Slocum and the Glitter Girls at Gravel Gulch (9781101619513) (5 page)

“Not at all,” Slocum said.

The two men in front of the hotel watched all this without any expression on their faces.

“I’ll show the man where the stables are,” one of them said.

“You do that, Hack,” Canby said. “Boze, you go with him.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Canby,” Walt Bozeman said.

“I think I can find the livery,” Slocum said.

“No trouble at all,” Rufus Hackberry said. “Just foller us.”

Slocum walked down the street leading the four horses and his own, Ferro. Rufus and Walt flanked him, matched his stride step by step. Slocum felt as if he was all but a prisoner of the two men. He saw no reason why they should accompany him to the livery, but apparently it was with Canby’s tacit understanding. He was being watched and he didn’t like it much.

The two men did not speak nor did Slocum try to engage them in conversation. The silence was so thick he
felt he could cut it with a knife and it would fall to the ground like a lump of soft coal.

Walt turned into the stables and Slocum followed him, with Hack right behind him.

There was an old moth-eaten horse tied to a hitchring in front of the stables. It was sway-backed with rheumy eyes, its head drooping, and it stood hipshot as if left there to die.

“Whose horse is that?” Slocum asked Walt.

“It belongs to Mr. Canby,” Walt said. “That’s the horse what was stolen.”

Slocum masked his surprise.

“Why would a man steal such a sorry horse?” Slocum asked Hack.

“You ask too many questions, mister,” Hack said.

“Well, that horse isn’t worth stealing,” Slocum said as they entered the darkened stable.

“Feller,” Hack said, “just put up those horses and don’t worry none about that stolen horse.”

Shafts of sunlight beamed through the walls and the roof of the stable. Dust motes spun and danced in the glowing light like ghostly fireflies. Slocum led the horses to stall doors that were open and put each one inside. There was water and grain in each stall. Ferro pawed the dirt floor as he waited for Slocum to lead him to a feed trough.

Hack and Walt closed the stall doors. Slocum found another empty stall, where he led Ferro. He unsaddled the horse and slipped off his bridle after hefting his saddlebags over his shoulder and slipping his Winchester from its sheath. Ferro began to nibble at the grain as Slocum walked back out and closed the stall door.

He saw movement at the far end of the stable and looked toward the doors.

A tall slender woman was standing there with a sleek gelding that had four white stockings and a star blaze on
its forehead. She held a curry comb in her hand and held the horse steady with a halter rope. Sunlight spun radiance through her dark hair, and when she turned to look at Slocum, he saw her breasts taut against her checkered blouse.

He stood there, transfixed by the beauty and grace of both the horse and the woman.

“You finished here, pilgrim?” Hack said to Slocum.

Slocum fixed both men with a hard stare.

“You boys run along,” Slocum said. “I’ll be around for a time.”

“You got your money,” Walt said. “No need to stay in town long.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Slocum said, and the two men twitched under the glare of his withering glance.

But they turned around and walked out of the stables. At the front doors they turned and looked back, but Slocum was already walking toward the woman at the far end of the livery.

“I was wondering if you were one of Canby’s boys,” she said, a slightly mocking tone in her voice.

“My escort,” he said.

“I saw the horses you brought in,” she said. “Canby pay you for them?”

“Yes, he did.”

“You’re lucky. He pays for very little in this town. And when he does pay, it’s not usually in coin of the realm.”

“What do you mean?” he said. He looked into her eyes. They were brown and shiny like polished kernels of fine dark wood. They flickered with sunlight when she lifted her chin.

“He usually pays off in lead,” she said. “He’s a snake.”

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

She looked at the man in the black clothing, her gaze frank and noncommittal, as if she were studying the lines and carriage of a fine horse.

“My brother has a mine here. I help him sometimes. But mostly, I mind my own business and ride my horse outside of this valley. I love this country. It’s wild and untamed and you can feel the tug of ancient hands at your shirttails when the wind is up.”

“It is beautiful country, but there are Apaches out there, even if you don’t see them.”

“The Apaches just want to be left alone,” she said. “They want nothing from me. I see them every so often and I wave to them.”

“Do they wave back?”

She laughed, and her laughter was pleasant and musical.

“Yes, they do, sometimes,” she said.

She began to stroke the horse’s rump with the curry comb.

“I’m John Slocum,” he said.

“My name’s Laura. My friends call me Laurie. Laurie Taylor. My brother’s name is Harvey. I call him Harve for short.”

“Pleased to meet you, Laurie,” Slocum said.

“Are you a gunfighter?” she asked. “You look like one.”

“It’s sometimes wrong to put a brand on a man because of how he looks.”

“True. But you still look like a gunfighter. It’s also obvious you know good horseflesh when you see it.”

“I trade horses,” he said.

“No gunfights?”

“Only when necessary,” he said.

She stopped combing her horse and looked at him again. This time her eyes searched the chiseled features of his face and her lips curled in a smile that was as fleeting as a spring rain on dry prairie.

“I just came back from an early morning ride,” she said. “That’s a fine horse you have there in the stall. Would you
be staying in town long enough to ride with me tomorrow morning?”

He was surprised at her boldness.

“I would make a special point of it,” he said.

“Meanwhile, maybe you’d like to walk me home. I have coffee and whiskey. My brother’s working his claim and I could use some company.”

“It would be my pleasure,” he said. “I was going to the saloon to rinse the dust out of my throat with some Kentucky bourbon.”

“Harvey keeps Old Taylor in the cupboard. Would that suit you?”

“Coffee would be fine,” he said. “The sun hasn’t even reached the rimrock yet.”

“Fine. I’ll put Lancer in his stall and we’ll go to my house.”

“You’re very kind,” he said as she turned her horse in to the stall and hung the curry comb on a nail.

“Let’s say I’m interested in you, John Slocum. I want to know more about you.”

“I’m at your disposal,” he said, and bowed slightly as she latched the door to her horse’s stall.

A stable boy appeared from the back lot, a pitchfork in his hands.

“Mornin’, Miss Taylor,” he said. “I didn’t know you was back.”

“Johnny,” she said, “this is John Slocum. That tall black horse is his. Make sure he has plenty of grain and you might rub him down.”

“Yes’m, I sure will. Howdy, Mr. Slocum. I’m Johnny Crowell. I take care of the stables here.”

Slocum followed Laurie out of the livery and onto the street. She turned to wait for him and then she took his arm and patted the back of his hand.

“This should set the town folk to talking,” she said as they passed by log buildings.

People in the stores were staring at them. Laurie flashed her enigmatic smile at them and Slocum smelled the scent of her perfume as they passed the gawkers.

The town was still half asleep, but the shadows on the bluffs and the canyon walls were slowly inching down the red and yellow rocks. The air was fresh and clean, and there was a lightness to Slocum’s step that he had not felt in many days.

Laurie’s log cabin was set apart from the other dwellings erected under the shadows of the tall buttes. It was a simple, homespun structure that appeared solid and livable with a small porch and overhanging roof. Slocum could not see the end of the long valley, but he saw men working the streams and moving along the stone face of the buttes with picks and shovels in their hands.

The door was not locked. Laurie entered first and showed Slocum to a large homemade chair with cushions. She sat on a small divan that had been made of pine and was covered with soft material that appeared to have been hand-sewn. There was a sewing machine set against a wall in the front room.

“Coffee or a drink?” she asked.

“Coffee would be fine,” he said.

“I left a pot on the stove. It won’t take but a minute.”

When she returned with a small tray, there were two cups of steaming coffee on it. She handed one cup to
Slocum and sat down with the other. She set the tray on a small coffee table in front of the couch.

Slocum blew on his coffee and sipped from the rim.

Laurie held her cup up to her lips and looked at Slocum through the steam.

“I know who you are, John Slocum,” she said, and there was a twinkle of amusement in her eyes.

“I told you my name,” he said

“I mean I know who you really are. For years, and ever since we came out here, my brother Harvey has talked about you.”

“He has?”

“Yes. You’re his hero.”

“I’m nobody’s hero.”

“You were in Abilene down in Texas one time and Harve said you took on a bunch of killers and stood up to them.”

“I’ve been in Abilene,” Slocum admitted. “A time or two.”

“There was a gang there, and you stood up to them. You helped an old man and his ailing wife drive off those men.”

“I remember some of it,” Slocum said.

“He saw you face off the worst of those bad men in a saloon and you outdrew and outshot them.”

“It’s possible,” he said.

“And without expecting any reward. You were just performing a kindness, according to Harve.”

Slocum said nothing. He sipped his coffee and looked at Laurie over the rim of his cup.

“He said you were quite the ladies’ man, too. All the women in town chased after you.”

“I think your brother is mistaken,” Slocum said. “I don’t remember anything like that in Abilene.”

Laurie laughed.

“No, John,” she said. “Harve remembers every detail
and knew the whole story by the time you came into that saloon, and not only did you stand up to the threats, but outdrew and outshot the bad guys. He has a vivid memory of that day.”

Slocum said nothing. There had been so many shootouts in his life since the War Between the States. Sometimes they were a blur in his mind, and at other moments, he could recall such encounters in clear detail. He tried not to think of the men he had killed. While it was always in defense of himself or others, he knew the gravity of taking a human life and he did not like that he had to do it. He disliked civilizations for several reasons. In most of the towns, he had encountered jealousy, envy, greed, and avarice, all springing from so-called “civilized” towns and cities.

Laurie drank more coffee and Slocum saw the way her lips parted seductively as she placed them on the rim of the cup. She was a beautiful woman and as graceful as a doe or a swan. He sensed a wildness in her that would never be tamed by any man and that excited him.

“Well, no matter,” she said. “But I thought of what Harvey told me when I saw you at the stables and I’m sure you saw that old broken-down horse outside.”

“I saw it,” he said.

“Can you imagine anyone in their right mind would try and steal such a horse?”

“No, I can’t imagine it,” he said.

“That was a put-up job arresting those two boys and accusing them of being horse thieves.”

“I thought the same thing myself when I saw that horse,” Slocum said.

“It’s not the first time such a thing has happened,” she said.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Orson Canby. He’s greedy and without scruples. When
he sees a man strike it rich in this valley, he trumps up one charge or another and has the man killed. Executed. Then he takes over the claims and fills his pockets.”

“There are such men all over the West,” Slocum said, his coffee now cool enough so that he drained his cup.

“Canby runs this town,” she said. “Those two men who were with you at the livery work for him. Dirty work.”

“I know,” he said.

“They spy on the prospectors and report back to Canby. They hanged one man yesterday or early this morning and now they are going to hang another, the dead man’s partner. Is there anything you can do to save his life?”

Slocum felt a tightening in his throat and it wasn’t from the coffee, which was not that strong.

He looked at Laurie and saw that she was serious about her question.

He let out a breath through his nostrils.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked.

“Don’t let Canby hang him. That way he can’t jump the man’s claim.”

“Is there a jail here?” Slocum asked.

“There’s a log cabin they use as a jail. There is only one man guarding it most of the time.”

“You’re asking me to break whatever law there is in this settlement,” Slocum said.

Laurie erupted with a harsh laugh.

“Law? There is no law here in Deadfall. Canby is the law and he’s as crooked and mean as a snake.”

“If I break that man out of jail, Canby and his men will come after me. I’ll have to kill them or get killed myself.”

“I know it’s a lot to ask,” she said, “but I deplore what Canby is doing. He wrongfully hanged Harlan Devlin and now he’s going to hang Wallace Hornaday. For stealing a horse that’s on its last legs.”

“There is a fair amount of injustice here, I grant,” Slocum said.

“There’s a lot of injustice here,” she said, and there was a bitter tone to her voice.

“I’ll look into it. When are they going to hang Hornaday, do you know?”

“This afternoon, I think. Canby will want as many town folk to witness the hanging and the afternoon is a perfect time. Those two men who were with you will get Hornaday out of jail and lead him to the gallows. Another man, Wilferd Butterbean, will do the actual hanging. He’s a fat pig who knows how to fashion a hangman’s knot.”

“So you’ve got a guard at the jail and those two jaspers who walked me to the livery. What about Butterbean? Does he pack iron? Wear a pistol on his hip?”