Slocum and the Warm Reception (15 page)

“You talk like you're losing your appetite for this place.”

Ed nudged one of the weights on his scales. “I've lost my appetite for a great many things. That's a common ailment around here.”

“You deserve a fresh start.”

“Already had one. It didn't last long.”

“Then let me see what I can do for my own peace of mind,” Slocum said. “That pompous ass that's stretched out on the top floor of the Three Star made a show by threatening my life for all to see. Any number of men could have tried collecting that reward money. Lord knows it wouldn't have been the first time something like that has happened. Just help me see to it that it doesn't happen again where Dawson is concerned. I'd consider it a personal favor.”

Although he might not have been entirely convinced that Slocum wanted to lock horns with Dawson for just that reason, Ed sighed and said, “We owe you a lot more than what you're asking.”

“Then let's start there. And,” Slocum added as he nodded toward the scales, “if you're feeling generous, I wouldn't mind an extra nudge on that scale favoring my payment.”

Ed smiled. “I'm a grateful man, but I am also a businessman. You'll get the best price I can offer. Now what sort of numbers did you want where Dawson's men are concerned?”

“Let's start with how many there are.”

“In all, I've seen a dozen. No . . . make that a baker's dozen.”

“Well armed?”

“The usual,” Ed said with a shrug. “Pistols. Shotguns. Nothing more than that. Always worn out in the open so they can show them to anyone who walks by.”

“Why the curfew?” Slocum asked.

“Just another way to keep his herd in line.”

“Usually a man who imposes his will on a bunch of folks under the auspices of looking out for them calls them his flock.”

“That,” Ed said sharply, “is what a preacher says. If Dawson ever tried to pass himself off as a man of God, I would shoot him myself and say to hell with those gunmen.”

“Why don't you let me worry about that? What do you know about the railroad line coming through these parts?”

“What railroad line? You mean the one that goes through Davis Junction?”

“Could be a line branching off from that one or possibly some new tracks being laid down fairly soon,” Slocum replied. “I don't know many details, but I do know that Dawson has got some big plans in that direction.”

“There is always money to be made from that kind of knowledge,” Ed mused. “Land investments. Equipment sales. There is even money to be made for someone who can point enough men to so many new jobs. Are you sure about this?”

“I pieced it together,” Slocum admitted. “Nothing against this town, but I couldn't think of a good reason why a man like Dawson would try so hard to become mayor of it unless he stood to gain from it somehow. It couldn't really be a strike in one of the mines around here. Any number of men who know this desert like the back of their hand would know if that was coming. There's been rumblings of the railroad expanding through these parts. I saw some men surveying the land just outside of Davis Junction. Could have been scouts for a railroad crew.”

“Could have been, eh?”

“That's right. Like I already told you, I didn't know much about it. I just figured Dawson would either be after land or gold. Only the railroad throws around enough money for land to inspire Dawson's actions. I tossed out my guess to Dawson and he gobbled it up like a hungry trout.”

“Seems it is not just the miners who are granted the occasional lucky strike.” Nodding, Ed motioned to the scale and asked, “Do you agree with my measurements?”

“Looks good to me. I trust you, Ed.”

“And I trust you. I trust you will not get yourself killed. You were lucky enough to come out alive when you took a stand against that animal Jeremiah Hartley. Dawson is a different kind of animal. He needs to be finished all the way, until there is nothing left. He has friends, investors—who knows how many more will come here if they are called? And while he waits for them, he will chip away at whoever he can reach. Mostly, those who have nothing to do with any of this.”

“I've heard he goes after what a man holds dear,” Slocum said. “To weaken the man before a fight.”

“And I'm sure he already knows who you hold dear, John. Just as I do. That pretty lady who works in a restaurant down the street.”

“That's why I'm not about to step right up to him like I did with Hartley. When things start to happen with this, I need you to go along with it and be ready to back me up. Anyone who wants to take part in defending this town should have guns ready. Any sort of guns. Hunting rifles, pistols, whatever they can find. I don't want anyone making a stand until I make mine. If Dawson or his men ask about anything along those lines, you've just got to act as if we never had this conversation. Anyone you know, you have them do the same. Spread the word, all right? I've already had similar talks with some others.”

Ed nodded as he limped back over to his money drawer for Slocum's payment. “Don't do anything stupid.”

“Come now,” Slocum chuckled. “You know I can't make a promise like that.”

Slocum walked away from Leigensheim's office with an empty pouch and a tidy profit. He'd stayed with the broker for a short while after the gold was weighed, but didn't want to spend too much time there. During the rest of his conversation, he'd learned plenty about Abel Dawson. At least, it was more than enough to use in the job that was laid out in front of him.

He slowed his pace as he drew closer to the Three Star. The streets were alive with people, horses, even a few dogs by now. With them going about their lives, Mescaline felt more like a proper town instead of a cemetery. Many of the folks recognized Slocum and he acknowledged their waves or smiles with simple nods. After all, he did not want to attract attention so long as there was a chance that he could approach the Three Star without being noticed by the wrong men.

Just before he arrived at the hotel, Slocum shifted his hat forward so it covered a good portion of his face. From above, he was just another body in the crowd. He circled around the hotel to approach it from the side, where a set of stairs led up to doors on the second and third floors. From past experience, Slocum knew those doors opened to small rooms on each floor. Both were used for holding supplies when he'd been there, but he figured they were probably locked now that Dawson had claimed the hotel for himself. Slocum wasn't interested in going through any doors, however. He had his mind set on just one particular window.

Keeping his feet close to the sides of each stair as he made his way to the second floor, Slocum climbed over the railing and tentatively placed a foot upon a narrow ledge. It held his weight just fine, so he scooted along the wall until he reached the overhang skirting that portion of the building. “Should've just used the damn stairs on my way down,” he grumbled.

His steps knocked too loudly against the ledge, but nobody came out to investigate. If anyone was taking notice on the street, they were keeping quiet as well. He was only exposed for about a minute before he got to his window and eased it open. His heart skipped a beat when he heard loud knocking coming from somewhere nearby.

If someone was stomping overhead, that meant they already knew what Slocum was up to and were probably on their way out to put an end to it. If they were storming out to meet him from one of the other second-floor windows, the picture didn't get any prettier. As he climbed into his room, Slocum realized it was none of those things.

“Slocum!” someone shouted from the other side of his door. The man in the hallway knocked again, his fist pounding hard enough to shake the door on its hinges. “Come on out of there before I break this door down!”

When the pounding started anew, Slocum shut the window and tugged at his shirt so it was partly unbuttoned as well as partly untucked from his jeans. After pulling the chair away from the door, he finally opened it. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he groaned.

The man who'd been knocking was one of the shotgunners that had been lounging on the third floor, but Slocum didn't recall hearing his name. He poked his nose into the room, took a quick look, and then asked, “What were you doing?”

“Sleeping. What do you think?”

“You already got up and had breakfast.”

“I was also drinking enough whiskey last night that I could stand to sleep a bit more,” Slocum explained. “Not that it's any of your business.”

“You didn't hear us knocking?”

“I opened the door, didn't I?”

“Why was it blocked shut?” the shotgunner asked.

Without hesitation, Slocum replied, “Why were you trying to bust in?”

The shotgunner studied him carefully. “What about when we tried to fetch you before?”

“When was that?”

“About ten minutes ago.”

Slocum shrugged. “Must've been some good whiskey. Know what I mean?”

If the shotgunner knew, he wasn't going to say as much. “Mr. Dawson wants a word with you. Your horse in the stable out back?”

“Yeah. If I need it right quick, you can go saddle it for me.”

Slocum's guess was that it would take another jibe or two to get the younger man to charge inside and grab hold of him. When he did so after that comment, Slocum was almost surprised.

Almost.

As soon as the shotgunner moved forward, Slocum rushed to meet him. That way, he caught the other man in mid-stride when he was off balance and perfectly set up for a fall. Slocum grabbed the shotgun in his hands and turned it in a tight semicircle. The younger man attempted to hang on to his weapon for as long as possible, but was unable to do so once his wrists were ground together and his arms were twisted like two strings of taffy. From there, all that was left was for him to bang a shoulder against the door frame and allow his weapon to be taken from him. Rather than do anything to rattle any of the other men in the hall, Slocum strode out and handed the shotgun to the next guard he saw.

“Keep this for me,” he said idly, “and get me some coffee. Is Dawson waiting for me upstairs?”

“Yes,” one of the other men said. Although he'd just seen his partner handled so efficiently, he was now holding an extra shotgun and didn't seem to have anything to fear from the man who'd humiliated his friend. Besides, Slocum had now reached the staircase and was already out of his sight.

The first shotgunner had collected himself by this point and stormed out to grab his weapon. “Glad you were along,” he sneered to the other guard. All that one could do was shrug.

* * *

Slocum dashed up the stairs with a spry step that brought him to the third floor before his presence could be announced. Dawson was on his way back to his office carrying a cup of tea in his hands while wearing a surprised expression on his face. “Where have you been, John?” he asked.

“Getting some more sleep,” Slocum replied. “I had a feeling I'd need to be rested up.”

“You were right on that account. Come into my office so I can have a word with you.”

Slocum followed him to his office, but didn't go all the way inside. Instead, he stood in the doorway, where he could watch Dawson as well as the other men on the third floor. At the moment, there were only a trio of guards walking idly between rooms.

“Come on in,” Dawson urged. “All the way in and shut the door.”

Slocum did as he was asked, but kept the door open a crack so he could hear what was going on outside and get out quickly if the need arose.

Already behind his desk, Dawson said, “You still serious about working for me?”

“I'm still here, ain't I?”

“Yes, indeed. Someone's come along to back up your claim about that grisly business in Davis Junction. I want you to accompany a couple of my men down there to find out why that man was killed. You say it was just for speaking up on my behalf?”

“That's what I said,” Slocum replied.

“Then I want you to find out what he said to spark such a reaction.”

“Anything else you'd like me to do for you while I'm there?” Slocum asked. “Maybe I could bring you back something to eat?”

“You want to work for me? You'll do the work I give you.”

“I believe I wanted to work with you,” Slocum pointed out.

Wearing the same crooked smile that had been plastered onto his face most of the time that Slocum had seen him, Dawson said, “Then work with me . . . and go to Davis Junction to see what happened with that killing. I'd appreciate it.”

“See, now that's all I needed. Just a little courtesy.” Slocum tipped his hat. “I'll have a look at your men to see which ones I want to take with me.”

“Already have 'em picked out. They're waiting for you in the lobby.”

Standing just outside the office, Slocum turned to look back in as he asked, “Does the work get any better than this?”

“Most definitely! I just need to see what kind of a worker you are. After that, I promise I'll give you so much rewarding work to do that you'll be glad those little notices I drew up brought you here.”

“Yeah. I'm sure.” Slocum walked down the stairs, ignoring all the men who watched him from various doorways. When he started counting them, he realized there weren't as many as he'd originally thought. The simple fact was that those men were always watching from the confined quarters of the narrow hallway, which made their numbers seem greater. It was similar to how a toy soldier could look like a giant if it was held close enough to the eye. Now that he had some proper perspective, Slocum decided Ed's figures probably weren't far off. He shook his head and silently scolded himself for doubting the broker's numbers. More than likely, any figure that man tossed out had already been checked and double-checked.

Ever since he'd climbed back in through his window, Slocum had been trying to gauge whether or not any of Dawson's men knew he'd been gone. Judging from his limited conversations with Dawson, Slocum had no trouble at all believing the man was so overly confident that he might not consider the possibility he'd been duped. Men like that always figured they had eyes in the back of their head and enough brains to figure out whatever they couldn't see. On the other hand, it could be just as likely that Slocum's little walk to Ed's place hadn't fooled anyone and the others were merely playing along. All that mattered was that Slocum knew where he stood and didn't get overconfident himself.

When he saw the men waiting in the lobby for him, he could tell it was going to be a long ride to Davis Junction.

The first man Slocum spotted was Mikey. His face actually looked worse than it had earlier that day. The bruises had taken on the color of muddy swamp water flowing just beneath his skin. His eyes narrowed into angry slits and he placed his hand squarely upon the grip of his holstered pistol when he saw Slocum coming. “Well now,” he said. “Look who decided to join us after his little catnap.”

“If you boys don't mind waiting awhile, I could sure use a bit more sleep,” Slocum said.

“Get your ass onto a horse before I—”

In an instant, Slocum surged forward to stand so close to Mikey that he could bump his forehead with the brim of his hat. “You'll what?” he snarled. All of the glibness that had been in his voice a second ago had now been replaced with the steely chill of a cold blade.

“Easy, now,” one of the other men said. He was a bony kid who couldn't have seen more than twenty-one birthdays. The grip he applied to Slocum's shoulder was strong enough to ease him away from Mike, but not more than half a step. Slocum shifted his glare to him and found little fear in the younger man's smooth features.

All Slocum needed to do to get the kid's hand to move away was to look at it as if he meant to cut it off. After that, he met the kid's pale green eyes and asked, “You leading this ride, Slim?”

“Don't know if there's a proper leader. We're all just headed down to Davis Junction to look into that matter you told Mr. Dawson about.”

“What matter would that be?” Slocum asked.

Slim shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another before the third man spoke up. He was a stocky Mexican with a bushy mustache that was long enough to cover most of his mouth as he said, “We're looking into the death of one of Mr. Dawson's supporters.”

Slocum nodded, comfortable in the knowledge that he'd just found the group's leader. “Any idea how we do that, or do we just ride into town and start knocking on doors?”

“We know plenty of men to ask, but you're coming along on this to point us in the right direction.”

“I suppose we can talk about strategy when we make camp tonight,” Slocum said.

“Camp? What camp?”

“Davis Junction isn't far from here, but it's a bit late to get there in less than a day's ride.”

“Not if we ride at night,” Mike said. “Seems like maybe you don't know as much as you thought.”

“Shut up,” the Mexican snapped. “Both of you.”

“You think you can make the ride without stopping?” Slocum said. “Go right ahead. I'll just get some supplies in the event it takes longer.”

“I've made the ride more times than I can count,” the large, dark-skinned man replied. “I know how long it will take. We'll be making the last part of the ride at night, but that don't matter either. We'll get to work as soon as we arrive.”

Slocum nodded slowly. “Yeah, I've heard you men do your best work at night.”

“Don't forget that,” Mike said. When he saw the glare he got from the Mexican, he added, “And don't shove me around, Sanchez! I know what I'm doing.”

“Then do it!” Sanchez bellowed. “The horses are outside. We've wasted enough time already.”

Sanchez led the way out of the hotel and the other two men fell into step in front of and behind Slocum. They filed through the front door, marching straight to the horses tethered to the closest post. Slocum's gelding was saddled and had a canteen hanging by a strap, but little else. “Where's the rest of my gear?” he asked.

“You've got what you need,” Sanchez replied. “We've got the rest. Are you coming or not?”

Slocum knew that question was as loaded as the guns all three men were carrying. More than likely, some men inside the hotel were watching from other spots, waiting for a reason to open fire. His muscles drew taut beneath his skin, aching to make a move of his own, but Slocum forced himself to climb into his saddle as if he didn't have a care in the world.

The other three mounted their horses and, within seconds, were trotting down the street toward the edge of town. Once the desert was spread in front of them, Sanchez snapped his reins. Slocum followed with the other two on either side of him.