Slocum and the Glitter Girls at Gravel Gulch (9781101619513) (8 page)

“How come you don’t use that rope for Hornaday, Wil?”

“I like a fresh rope. I’ll wash that other one and retie it when the time comes.”

“You like this kind of work, Wil?” Whit stood up and brushed off his trousers, which were clotted with dust.

“I don’t mind it,” Butterbean said. “It’s a thrill when I hear them neck bones crack and know I tied a good knot.”

Whit shivered again.

The two walked out of the hut and around back, where there was a small two-wheeled cart with an enclosed square of handles. Whit stepped inside the square and lifted the front bar.

“It is a little old rickshaw,” Whit said.

“Easy to pull right now,” Butterbean said.

The two walked to the main street of Deadfall and to the gallows. The wood used to build it had seasoned, but there was the smell of death all around it.

Harlan Devlin hung there, his feet drooping about a foot and a half below the trapdoor.

“You just wait here by the corpse,” Butterbean said.

Whit pinched his nostrils to shut off the smell of decaying flesh.

Butterbean climbed the stairs and pulled on the rope around Devlin’s neck.

He grunted as he pulled the body up through the sprung trapdoor. Then he laid Devlin’s body out flat on the deck and began to loosen the knot. He slipped the noose over the dead man’s head and then reached up to untie the rope from the overhead rafter. It took him several minutes to loosen the three knots that held the loose end of the rope in place. He coiled up the rope and set it near the steps.

“I’m going to drop him over the side of the platform, Whit. Move that cart out of the way and step aside.”

Whit moved the cart and stood well away from the platform.

Butterbean leaned down and felt the back of Devlin’s neck. There was a decided crook in it where the spine had broken. Satisfied, he rolled the body over to the edge of the platform, then pushed it off the side.

The corpse landed with a thud, kicking up puffs of dust.

There was the sound of a crack as Devlin’s head hit the ground.

“Broke his neck again, by gosh,” Butterbean said.

Whit looked at the dead man’s face. There was a little blood at the corners of his lips. His face was colorless, bland as week-old bread dough, and his eyes stared into nothingness as flies clotted the moisture, feeding on fluids. Whit turned away and gagged.

Butterbean walked down the steps, holding on to the two-by-four railing for support.

“You grab his feet and I’ll lift his shoulders, Whit. Then, we’ll dump him into the cart.”

Whit did as he was told. He could no longer look at Devlin’s face, but held his gaze to his dusty boots.

“You don’t put a hood on the men you hang, do you, Wil?”

The two dropped the body into the cart. The cart creaked from the weight of its load.

“I’ll pick up my rope on the way back and reset that trapdoor. Maybe oil the mechanism before I drop Hornaday this afternoon.”

“Sure,” Whit said, and stepped into the square rig of the cart.

“Just head up Main Street and I’ll spell you if you get tired,” Butterbean said.

Whit pushed on the front bar and the cart started to roll. Butterbean walked beside him. People along the street stared at them and he saw faces in the windows. They passed Mrs. Hobbs’s boardinghouse, the Wild Horse Saloon, and the Deadfall Hotel, and cleared the town a few minutes later.

Wil avoided the ruts left by lumber and supply wagons that rolled in from Flagstaff every so often. They walked in drenching sunlight toward several buttes of varying sizes.

Butterbean kept looking back to gauge the distance from the edge of town.

They passed two buttes, rounded one of them, and headed for two smaller ones, Butterbean in the lead.

“They’s a good one yonder. I think they’s some bones under that talus from previous lynchings,” Butterbean said.

Whit puffed as the load became heavier and the strain on his back grew stronger.

“You tired, Whit?” Butterbean asked.

“Plumb,” Whit said.

“Set ’er down and I’ll pull the cart the rest of the way,” Butterbean said.

Whit halted and dropped the bar. He stepped out of the square. Butterbean stepped in and lifted the bar. He walked toward the small butte with piles of rocks along its bottom edge.

“A perfect burial place,” he said as they came close to the massive rock face of the butte.

“I’m glad we don’t have to dig him a grave,” Whit said.

They hefted Devlin’s body from the cart and carried it to the bottom of the butte. Butterbean kicked away a few stones and then stooped to pick up two loose ones nearby.

“Cover him up with rocks, Whit,” Butterbean said. “Completely.”

“Yes sir,” Whit said.

The two began to pile rocks over the stiff body.

“He sure stinks,” Whit said.

“When a man dies,” Butterbean said, “there’s a muscle in his asshole that loosens up. Devlin took a dump when his neck bone snapped.”

“Christ. Yeah, I can smell his shit.”

“Something you get used to when you’re a hangman,” Butterbean said.

“How do you stand it, Wil?” Whit asked.

“I ignore the smells,” Butterbean said. He began to
throw more rocks on those already covering the body until it disappeared.

“Keep chunking rocks on this here grave,” Butterbean said. “Might keep the coyotes off, might not. But them rocks will turn hot in the sun and make the body decompose faster.”

“Horrible,” Whit said. “I mean Devlin should be alive, you ask me.”

“What do you mean?” Butterbean asked.

“I mean if you think he and Hornaday stole that broken-down old horse, you got to be stone blind,” Whit said.

“You better not say that in town,” Butterbean said. He was short of breath from the effort of tossing stones on the hanged man’s grave.

“Hell, everybody knows that was a put-up job, arresting those two men for stealing a horse.”

Butterbean stood up.

“Whit, you want some advice? Keep such thoughts to yourself. If Canby got word that you were saying those men weren’t guilty, you’d be dead meat.”

“Hell, I can’t help what I think,” Whit said.

“No, but you can sure as hell keep your mouth shut.”

“Somebody ought to do something about this,” Whit said. “It—it’s an injustice.”

Butterbean leaned down and threw another rock on top of the pile. It was now at least two feet high and there was no trace of Devlin’s corpse.

“If you’re lookin’ for justice in Deadfall, sonny, you’re in the wrong place. Canby’s the law there and you better not buck him if you want to stay alive and keep your skin.”

Whit threw another rock on the pile. Butterbean grabbed his arm.

“That’s enough,” he said. “Enough stones, enough talk. Let’s head back to town.”

The two walked away from the crude grave.

Then Butterbean looked up at the far buttes all shining in the sun, all flowing into the distance like stone ships on a sand sea.

He shaded his eyes with his hand and pushed the flap of his hat brim back away from his face.

Whit looked up, too.

He saw puffs of white smoke rising from one of the bluffs. When he turned his head, he saw other cloudlets of smoke. Puff, puff, puff.

“What’s that about?” Whit asked.

“’Paches,” Butterbean said under his breath. “They’re talkin’ to each other.”

“What does it mean?”

“I dunno. I don’t read smoke signals, but them Apaches are up to no good. You can bet on that.”

“Huh?” Whit said, bewildered. Some of the smoke puffs were close together and some were spaced out from different buttes.

“We’d better skedaddle,” Butterbean said. “I got to tell Canby about this.”

“What do you make of it, Wil?” Whit asked.

Butterbean picked up the handle of the cart and started walking at a brisk pace toward Deadfall.

“Them Apaches are sure as hell aimin’ to do something that ain’t good,” Butterbean said.

As Whit walked along beside Butterbean, he looked back at the smoke signals. There were several of them and they were far apart, rising from different bluffs.

Then fear struck him. The Apaches were invisible, but he knew they were out there. And they were planning something. He was sure of that. Even in the rising heat of morning, he felt a cold chill steal over his body.

He kept pace with Butterbean.

And they were both in a hurry to get back into the sheltered valley, where they could feel safe.

Slocum glanced at the left wall of the cabin.

There, neatly stacked, were his saddlebags, bedroll, with the sawed-off shotgun butt showing in the folded material, and his rifle lying across.

“While you were gone,” Laurie said, “I took the liberty of getting your rifle, bedroll, and saddlebags from the stable. I figured you might need them. Especially the bedroll.”

“Why?” Slocum asked.

“I don’t think you ought to stay in Deadfall until things quiet down,” she said.

“Are they noisy?” Slocum asked as Wallace Hornaday stood there, trembling, in the center of the room. He looked lost and bewildered, Slocum thought.

“Oh, there’ll be a ruckus once they find out you broke Wallace out of that jail.”

“I was going to bunk at the hotel and ride out tomorrow morning.” Slocum looked almost as bewildered as Hornaday.

“Johnny heard something back at the jail,” she said, “and when I walked into the livery, he was all gab about you and Beck being up to something. Then, he said he saw you push Beck into the jail and lead Wallace away after you put that shotgun and Beck’s pistol under the bench.”

“He saw us?” Hornaday said. “He’ll tell Canby for sure.”

“Yes, he will,” Laurie said. “You’d both better sit down and listen to what I have to say.”

She waved Hornaday to the divan, and Slocum sat in the chair he had occupied earlier that morning.

“I’m listening,” Slocum said.

“I told Johnny not to say anything right away. He said he had to tell Canby about the jailbreak or Canby would have his hide.”

“So he probably ran up the street to tell Canby what I did,” Slocum said.

“No, I told him that Canby would find out when the men came to take Wallace to the gallows. I said he didn’t need to say anything. As a favor to me. You owe me a dollar, John. I gave a silver one to Johnny to make him hold his tongue.”

“Boy, that was right smart of you, Laurie,” Hornaday said.

Slocum dug a hand into his trouser pocket and withdrew a silver dollar. He flipped it to Laurie, who sat next to Hornaday on the divan.

She caught it in midair and slid it into the pocket of her blouse. She smiled at Slocum.

“Thank you,” she said.

“What now?” Slocum asked.

“I’ve got flour sacks filled with food for you, Wallace,” she said. “John and I are going to take you to a good hiding place at the other end of Gravel Gulch.”

“A hideout?” Hornaday said.

“You’ve got to lay low until all this blows over,” Laurie
said. “You’ll be safe there, and Harve and I will bring you water and food.”

“It’s not going to blow over,” Slocum said.

Both Hornaday and Laurie stared at Slocum as if he’d just dropped a bomb in their laps.

“What are you saying, John?” Laurie asked when she had regained her composure.

“I mean, as long as Canby is running this town, Wallace here isn’t safe. He may not hang you, Wallace, but one of his men might shoot you in the back.”

“Boy, you learn fast, don’t you, John?” Laurie said.

“Anyone who sets up two innocent men and accuses them of being horse thieves has something bad sticking in his craw. From what I’ve seen so far, Canby runs the town and he’s greedy.”

“You got that plumb straight, Slocum,” Hornaday said. “Me’n Harlan never came near that horse in town. Next thing we knew, it was tied up at our cabin and Canby’s men swarmed all over us like we was dangerous outlaws.”

“That tells me that Canby will stop at nothing to get what he wants,” Slocum said. He fished out a cheroot from his pocket and bit off the end. He took the tip out of his mouth and set it in an ashtray, then put the cigar in his mouth. He did not light it, but just left it in his teeth, letting the tobacco juices flow over his tongue.

“We’d better get going,” Laurie said. “We’ll stop by Harve’s mine and let him know what’s going on. Besides, John, I want you to meet my brother.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Slocum said.

Laurie got up and beckoned to the two men to follow her into the kitchen.

There, on a counter, were two flour sacks filled with airtights, bread, biscuits, fried beef, and bacon wrapped in oil paper, and a pair of wooden canteens.

“I’ll carry the water,” Carrie said. “You can each carry a food sack. That all right?”

“Yes’m,” Hornaday said.

Slocum nodded and reached for one of the sacks.

Hornaday grabbed the other sack.

“Wallace, I’ve got an extra pistol in my bedroom, with a holster and cartridge belt. You might need it.”

“I do feel kind of naked, but I’ve never shot nobody,” he said.

“Let’s hope you won’t have to use it,” she said.

They walked back down the hall. Laurie carried the two canteens and slung one on each shoulder. She entered a room while the two men walked on to the front room and set down their sacks near the door.

Laurie came into the room with a holster and gun belt wrapped up in a ball. She handed the rig to Hornaday. He strapped it on and pulled the pistol from its holster.

“This is a mite better’n my old hogleg,” he said.

“It’s a converted Remington .44,” Laurie said. “Shoots straight and has never misfired.”

“A lot of gun,” Hornaday said as he slipped the pistol back in its holster.

“It’s loaded,” Laurie said.

Then she looked at the two men and adjusted the canteen straps on her shoulder.

“Shall we go?” she said.

Hornaday and Slocum lifted their sacks from the floor.

Slocum opened the door and held it while Hornaday and Laurie stepped out onto the dirt in front of the cabin. Then he closed the door and slung the food sack over his left shoulder.

“Follow me,” she said. “We’ll walk next to the big butte on this side and then cross over to where Harve’s mine is,” she said.