Slocum and the Socorro Saloon Sirens (15 page)

“The name of the stone has something to do with Turkey,” Swain said. “The name means ‘Turkish,' I think. It's fairly rare from what I found out at the assay office. At least in these parts.”

“Good luck,” Slocum said. He sipped his coffee, then lit up a cheroot. Swain lit a cigar and the two men smoked as Corly cleared away theirs and Linda's plates.

“Will there be anything else, gentlemen?” the waiter asked.

“No, just bring me the bill, Corly,” Swain said.

Then he turned to Slocum as the waiter walked away with the tray of dishes.

“Want to ride out to my digs with me, John?”

“Now?”

“That's where I'm headed after I look in on Jethro and Penny.”

“You trust me that much? Seems to me that Scroggs is determined to find where you live and rob you and your mine.”

“I never return home the same way twice, John. And yeah, I trust you.”

“Do you know what happened last night after Linda and I left the French place?”

“I know someone put Loomis's lamp out. I figured it was you.”

“It was.”

“Bushwhacked you, did he?”

Slocum nodded and blew smoke into the air.

“Well, Scroggs will send Shadow after you, that's for damned sure.”

“I'll keep an eye out.”

“He has another gunslinger who's just as mean and treacherous as Sombra. I told you about him.”

“The German?”

“Yeah. Gustav Adler. You want to watch out for him, too. He's just as sneaky as Shadow. And he's pretty good at back shootin'. Just like Sombra. Willie Scroggs knows how to pick 'em, that's for damned sure.”

“I reckon they both can stop a bullet same as Loomis and Thorson.”

Swain laughed in his throat, and took another puff from his cigar. Then he poked it into his coffee cup and they both heard it hiss as the tip drowned in the dark liquid.

Corly returned and presented the bill. Swain paid in silver and gave the waiter a modest gratuity.

“Thank you, sir,” Corly said.

“Let's be off, then, John,” Swain said as he rose from his chair. “Get your gear and I'll meet you out front. Hotel bill's paid.”

“Thanks, Obie. Your generosity knows no bounds.”

“Oh, it knows bounds, all right, but I'm grateful to you for saving Jethro's life and takin' care of Penny, seein' them both safely home.”

“What I did for your brother and your niece requires no gratitude on your part, Obie.” He got up from the table. “I'll see you out front in a few minutes.”

The two men walked to the lobby. Swain went out the back door to the stables, while Slocum went to his room and picked up his belongings.

Swain was waiting for him in front of the rooming house. Ferro was stamping his right foot and pawing the ground. He whinnied when he saw Slocum.

“He's been grained and brushed,” Swain said. “Curried him some myself early this morning.”

“You've got the heart of a saint, Obie,” Slocum said as he tied on his bedroll and set his saddlebags, slid his Winchester into its scabbard.

“Saint, no,” Swain said. “You've got a fine horse and I admire good horseflesh.”

Slocum swung himself up in the saddle.

“Lead on, Macduff,” he said.

Swain chuckled.

“You admire Shakespeare, John. Same as I do.”

“I've seen some of his plays. The man has a gift for the English tongue.”

“I don't understand half of it, but it's sure pretty to listen to.”

The two men rode out of Socorro and took a different route from what Slocum remembered.

The sun's rim had cleared the horizon and there were opal clouds in the east, at their backs, small cottony puffs that seemed to have been painted in pastels. The bleak and rocky, cactus-strewn landscape stretched out ahead of them, all pink and rosy as one of Homer's dawns, with a deep stillness except for the muffled sound of the horses' hooves as they rode at a leisurely pace over unmarked ground.

Slocum finished his cheroot and crushed it out against the sole of his boot before he tossed it to the ground.

“You leave a trail that way,” Swain observed.

“I've left many that way.”

“Unlikely anyone out here will read it.”

“Let's hope,” Slocum said.

“Yeah, let's do,” Swain said.

He kept looking back as they rode in a wide circle. Slocum was surprised when he spotted Jethro's and Penny's adobe home, lying not in front of them, but below them.

Swain reined up and Slocum stopped beside him.

They stayed there for several minutes, then one of the Mexicans stepped from the shadow of the stables and waved.

“We can go down there now,” Swain said. “That was Carlos Jimenez sayin' all was well.”

“That's good to know,” Slocum said.

“Juan and Carlos are both reliable men.”

Slocum said nothing. The sun was bright in his eyes and he pulled his hat brim down. He sniffed the morning air and caught his own scent.

He wondered if Penny would be able to smell Linda's musk all over his body. Or would she just smell the medicine reek in her home?

Funny, he thought, to be worried about what a woman would think about him. But Penny was special, just as Linda was. He was grateful to both and beholden to neither.

Gustav Adler wore two pistols, each with ivory grips. He was nearly six feet tall, with flaxen hair and pale blue eyes as cold as glacier ice. He stood there in the basement room with Scroggs, whose expression was one of unbridled delight. Adler's face was impassive and his cold eyes betrayed nothing of his feelings.

“Well, what do you think, Gus?” Scroggs asked.

Wu Chen was fluffing up a red satin pillow the size of a wagon wheel in one corner of the room. Littlepage sat on a plush chair, legs sprawled out, his hat tilted back on his head. He bore a look of satisfaction on his lean face.

“It looks like a Chink whorehouse,” Adler said.

“A place you ain't never been, Gus.”

“That is so, Willie, but if I had gone to one, in Frisco, it would look like this, with all them fancy rugs and the burnin' incense.”

There were brass incense burners placed strategically around the room. There was a small golden glow in each and a plume of smoke emerging from the small holes in the top.

“I didn't call you down here to scuttle what Wu Chen has done to this hole in the ground, Gus. This room, this den, is going to afford me the chance to finish building my hotel next to the saloon. That incense is soon goin' to smell just like money.”

“Haw,” Adler snorted. “Ain't nobody but Chinks goin' to eat your opium, Willie.”

“Not countin' Wu Chen there, you won't find a Chink within a thousand miles of Socorro.”

“Yeah. That is what I mean, Willie. White folks ain't goin' to chew on opium.”

“They'll smoke it, Gus. That's what all them glass bowls with water in 'em and them tubes is for. For smokin'.”

Adler snorted in derision again, which irritated Scroggs. He stabbed Adler with a lancing look that showed his disapproval of the German's assessment of the basement opium den.

“My opinion, Willie,” Adler said.

“And your damned opinion ain't worth shit, Gus. I got a job for you.”

“A gun job?”

“Maybe. I want you to ride out to Jethro Swain's house, you know where he lives, and see if that Slocum feller shows up there.”

“The one whose face is on the dodger?”

“That very one.”

“And if he shows up?”

“Kill him,” Scroggs said.

Adler grinned. There was a salacious sparkle in his eyes as if he had swallowed a tankard of ale laced with rotgut whiskey. He rubbed his hands together and then touched the grips of his pistols.

“Now you're talkin', Willie.”

“Slocum has killed two of my men already, Gus. You mind your P's and Q's or you'll decorate a grave of your own.”

“Haw. That ain't likely.”

“Bring me the bastard's head, Gus.”

“Hell, I'll bring you his corpse, Willie. That be good enough?”

“Just so's it's full of bullet holes.”

Adler grinned. He turned on his heel and walked up the stairs, the clump of his boots resounding in the hollow confines of the basement.

He rode westward with the dawn, the sun at his back, streaming rivers of light in front of him, gilding the rocks and plants with soft flames that burned up the night dew that sparkled like tiny jewels on cactus flowers and minute grains of sand.

Penelope stepped out the back door of the adobe and waved to her uncle and Slocum. She wore a wan smile on her face, and there were dark smudges under her eyes. She looked haggard, as if she had not slept, and if she had, she had slept in her clothes. Her dress was wrinkled and shapeless against the curvaceous shape of her slender body.

Obie waved at her. She held up a hand in greeting as if she did not have the energy to wave back.

Slocum and Swain stopped next to the stables, where Juan Gomez was waiting, his rifle draped across one arm, his hand on the stock. The two men dismounted, handed their reins to Carlos.

“We ain't stayin', Carlos,” Swain said. “Just hold on to our horses for us.”

Just then, they all heard a man's voice calling out Penny's name. Swain recognized the voice. It was Jethro's and came from inside the house.

He looked at the back door, but Penny was gone. The doorway was empty. Swain frowned.

“I think there is someone who watches the house,” Juan said.

Swain turned and looked at him.

“What makes you say that, Juan?” he asked.

“I see something in the east. I did not know what it was. I tell Carlos to look. He says he see it, too.”

“What was it?” Swain's brow was wrinkled in concern, his forehead lined with furrows as he squinted to block the rising sun.

“I do not know. It is just a small speck. Very far away. But it moved. I see it. Carlos sees it. Then it is gone.”

“A horse? A rider?”

“Maybe,” Juan said. “I look all around, but I do not see nobody.”

“Maybe we'd better take a look for ourselves,” Slocum said. “Whatever it was, it was coming from Socorro.”

“I'm going to check on Jethro first,” Swain said. “Juan, you keep your eyes peeled. You see anybody out there, you let me know.”

Juan nodded in assent.

Carlos spoke up when he thought Swain was going to walk away.

“I hear something,” he said. “Ten, maybe fifteen minutes ago.”

“What did you hear?” Swain asked.

Carlos pointed to a spot north of the stables.

“Out there. I hear a horse. I hear some animal or something making noise with the rocks.”

“Like a horseshoe?” Swain asked.

“Maybe. I do not know. I look, but I do not see nothing.”

“You boys keep lookin' and listenin',” Swain said. “I'm going to look in on my brother. You coming, John?”

Slocum followed Swain into the house. They both looked into the sick room, but the bed was empty.

“We're in here,” Penny called, and they walked into the front room. Jethro was sitting up on the sofa. Penny sat beside him, taking his pulse.

“Hello, Jethro,” Swain said. “You look like hell.”

Jethro made a raspy noise in his throat. His mouth was open and his neck muscles were drawn taut.

“Pa, this is the man I told you about,” Penny said as she removed her two fingers from Jethro's wrist. He's the man who saved you. His name is John Slocum.”

“Slocum,” Jethro said, drawing the name out in long string of vowels and consonants.

“Glad to see you're up out of that bed,” Slocum said.

“Thank you, Slocum,” Jethro said, and again, the words came out very slowly.

“You didn't unsaddle your horses, Uncle Obie,” she said. “Does that mean you're not staying?” Penny patted her father's left hand in reassurance as she turned to her uncle.

“Me and John are going to ride up to my ranch pretty quick,” he said.

“I don't think we ought to leave just yet, Obie,” Slocum said. “You know why.”

“Yeah, you may be right. We'll stay awhile, Penny,” Swain said.

“What's John talking about, Obie?” A look of alarm spread across Penny's face as if there were cold ripples under her skin. She looked even more pale and wan as her eyes danced with light.

“Oh, nothing,” Swain said. “The boys might have seen something. Or heard something. It's probably nothing. You had a good night? Quiet and all?”

“Yes, it was very quiet. Pa got restless toward morning. I was up with him. He wanted to get out of bed and I gave him some warm goat's milk and he ate a piece of toast. He's still very weak, but his temperature is back to normal and his pulse is steady. He's just worn out, I suppose.”

“I'm going back outside,” Slocum said. “I might ride around and see if there's anything to what Juan and Carlos saw.”

“Or heard,” Swain said.

“Yeah. It never hurts to check.”

“Be careful, John,” Penny said.

“So long, Jethro,” Slocum said. “I hope you get back on your feet.”

“
Adios
, Slocum,” Jethro said, and the words came out at a faster clip.

Slocum walked out the back door and headed for the stables. There was no sign of Juan, but Carlos was tying the reins of the horses to a corral pole.