Slocum and the Glitter Girls at Gravel Gulch (9781101619513) (10 page)

“You got that right, Slocum,” Hornaday said.

“If I can,” Slocum said, “I want to take Canby back to Dodge in one piece.”

“You mean alive,” Laurie said.

“Yes. Alive.”

Slocum drew a cheroot out of his pocket as Laurie handed the dodger back to him. He folded it and put it back in his pocket.

Then he lit his cheroot and stared at the dying fire for several moments.

“I hope you get him, John,” Laurie said, her voice low and full of concern.

Wallace said nothing. He drank his coffee and wondered what he had gotten into with a man like Orson Canby. Men like that had no place in the West or anywhere else. Yet there they were, living secret lives, with blood on their hands.

Such men were evil.

And Wallace Hornaday felt lucky that he was still alive.

Johnny Crowell couldn’t stand it any longer.

Steve Beck yelled from the jail where he was trapped. He banged on the door with his fists and shouted in a loud voice.

“Hey, somebody! Get me out of here.”

He kicked the jail door until the lock rattled.

And he yelled some more.

The cries were muffled, but Johnny heard them every time he walked out in back of the livery stables.

He wondered why no one came to check on Mr. Beck.

While he was in that quandary, Johnny saw the silhouettes of two men at the back door of the stables.

“What you doin’ out there, Johnny?” Boze called out. “Beatin’ your pud?”

Hack, beside him, laughed.

Johnny ran toward the two men.

“It’s not funny,” he said.

“What ain’t funny?” Boze asked.

“Don’t you hear it? That bangin’ on the jail door?”

“I hear it, so what?” Hack said. “Man’s goin’ to hang later today.”

“That ain’t the prisoner in there,” Johnny said.

“Huh?” Hack’s face wore a look of puzzlement.

“That’s Mr. Beck,” Johnny said. “He’s locked in there. And yellin’ his head off.”

Boze walked over to Johnny, grabbed him by the collar, and shook him.

“What’s Beck doin’ in jail?” he demanded.

Hack stepped out of the stables and walked up to Boze and Johnny.

“That feller locked him there,” Johnny blurted out.

“What feller?” Hack asked.

“You know, the one who sold Canby those horses. Slocum.”

“What?” Boze exclaimed.

“Slocum locked up Beck,” Hack said. “What happened to Hornaday?”

“Slocum took him. Walked away with him,” Johnny said.

“Shit,” Boze said.

“Damn him.” Hack’s face reddened with anger.

“We’ll catch hell from Canby over this,” Boze said.

“We gotta tell him.”

“Where’d Slocum go?” Boze asked.

Johnny shrugged as Boze took his hands away from the young man’s collar.

“I don’t know.”

“Damn you, Johnny,” Boze said. “You should have told somebody.”

“That’s a jailbreak,” Hack said. “A criminal offense.”

“We oughta hang this squirt of water for not tellin’ anyone,” Boze said.

Johnny shrank away, suddenly fearful.

“I—I didn’t know who to tell. For all I knew, it was a joke,” Johnny said.

“A joke?” Boze snapped.

“Man takes a prisoner out of jail and locks his guard inside. What’s funny about that?” Hack said.

“I don’t know,” Johnny said.

“Get your ass down the street. You find Canby. Tell him what happened,” Boze said.

“Yes sir,” Johnny said.

“Let’s see if we can find the key to that jail lock,” Boze said to Hack as Crowell scampered through the stables at a run.

“Damn that Slocum,” Hack said.

“Damn that kid, Johnny,” Boze said.

The two walked out of the livery and turned the corner to the back street.

They could hear Beck hollering as they approached the jail.

His voice was getting hoarse. They heard him kick the door and then it was silent.

The two gunmen walked up to the jail door. Hack shook the lock.

“Beck?” Boze said in a loud voice.

“That you, Bozeman?”

“Yeah. You got the key to this lock?”

“Hell no. Get me out of here, Boze.”

Beck’s voice was weak. He stood close to the door. He leaned against it for support.

“Slocum took my scattergun and pistol, too. Look over by the bench. I heard a clanking sound after he locked me in here.”

“Keep your pants on, Steve,” Boze said. “We’ll have a look.”

The door creaked as Beck leaned against it in despair.

The two men walked around to the side. They saw the bench.

Underneath it they saw Beck’s shotgun and his pistol. There were cartridges on the ground—.36 caliber.

“Look around for a key,” Boze said.

“I
am
looking,” Hack said. “So far, no sign of it.”

“The bastard probably took it with him,” Boze said.

“More’n likely, the son of a bitch.”

The two men scoured the ground all around the bench.

No key.

Hack threw up his arms.

“Nary a sign of that key,” he said.

“Wonder if we should break the damned lock,” Boze said.

“There’s probably only one key. That lock’s older’n Methuselah.”

“Yeah,” Boze said.

They left shotgun, pistol, and cartridges where they lay and walked back to the jail door.

“You find the key?” Beck called out.

“No, we didn’t,” Boze said. “Is there another key somewhere?”

“I—I don’t think so,” Beck said. “You got to get me out of here. It stinks from Hornaday’s shit and piss.”

“We’ll have to break the lock, Steve,” Hack said.

“Break it, then,” Beck said. “We can always get another damned lock.”

“Hold on,” Boze said. “We got to find a crowbar or a hammer.”

“Look in the livery,” Beck said. His voice had grown weaker. The door creaked as he stood away from it.

“Go find something, Hack,” Boze said.

“Hurry,” Beck said, his voice down to a whine.

“Shit,” Hack said.

He walked away, headed for the corner. Boze leaned against the jail wall again.

“He’ll find something, Steve,” he said. He pulled the makings from his pocket and began to roll a cigarette. “We’ll get you out of there pronto.”

“Pronto can’t be too soon,” Beck said. “I’m suffocatin’ in here.”

“Won’t be long,” Boze said. He licked the paper to seal it around the tobacco. He stuck the cigarette in his mouth and lit it. The sun was bearing down on him and he had begun to sweat.

It must be near noon, he thought. Hornaday had been due to hang around three that afternoon.

Now, he was gone and Slocum had him.

Where?

Where in hell could a man go in Deadfall? With a prisoner at that?

Bozeman puzzled over those questions until he saw Hackberry round the corner, a crowbar in his left hand. He seemed in no hurry.

“Get your ass over here, Hack. Man’s dyin’ in that hoosegow.”

Hack did not quicken his pace.

“Keep your shirt on, Boze. I’m all out of hurry after lookin’ for this here crowbar.”

Beck whined behind the jail door.

Boze grabbed the crowbar out of Hack’s hand and tossed his cigarette down. He ground it into the dirt with the heel of his boot.

Boze slid the straight end of the crowbar into the loop of the lock.

When it was solid, he pushed hard, down, and to one side.

He grunted.

The lock snapped open with a crack.

Boze slipped the lock from the hasp and opened the door.

Beck staggered out.

The stench from inside the jail wafted outside after him.

“Thank God, Boze. You got me out.”

“Your weapons are back by your bench, Steve. Pull yourself together,” Boze said.

Beck’s face was grimy and drenched with his sour sweat. His shirt was soaked through and his hands oily.

Beck hurried around to the side of the jail as Hack and Boze waited for him.

When he returned, he was carrying his shotgun and loading cartridges into the cylinder of the LeMat. It was awkward, juggling the shotgun and trying to stuff fresh cartridges into his pistol.

“What the hell happened, Steve?” Boze asked as Beck came close. Beck finished loading his pistol and stuffed it into its holster.

“I was a-settin’ out there on my bench, when this feller come up to me,” he said. “He wore all back duds. He was a tall one.”

“Yeah, we know. What did he say?” Hack asked.

“Not much. He grabbed my scattergun and threatened me. He took my key and walked me around to the jail. He unlocked it and shoved me inside, took Hornaday out. Then he locked me in.”

“You dumb bastard,” Boze said. “You were supposed to guard the prisoner, keep him locked up.”

“That feller jumped me, I tell you. Came out of nowhere. One minute I was a-settin’ there, and next, he’s right there. Menacing he was. Downright menacing.”

“I’ll menace you, Beck, if you don’t calm down and tell the whole story,” Beck said.

“That is the whole story.”

“Any idea where Slocum took Hornaday?”

“Yeah, that was his name, Slocum. He told me like he didn’t care who knowed who it was that broke Hornaday out of jail.”

“Did he say anything to Hornaday? Like where he was takin’ him?” Hack asked.

Beck shook his head.

“No. Like I said, he didn’t say much. I heard him walk around and throw my guns down, then the footsteps just faded away.”

“Well, he’s somewhere,” Hack said.

Boze looked at his partner as if he had gone daft.

“Well, yeah, Hack, Slocum and Hornaday are sure as hell somewhere. But where?”

“Damned if I know,” Hack said.

“We got to find them, or Canby will tack our hides to the barn and set the barn on fire,” Boze said.

“Where do we look?” Hack asked. “In town? The saloon? Hotel?”

“No, you dumb bastard. Saloon ain’t open yet and Slocum damned sure wouldn’t check into the hotel with a jail-broke prisoner. Unless he’s stupid, like you.”

“Get off my ass, Boze,” Hack said. “I was just feelin’ my way about where they might have gone.”

“Well, we ain’t goin’ to waste time lookin’ where you think they ought to be.”

“Maybe they saddled up and rode out,” Hack said. “Lit a shuck for Flagstaff or Phoenix.”

Beck continued to sweat.

“I didn’t hear no horses ridin’ away,” he said. “Far as I know, Slocum come up here on foot.”

“We’ll see if that black horse of his is still in the livery,” Boze said.

Then he looked at Beck.

“What are you going to do, Steve?”

“I got to tell Orson what happened. He’ll be mad as hell, but I got to tell him.”

“I hope you got prayers enough to cover it, Steve,” Boze said. “Mad ain’t the word for what Orson’s goin’ to be when he finds out about this.”

“He probably already knows,” Hack said. “Johnny’s probably told him about the jailbreak by now.”

Beck’s face drained of color.

Boze felt sorry for the little man. Hell, he might have done the same thing if Slocum had come up on him suddenlike. Out of nowhere.

He patted Beck on the shoulder.

“Just tell Orson what happened, Steve. He likely won’t blame you as much as he’ll blame us. We let Slocum out of our sight when we were supposed to be watchin’ him.”

“You think so?” Beck said.

Boze didn’t have the heart to tell Beck no. He didn’t think Orson would understand. He’d just blame.

And he and Hack were bound to get a lashing as well.

Or worse.

On the long walk back to Laurie’s cabin, they stopped to talk to Harvey again.

As they walked up to his mine, Harvey pushed a wheelbarrow over to a small pile of rocks and dumped the rocks in the wheelbarrow into the pile. He was soaked with sweat and wiped his face with a bandanna, then stuffed it in his back pocket.

“Everything work out with Wallace?” he said, his words slowed by his panting breath.

“Safe and sound,” Laurie said.

“Good,” Harvey said.

He looked at Slocum with admiring eyes. He was still astonished that he had finally met the man who had impressed him back in Abilene.

“We’re going to the cabin,” Laurie said. “See you later?”

“Maybe,” Harvey said. “I want to finish my own cabin. I’ve got the roof on and a few more logs came in yesterday from Flagstaff. Just have a few things to do.”

“You’re building your own cabin?” Slocum asked.

“Started it two months ago. Just a few more logs and it’ll be finished. I’ll be staying there from now on, sis.”

“Have everything you need, Harve?”

“Yep. Got the stove all set up. Good chimney. Food stocked in the cupboards I planed the other day. All set.”

“I’ll miss your company, Harve.”

“I won’t be far away. Just holler, sis, if you need me.”

“Where is your cabin?” Slocum asked.

“About five hundred yards from where Laurie’s is. It’s a little behind hers, up against the butte. In fact, my back wall is the butte itself. Saved me some lumber.”

“I’d like to see it sometime,” Slocum said.

“I’ll take you there tomorrow maybe.”

“See you, Harve,” Laurie said.

As she and Slocum turned to walk away, Harvey called to them. They both halted and faced him.

“I saw something odd yesterday when that wagon pulled into town with my logs,” Harvey said.

“Oh?” Laurie’s head snapped back as she eyed her brother.

“There was another supply wagon from Flagstaff that pulled up,” Harvey said. “I couldn’t help but notice what was in it.”

“Tell us,” Laurie said.

“Rifles,” he said. “Carbines. Spencers. And boxes of ammunition. Enough for a small army.”

“That’s odd,” Laurie said.

Slocum’s interest perked up.

Why, he wondered, would someone haul in army carbines and ammunition? There was no army in Deadfall. No fort within miles of the settlement. And who were the guns for?

“How many rifles would you say were in that shipment?” Slocum asked.

“There were ten rifles in each box and I counted ten boxes. There were about twenty boxes of cartridges. I saw u.s. army stamped on all the boxes.”

“Stolen?” Slocum said.

Harvey shrugged. “Maybe,” he said. “I wondered about it. Two of Canby’s men covered up the wagon with a heavy tarp and two more men came and drove it around in back of the hotel.”