Slocum 307: Slocum and the Sheriff of Guadalupe

Slocum shifted some hay around on the floor of the stall where his big Appaloosa was stabled. He placed his saddle on the floor for a pillow. Taking off his hat, he hung it on a nail, and he sat down to pull off his boots. Then he unbuckled his gunbelt and stretched out on the floor with his Colt within easy reach. He settled down for a good night’s rest.

Out on the street, the mob from the saloon had grown, and it was moving toward the sheriff’s office. The creatures that formed the mob made no bones about their purpose. All along the way they picked up more followers. When they reached the jail, they found the door unlocked. The big man who had started the whole thing stepped in first, gun in hand. He paused and looked around. There was no one in sight other than Stark in his cell. Stark sat up quickly.

The mob burst into the office. Several rushed over to the cell. “Find the key,” someone yelled. A man ran behind the big desk and jerked open drawers, rummaging until he found some keys. “Here’s some,” he said. He tossed them across the room to one of the men standing by the cell door. The man caught them and began trying keys in the lock.

The man with the keys unlocked the door and swung it wide open. Stark backed to the far wall and pressed himself against it. “Hey. Get out of here,” he said. “Leave me alone. Leave me alone.”

Four men were suddenly around him, grabbing at him, clutching his shirt and dragging him out of the cell. The rest of the mob pressed against him, but none of the others could get close enough to put hands on him. Someone poked him in the gut. Someone else smacked him across the head.

They dragged and shoved him through the office and out the front door onto the sidewalk. He tried to stop his forward progress by planting his feet, but the men dragged him off the sidewalk into the street.

They dragged Stark right past the stable, heading for a tall oak tree just on the edge of town, and as they passed by the stable, Slocum rolled over. He heard the noise outside. He muttered to himself and rolled over again, but the crowd noise continued. He wondered what the hell was going on out there. He sat up and pulled on his boots. Then, taking his gunbelt, he stood up, grabbed his hat and headed for the door. As he swung the big stable door open, he could see the back of the mob moving away from him. It took him a moment to figure out what was going on. He ran to catch up.

The mob stopped moving. It turned to face Slocum. It was short of the oak tree by only a few steps. Slocum stopped. He buckled the belt around his waist. Looking up again, he saw that the mob had moved apart, revealing the four men who held Stark, right in the middle. Stark looked at Slocum. He was a chance.

“I hope it don’t come to that,” Slocum said. “No harm’s been done. Not yet. Why don’t you men just walk away from him and go on back to the Hogback. I’ll take Stark back to his cell.”

“We ain’t going to do that, Slocum,” the big man said. “He shot Cy. He most likely killed them cowboys. They was all friends of ours. If we let him go to trial, he’s liable to get off. No one seen him. So why don’t you just turn around and make like you never seen us?”

Slocum studied the situation. At best, he could shoot two or three of the men. The rest of them would get him for sure. Then with him laying there dead in the dirt, they would go on and hang Stark just the same. That didn’t make any sense to Slocum. Sure, he had made his promise to Cy Holbrook, but he had not promised to commit suicide. He wondered just what Cy would have done if he’d been here faced with this same predicament. There was no guarantee that the sheriff would have played the hero either. As far as Stark was concerned, Slocum had no feelings. He would have liked the chance to question him further, but he wasn’t at all sure that it would do any good. He was a closemouthed son of a bitch. But, no, Slocum would not shed any tears over Stark’s demise.

“Take him on over to the tree, boys,” the big man ordered, and the four men who had Stark started moving. Stark’s knees gave out then. Had the men not been holding on to him, he would have fallen to the ground. They dragged him underneath a high and large branch, and the cowboy with the rope swung the loop end high and over the branch.

He was sagging in the arms of the four men. No one had brought a horse. The cowboy put the loop around Stark’s neck. Stark continued screaming at Slocum. The noose was pulled tight. The cowboy started to haul away at the other end of the rope, but he found the weight a little too much to handle. Stark coughed and gagged as the noose tightened around his neck.

Two more men ran to the rope and grabbed hold. The three men managed to drag Stark screaming to his feet. They pulled harder and lifted him off the ground a couple of inches. Terror showed on the face of Stark. They pulled harder, and three more men ran over to take hold and pull. They had Stark then a few feet off the ground, and he was kicking and gagging. Drool ran down his chin. His eyeballs were opened so wide that it looked as if they would pop out of his head. His tongue protruded out of his mouth. He kicked hard with both feet, trying, it seemed, to climb up in the air in order to loosen the knot around his neck. He began to spin.

The men holding on to the rope moved slowly until they had wrapped it around the oak tree several times. Then they let go, and the rope took hold around the tree trunk. Stark was still spitting and gagging and kicking. Everyone in the mob stood still and silent, staring up at the fascinating and horrifying spectacle. Slocum, too, watched, wondering all the while what kept his eyes trained on the ghastly scene.

They stood around for a moment longer, some holding their noses, others holding handkerchiefs or bandannas over their noses and mouths. At long last, the body was still. It hung there spinning slowly and smelling horribly. The big man spoke up at last. “Let’s go,” he said, and the entire mob turned and started walking back toward the Hogback. The big man stopped in front of Slocum.

The big man looked back over his shoulder at the dangling body. Then he looked back at Slocum. “He’s still dead,” he said, and he started walking in the footsteps of the rest of the mob. Slocum turned to look at the man’s back.

Slocum stared after him for a while. Then he started walking toward the sheriff’s office. There was a bottle in there, and he wanted a drink. He did not want to go to the Hogback with that mob in there. He had no desire to see any of them again, but especially not just now. He walked slowly, just feeling. He wasn’t thinking. There was nothing to think about. He made it to the office and found the door standing wide open. He wasn’t surprised. He walked in leaving it that way. Around the desk, he opened the drawer that contained the bottle. He took it out, uncorked it and tossed the cork aside. He turned the bottle up and took a long drink.

Taking the bottle with him, he walked outside to a chair that stood there on the sidewalk just outside the sheriff’s office. He sat down there to drink. From where he sat, he could see the body, in silhouette, swinging slowly in the breeze, spinning still, but not so fast as before. Suddenly Slocum wanted to be out of Guadalupe. Far away. Taking the bottle with him, he walked back to the stable. He saddled his Appaloosa, mounted up and rode out of town.

He stopped a few miles outside of town and let the Appaloosa graze and drink at will. He himself sat down on the ground beneath a tree and leaned back against the trunk. He lifted the bottle and tilted it back, taking a huge swallow. He was trying to wash away the ugly memory of not so long ago, but it wasn’t working worth a damn. He took another swallow. He felt light-headed and a little dizzy, but the image of the screaming wretch with the rope around his neck was as clear as ever in his mind. He drank some more. Soon he had finished the bottle, and he threw it into the water. He started toward his horse, and he was staggering. Reaching the Appaloosa’s side, he took hold of the saddle horn and lifted his foot, but he stumbled and fell. He rolled over in the dirt. He sat up slowly and cursed, and then lumbered clumsily to his feet. He went back to the horse and tried again. This time he managed to pull himself up and into the saddle.

He wanted some more whiskey, but he did not want to go back to Guadalupe. There was another town down the road—how far? He could not remember. He had passed through it on his way here. Well, no matter how far. He would go there. He rode, weaving in the saddle. He rode on, craving more whiskey. He rode on with the horrible image of the dying or dead man in his mind. He rode on toward whatever the hell the name of the other town was. He would get there. Sooner or later. He rode on. And then he fell out of the saddle and rolled over a few times, until he came to rest in the ditch beside the road. The big horse stopped. It walked over to him where he lay, and it nuzzled at him. Apparently satisfying itself that he was just asleep, it began to mill around on the side of the road. Slocum did not move.

When he woke up, he could tell by the sun that it was early morning. Slowly he recalled the events following the sloppy lynching of the night before, and he remembered wanting to get away from Guadalupe. He sat up and looked up and down the road. He did not think that he had gotten very far. He started to stand up, but he relaxed his body again and put a hand to his head.

He needed some coffee badly, and the nearest was back where he had started, back in Guadalupe, at Maudie’s, or in the sheriff’s office if he wanted to bother making it himself. He stood up slowly, and found his horse not far away. He climbed into the saddle and turned around toward Guadalupe. He rode slowly, and as he rode along, he recalled some of his thoughts from the night before. He recalled how he had wanted to get away from this place, but now in the light of morning of a new day, he rethought all of that. Not that Guadalupe was any more attractive than it had been the night before, but he recalled his promise to Cy Holbrook that he would stay and see this thing through.

Damn all these promises anyway, he thought. He really would have ridden away from all this mess if he had not promised Cy. Well, if he had not worked awhile with Cy, making them partners in a way. He did want to find the culprit behind all this trouble, and he wanted to settle things down in Guadalupe again. He wanted to end the threat of a range war. He wanted Cy Holbrook to quit his job and get married and go to work out on the ranch. He wanted all of that, but, damn it, he wanted it to come about in a hurry. He really did want to get the hell out of there.

When he arrived at Maudie’s, it was already late in the morning. There were no customers left in the place from breakfast. He walked in and found a table. Maudie stepped out from the back room when she heard him come in.