolted.”

“Oh, fer Christ's sake,” the man in the Army coat grunted. He started climbing down from his saddle, and when the sheriff stepped forward to offer some help, he refused it with a few wild swats.

Gwen and Caroline both hugged Slocum and were so excited they even started hopping up and down. He protested gently at first, but had to eventually force them away while wearing a pained wince.

“What's the matter?” Gwen asked. “Are you hurt? Oh my lord,” she said once she saw the way he favored his left arm. “You are hurt!”