Slocum 420 (7 page)

“You're damn right I didn't and I don't think I need to apologize for that! This mill provides a lot of jobs and money to this town. If something happens to cripple that, there could be serious repercussions!”

Slocum held up his hands. “No need to get all worked up. I agree on that point.”

“Oh. All right, then. The other thing . . . and this is a delicate matter . . . is that Abner needs to be found, even if he's dead.”

“That could be tricky. If it was an animal, there might not be much left.”

Some of the color drained from Womack's face, but he soldiered on. “If there are only . . . remains”—he gulped—“those need to be found, too. And buried. Out in the woods. Where . . . nobody can find them.”

“Did he have a family?” Slocum asked. “They should know if he's dead. Letting folks stew about something like that isn't proper by a long shot.”

“I agree, but he didn't have a family. He spoke of a brother out in Mississippi, but they weren't on speaking terms. The only reason I broach such a gruesome subject is because it ties back to what I said about keeping this mill running. The men are already speculating about what could have torn up Edgar and Dave that way. Rob isn't helping much by telling stories that just get wilder each time someone asks him about it.”

Womack poured himself a drink, but didn't toss it down right away. Instead, he swirled the whiskey in his glass and watched it churn. “When those men go out into the woods, they have to contend with all manner of things. Usually just critters or whatnot, but there's also things out there that will kill them in some very unpleasant ways.”

“There aren't many pleasant ways to be killed,” Slocum said. “Although there was this whore in New Orleans who robbed a man after she rode him so hard that he was too tired to fight back. Killed a few when they were asleep, too. They were buried with smiles on their faces.”

Womack chuckled at that and seemed even more at ease than when he'd swigged his whiskey. “My point is there are already enough things to be scared of in this world. I hate to say this, but if Abner is dead, he's already through. Letting anyone else get a look at whatever is left after that thing is through with him will only add fuel to the fire. It will give the men something terrible to add to their stories, which were already terrible enough.”

Slowly, Slocum nodded. “I understand what you're saying. You're right. It is terrible, but chasing men away from good jobs and jeopardizing the main source of income for a good town are even worse.”

“So you'll take the job?”

“Will I have anyone going out there with me?”

“I have a few men in mind. That is . . . unless you'd rather work alone.”

“I've done a fair amount of hunting,” Slocum said. “But if you have someone who can handle themselves and knows those woods, it would make things a whole lot easier.”

Womack smiled broadly. “Then the men I have in mind should work out just fine! I can introduce you to them now, if you like.”

“Why don't we pay a visit to the sheriff first? It could very well be that he's forming a posse and has this whole matter well in hand already.”

“Oh. Right. Let's go see the sheriff.”

Womack looked about as hopeful for that option to pan out as he was for chunks of gold to start raining down from the sky. Although Slocum had made the suggestion, he felt pretty much the same way.

The outside of Sheriff Krueger's office looked more like a cozy little home and the inside wasn't much different. Slocum had known a few lawmen who slept in the same place where they conducted their business, but they didn't normally seem so comfortable. There were two rockers on the front porch and dark green curtains in the windows. Upon entering, Slocum and Womack found themselves in a sitting room with a desk on one side and a fireplace on the other. The bookshelves were nicely stocked and the furniture was well maintained. All that was missing was the scent of freshly baking bread wafting in from the kitchen.

Krueger was a man in his early fifties with a ring of gray hair going around the back of his head and droopy eyes that made him look like he was part hound dog. When he saw the two men enter his office, he stood right up and extended a hand in greeting.

“Well, hello there, Phil!” he said to Womack. “Long time, no see!”

“Hello, Sheriff.”

“Who's this you brung along with you?”

“This is John Slocum.”

Krueger's handshake was firm and kept Slocum's hand trapped for a bit longer than it had Womack's. The sheriff's eyes narrowed as he gazed intently at Slocum's face. “Now why does that name sound familiar?” the lawman wondered. “Did you bring in those rustlers that were cutting a trail across Montana?”

“I sure did,” Slocum replied.

“That was a nasty bit of business. Read about it in the newspapers. Five men wound up dead, one of them a U.S. marshal if I recall.”

“Yeah, it got pretty ugly.”

“But you got those rustlers, so that's the important thing!”

Slocum was finally able to reclaim his hand from the lawman's grip. “Losing that U.S. marshal was a terrible thing. The rest . . . well . . . at least it's over.”

“This one's modest,” Krueger said to Womack. “I could sure use three just like him working for me as deputies!”

“Actually,” Womack said with a cheerful disposition, “that's along the lines of why we're here.”

“Is it? Have a seat and tell me about it.”

Slocum was already anxious when he walked to the sheriff's office and all these pleasantries weren't helping. Still, this was Womack's show and he seemed to have a good history with the sheriff so Slocum allowed things to play out for the time being.

Womack sat down in one of the chairs near the sheriff's desk while Slocum remained standing. “Perhaps you've heard about what happened?” Womack inquired.

The sheriff's face darkened considerably. “Of course I did. How are those two men doing?”

“Doc Reece is tending to them now. Looks like Dave Anderson should pull through but things are not so good for Edgar Fuller.”

“That's a shame.”

“It is,” Womack said. He paused, perhaps waiting for the sheriff to speak again. When nothing seemed to be forthcoming from the lawman, Womack asked, “Are you intending to do anything about the attack?”

“That happened out in Fall Pass, right?”

“That's right.”

The sheriff held his hands out as if he were passing something over and then pressed his palms together. “That's outside of town limits.”

“Funny, because when I went to the marshal about this, he said it was a town matter.”

“Well, strictly speaking, it's not something I would expect the marshal to deal with. If there was an escaped fugitive or some outlaws . . . if either of those men were ambushed by bandits . . . it would fall more in line with his regular duties.” Leaning forward expectantly, the sheriff asked, “Were either of the men shot, by any chance?”

“No.”

Once again, the sheriff clapped his hands together as if to prove just how empty they were. “There now. That just shows it wasn't done by any gunmen.”

“A man can kill another man without using a gun,” Slocum pointed out.

“Very true. From what I heard, though, those men were ripped to pieces. Mauled by some animal. The marshal's responsibilities don't extend to hunting wild game in the woods outside of town.”

“What about ensuring the safety of folks who live in this town?” Slocum asked.

“That can only go so far,” the sheriff said. “Regrettably we can only keep the peace within certain limitations. If a good citizen of this town were traveling, say, to Cheyenne and got robbed there . . . neither I nor the marshal could do much about it.”

“Don't talk to us like we're fools,” Slocum snapped. “Those two men were attacked while doing their jobs, and their jobs are at that mill, which, as I understand it, is the foundation of this damn town.”

The sheriff's face took on a stern expression. “I'll thank you not to take that tone with me.”

“And I'll thank you to—”

“What I believe my friend is trying to say,” Womack cut in before Slocum pushed the conversation even further in a bad direction, “is that something needs to be done about this. Whoever or whatever hurt those men is still out there.”

“Man or beast,” Krueger said, “it could very well have moved on by now.”

“Is that the stance of the law in this town?” Slocum asked with a snide laugh. “If that's the case, remind me to rob the bank and then ride out of eyeshot.”

“That's not fair, Mr. Slocum. Surely you don't expect the law of a town to bother itself with every wild animal living in the woods?”

“I would if that animal mauled two men!”

“Then perhaps you'd like to go out and hunt this beast down yourself?” Krueger said as if he was issuing a challenge that he knew wouldn't be answered.

For that reason alone, Slocum replied, “Perhaps I will! And if I catch whoever is out there, I'll expect to be paid!”

The sheriff shrugged and then nodded. “That's only fair.”

“Ah!” Womack said. “That sounds like a marvelous solution.”

“Wait. What just happened here?” Slocum asked.

The sheriff stood up and Womack followed suit. Reaching a hand across his desk, the lawman said, “If you're offering to lead a hunting party to find this beast, this town would be much obliged. I can send one of my boys out with you, but I don't have nearly enough men to spare for something like this. That's about all it boils down to, really. Surely you understand.”

“Yeah,” Slocum grunted as he turned to glare at the man standing beside him. “I understand just fine.”

“Which deputy would you suggest coming along with us?” Womack asked.

After a small amount of thought, the lawman replied, “I suppose Charlie would do well enough. He's done some hunting.”

“Forget it,” Slocum said. “How much of a fee are we talking, Sheriff?”

“What do you mean, forget it?” the sheriff asked. “Are you interested or not?”

“I'm interested,” Slocum replied. “Just not in your deputy. If he's got some real tracking experience, he might be of some use. As for hunting . . . hell, just about any man has done some hunting. If that's all your man has to offer, then he'd probably just get in the way.”

“He knows these woods pretty well,” the sheriff offered.

“So do the men that Mr. Womack is offering to send along with me.”

When the sheriff looked over at him, Womack shrugged and nodded sheepishly. Krueger looked back to Slocum with almost complete indifference. “Fine with me if you want to go it alone,” he said. “Means more men around here to keep the peace.”

Slocum kept to himself all the comments that sprang to mind as far as the sheriff's ability to keep the peace.

“As far as making it worth your while,” the sheriff continued, “I suppose I could pay what I'd pay any man who signed up to ride in a posse.”

“Does that go for my men as well?” Womack asked. “I'm not trying to be greedy. I just know they'll ask.”

“Sure. Wouldn't be good for them to know one's getting paid and the rest ain't. Any man that goes out in search of this killer, be it man or beast, will get a posse fee. Of course, since me or none of my men are going along with you, I can only pay if you bring the killer in. Otherwise, for all I know, you boys could just go out and sleep under the stars for a few nights.”

Womack chuckled at that as if he and the sheriff were two old friends swapping jokes while smoking cigars on a porch. Slocum didn't even pretend to be as amused.

Slocum and Womack had left the sheriff's office and were halfway down Cedar Street before either of them said a word. Casually, Womack said, “I think that went pretty well, don't you?”

“About as good as I should have expected, I suppose.”

“Well, at any rate, it's good that I spoke to both the lawmen. Wouldn't want to step on any toes.”

Finally, Slocum cracked a smile. “Step on any toes? One of those law dogs would have had to poke more than their nose out from their offices for their toes to get stepped on.”

“I can't really argue there. Are you still willing to lead the hunting party?”

“I'm leading it now?”

“Can't think of any man more qualified for the job.”

“What sort of bonus does leadership come with?” Slocum asked.

“One free drink,” Womack replied with a slap on Slocum's back. “What the hell. Make it two!”

Out of habit, Slocum led the way into the Axe Handle Saloon. It was the place where he'd been spending a good amount of his time when he wasn't working at the mill. On his way inside, he glanced across the street to the Second Saloon and pondered going in there to check on Eliza. But the night was young and he figured there would be plenty of time to cross the street later on.

The Axe Handle was a simple saloon that knew exactly what its patrons wanted. The bar took up most of one half of the narrow main floor, there was a stage that was just large enough for two or three scantily clad girls to kick up their heels, and the rest of the space was devoted to a few round card tables where games were played for all kinds of stakes. Already, several of the mill's workers were there gambling away their pay or handing it over to any of a number of working girls making their rounds. One of those girls spotted Slocum immediately and cut her way through the crowd to greet him.

“Well, well,” she said as she strutted toward him. “If it isn't John Slocum. Here I thought you'd abandoned me for the girls across the street.” She was a bit shorter than most of the women there and had curves that bordered on being too generous. Fortunately, those curves were all in the right spots to give her rounded hips and large breasts that swayed beneath the loose-fitting material of her low-cut blouse.

Never one to pass an opportunity to get his hands on a body like that, Slocum took her into his arms and gave her a playful pat on the backside. “Why the hell would I forsake you for any other, Nellie?”

Tossing her mane of strawberry blond hair over one shoulder, Nellie replied, “I can't think of a reason. Lord knows I take good care of you when you're here.” She looked over at Womack and added, “I could still take care of you as well, you know.”

“I know, Nellie,” Womack said with a shaky nod. “But we're just here for drinks.”

Winking at them, Nellie said, “That's what all the men say.” She pressed herself against Slocum so her soft, plump breasts rubbed against his chest, and then she reached down to cup his groin. “I bet I can convince you to change your mind before too long.”

“I bet you could,” Slocum said.

Womack placed a hand upon Slocum's shoulder. “Just so you know, missy, this man was robbed recently and doesn't have much in the way of money. I'm treating him to a drink if you'd care to join us.”

Nellie wriggled enticingly away from Slocum, allowing him to get a lingering feel of her breasts and hips as she stepped back. “I already drink for free in here,” she said. “Sorry to hear about what happened.”

“Maybe I'll tell you about it later,” Slocum said.

“Maybe.” With that, Nellie waved at both men and sauntered off to greener pastures.

Turning his attention to Womack, Slocum said, “Money isn't the only reason she crawls into my bed, you know. I've only decided to pay her a couple of times and she still comes back for more.”

“I have no doubt about that,” Womack said. “But at least I bought us some breathing room for a few minutes. Let's get them drinks.”

Both of them were recognized by most everyone in the Axe Handle, but for vastly different reasons. The men who tossed waves at Womack or shared a few words with him on the way to the bar did so because they either worked for him or knew someone who did. Most of the ones who paid their respects to Slocum were either former drinking partners or had sat across from him at a poker table since he'd arrived in town. By the time they'd found a spot to stand at the bar, they'd socialized with over half the folks in the place.

“A whiskey for me and my friend,” Womack said to the barkeep. “I'm buying.”

“I'll take my two drinks right now,” Slocum said. “Just in case you try to squirm out of your offer.”

The barkeep looked over to Womack, who rolled his eyes and nodded. After the barkeep had stepped away to fetch the liquor, Womack said, “I'm a man of my word, John. You should know as much by now.”

“I'm not doubting your word,” Slocum replied. “I'm doubting your tolerance for whiskey. I've seen you slur your words after one beer. Can't have things slipping your mind after the first drink of red-eye.”

“Fair enough,” Womack sighed. “And since we're talking about reputations, I'd appreciate you not wandering off to keep company with one of these ladies before I get a chance to introduce you to the men who you'll be leading out into the woods to hunt that killer.”

Just then, the barkeep returned with their drinks. He set two glasses down in front of them and poured some whiskey from a bottle with no label. Slocum lifted his glass and said, “Here's to a good hunt,” before tossing the drink down. As soon as he set the glass back on the bar, it was filled with another shot of whiskey. Since Womack had had his whiskey to join Slocum in his toast, the barkeep looked over at him to see if he wanted a refill.

“Why the hell not?” Womack said good-naturedly.

The barkeep smiled and gave him another as well. “Should I leave the bottle?” he asked.

“Why the hell n—”

Cutting off Slocum's enthusiastic response, Womack said, “I may buy a round or two for the others we're meeting, but we won't need the entire bottle.”

“I can just leave it for when they get here.”

Looking over at Slocum, Womack said, “Why don't I let you know when we need something?”

“Suit yourself,” the barkeep said before taking the bottle to some of his other thirsty customers.

“Try not to get too far along where the liquor is concerned,” Womack said. “I expect you to ride out tomorrow. There's a killer out there and we can't let any grass grow beneath our feet before going after him. Or . . . it.”

“I got a pretty good look at those wounds,” Slocum said. “I still say it wasn't any bear.”

“I agree.”

“So maybe I don't know what else is out there that could do that to a man. That sure as hell wasn't the work of a wildcat unless you grow them awfully damn big around here. I'd be hard pressed to say it was even a wolf.”

“That weren't no wolf,” said the scrawny young fellow who approached the bar to stand beside Womack. Although he wasn't very large, he had a fierce glare that made it obvious he was willing to prove himself to anyone who decided to test him. His hair was a messy tangle of sandy brown, and his eyes were narrowed as if he were staring straight into the morning sun. Apart from a pistol strapped around his waist, he also wore the scabbard for a knife that was almost large enough to chop down a tree.

“Oh, there you are!” Womack said. “Glad you could join us. First round of drinks is on me.”

When he saw Womack wave at him for the whiskey, the barkeep walked over as if every step were a burden. Slamming down a glass and filling it, he asked, “Sure you don't want me to leave the bottle?”

“Yes, I'm sure.”

“It'd be easier if I left it.”

“No need,” Womack replied.

Muttering to himself, the barkeep shuffled away.

“John Slocum,” Womack said, “this is Merle Beasley. Merle, this is John Slocum.”

Merle kept one hand on the hilt of his knife while extending the other to Slocum. Even when Slocum shook his hand, Merle looked ready to draw his blade and start swinging.

“Pleased to meet you,” Slocum said. “I take it you're one of the men that will be going out on the hunt?”

Merle nodded once. “Yeah, I'll be out there hunting. Can you hold your own?”

“I'd like to think so.”

“You better be sure. I ain't about to be slowed down by no greenhorn who's got no damn business out in the wild. Especially considering the game we're after.”

“So you don't think it's a wolf,” Slocum said. “What about a bear?”

Leaning down a bit, Merle spat a juicy wad onto the floor several feet away from the closest spittoon. “I got a look at what was left of Edgar and Dave. If they were attacked by a bear, they'd be a lot worse off. Besides that, them wounds weren't put there by any claws I've ever seen.”

“That's what I guessed,” Slocum said. “More or less.”

“I ain't guessing,” Merle said while scowling as if his family name had just been insulted.

“Well then, what do you think got at those men?”

Merle took his drink, finished half of it in one gulp, and leaned against the bar so he could survey the entire room. “You must not be from around these parts.”

“I'm not,” Slocum replied. “What's that got to do with anything?”

After finishing his drink, Merle said, “Because if you were from around here, you would've heard about the Beast of Fall Pass.”

Slocum looked over at Womack, who had no interest in looking back. “All right, then. I give up. What's the Beast of Fall Pass?”

“It's been killing men in them woods for the last few years. Before that, it was still killing but nobody wanted to admit it was anything more than a bear or a wolf.”

Nudging Womack, Slocum asked, “Did you know about this?”

“I've, um, heard a thing or two.”

“And why is it I haven't heard anything about it until now?”

“Because they're mostly just wild stories,” Womack replied with an unconvincing shrug. “Some folks don't even think the beast is real.”

“And some have seen the thing with their own two eyes,” Merle said.

Slocum was always wary of local legends. More often than not, such things were a mix of superstition and ignorance. Whatever it was, however, this legend had mauled at least two men, which gave it more credence than most subjects of tall tales passed around by drunks. “And what exactly did they see?” he asked.

When Merle grinned, he flashed a set of crooked, chipped teeth stained by the tobacco he'd spat upon the floor. “You ain't told him about none of this, Mr. Womack?”

“I didn't want to bias him before he headed out to start looking. I have mentioned my belief that it could be man or beast that so grievously wounded those two men.”

“Mentioning a beast is one thing,” Slocum pointed out. “Failing to mention
the
Beast of Fall Pass is another.”

Womack grinned and tried to laugh it off. “What's in a name, right?”

“Nothing would have a name like that unless it was something more than just a wild animal. And if that name is so common around here, it means you knew more about it than what you let on in the first place.”

“Well, I didn't want anyone getting skittish. That's why I didn't mention it when I addressed my workers also.”

“Nah,” Slocum said with a confident shake of his head. “That's not it. You didn't want me asking for more pay for going after a known killer like this beast.”

“You wouldn't do it just because it poses a threat and has so gravely wounded those men?” Womack asked.

“Sure I would,” Slocum said. “And because of the added danger which you already knew would be there, the pay for this hunting expedition is going to be double what you originally offered.”

Womack attempted to appear threatening when he stood up straight and asked, “Is it now?”

“Yeah,” Slocum replied in a genuinely threatening manner. “It is. For any of us going out in those woods after that thing.”

Merle's laugh was a dry, grating sound. “I like this fella,” he said.

Reluctantly, Womack said, “Fine. I'll pay your fee.”

“Don't sound so put out by it all,” Slocum said. “You know well enough that you can make up that money in a dozen different ways once we bring in that beast for you. An enterprising fellow like yourself must have already thought of such things.”

“Why, I don't know what you're . . .” Womack trailed off when he caught Slocum glaring at him. “All right,” he said. “Maybe I have thought of a few different ways to make up my expenses once this is over.”

“There you go!” Merle declared. “In fact, I'd bet you could just as easily make up the expenses of buying another round of drinks!”

Slocum grinned and raised his glass. “I think I'm starting to like this fella as well.”