19
Holbrook made Slocum sit down in a chair, and he got a wet rag and bathed his face. While he did, he kept asking questions. “Okay, so you lost Giddings. Now tell me the hell what happened.”
“Aw, I was sneaking along the edge of the buildings kind of in the shadows, you know. I figured I had the son of a bitch. He didn’t have much more of town to go. Then someone grabbed me from in between a couple of buildings, and before I knew it there were about five of them, maybe six, on me. They sure as hell beat the shit out of me. When I come to, there wasn’t a soul on the street.”
“I’d better get Doc to take a look at you,” Holbrook said.
“No, hell, never mind that,” Slocum said. “The worst hurt I got is here in my right rib cage. I don’t know if they’re broke or just bruised, but whichever they are, there ain’t nothing ole Doc can do that I can’t do for myself. All he’d do is just to tape them up.”
“Shut up,” said Holbrook. He walked over to his desk and got out the whiskey bottle and a glass. Walking back across the room, he handed them to Slocum. “I’m fetching him over anyhow. Have a drink while I’m gone.”
Holbrook left the office, and Slocum poured himself a drink. He sure as hell didn’t have anything else to do. God damn it, he thought, his ribs sure did hurt. The bastards must have kicked the shit out of him while he was out. Well, he had recognized the ringleader. That big son of a bitch. He would get him back for this. He promised himself. He was pouring a third drink when Holbrook came back in. Doc was right behind him. Doc examined Slocum carefully, but Slocum had been right. The worst thing he could find was the stove-in ribs. He wrapped Slocum around so tightly with bandages that Slocum could hardly take a deep breath.
“Take it easy now till they heal up,” Doc said just before he left.
“Yeah. Sure.” said Slocum.
“You better do what the doc says,” Holbrook said. “Why don’t you move on over into that cell and lay down on the cot?”
“In a minute,” Slocum said. “Right now I’m finishing this drink. Listen, Cy, we might can pin this thing down. What’s down there at the end of the street on the other side? Giddings was just coming even with Maudie’s. What’s left on that side of the street?”
“Well, Baker’s office is down there.”
“That shyster lawyer,” said Slocum. “That’s my bet.”
“We need more to go on than your bet.”
“Yeah, hell, I know. What else is down there?”
“Well, now, let’s see. Hiram Miller’s butcher shop. The stable. Blacksmith. That’s about it I reckon.”
“It’s got to be one of them, Cy. What other reason did Giddings have for going down that way after dark than to see his new boss? I’ll be watching again tonight, but this time I’ll be a hell of a lot more careful about what’s between the damn buildings.”
“You’d better be. At least we’ve got it pinned down closer. Well, I don’t know about you, but since there’s nothing more we can do tonight, I’m going back to bed.”
“Go ahead, Cy. I will, too, in a few minutes.”
Holbrook went back into the cell he was using for a bedroom, and Slocum finished his drink and poured another one. Damn, his ribs hurt. Let’s see, he thought, the damned lawyer, the butcher, the stable man, the blacksmith. Baker was still his first choice. In fact, he hardly thought about any of the others. He finished that last drink and decided that he was woozy enough. It wasn’t really helping all that much with the bashed in ribs anyhow. They still hurt like blazes. He got up with a groan and went to the front door to latch it. Then he went into the other cell to lie down.
In the morning Slocum went with Holbrook to breakfast at Maudie’s. They were early, so they were finishing as the crowd came in. Slocum saw the big man. His ribs still hurt like hell, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him. He took a last slug of coffee to wash down his last swallow and stood up. The man saw him and stopped still. He looked deliberately away from Slocum to Holbrook.
“Morning, Cy,” he said.
Holbrook just looked at the man. Slocum walked toward him. “I want you by yourself,” he said. “Not with five or six of your cronies.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” said the big man.
“You know damn well,” Slocum said.
“I don’t know what you want.”
“Listen, buster, I recognized you last night. There’s no question about it. You want to go outside with me right now, or you want to eat your breakfast first? I’ll wait for you.”
Holbrook stood up and walked over beside Slocum. “Hold on,” he said. “I’m placing this man under arrest.”
“For what?” said Slocum. “I ain’t made a complaint. This is just between me and him.”
The big man grinned. “Okay,” he said. “If that’s the way you want it, let’s go on outside.”
The big man turned and walked back out the door, and Slocum followed him. There were two other men with the big man, both of whom had been in the lynch mob, and Slocum figured that they, too, had beat him up the night before. He had not recognized them though, so he didn’t say anything. He noticed though that they followed their big partner out the door. Holbrook followed Slocum, and about half of the people in Maudie’s got up to go out and watch.
The big man walked to the middle of the street and turned to face Slocum, lifting up his fists and grinning. Slocum squared off, but Holbrook walked out to stand between the two. “Hold everything,” he said. “Both of you take off your gunbelts and hand them here to me.” He collected the guns and walked back to the front of the crowd that was by then gathered all around. Slocum looked at the big man’s broad grin. The son of a bitch likely knows they stove up my goddamn ribs, he thought. He determined that he would not let the man know that his ribs were bothering him.
They moved in on each other and began circling slowly, each man looking for an opening. The big man, with the longer reach, shot out a few left jabs, but all of them were short of the mark. Slocum studied the jabs. When the next one came, he stepped forward quickly on his right leg and swung a hard right cross that caught the big man on the side of the head and made him stagger back. Slocum did not wait. He moved in fast, getting in underneath the long reach and pounding both fists one after the other into the man’s gut. The big man staggered backward, but Slocum kept moving into him, kept pounding. The big man’s fists flailed helplessly at Slocum’s back. At last, Slocum backed the big man into the crowd at the far side of the street. A couple of men there held the big man up and forward, so his backpeddling came to an abrupt stop. Slocum kept pounding.
All of a sudden, Slocum stamped on the man’s right foot as hard as he could. He thought that he could feel some little bones snap as he did, and the big man howled out loud in pain and doubled over. Then Slocum bashed him a hell of an uppercut that sent the man reeling back and over and into the arms of the men in the front of the crowd. He would have gone down, but they held him up. Slocum slugged him with a right cross and a left hook, and the man sagged in the arms of those who were holding him. Slocum backed off and looked at the man.
“Let go of him,” he said.
They did, and the man fell forward on his face. Slocum walked over to the water trough and dipped out some water in his hands to splash his face. He was surprised at how good he felt. He still had no idea who the others in the crowd that had beat him were, but he just didn’t give a damn anymore. This one had been the instigator. This was the big man. The others knew that if Slocum could whip the big man, he could whip each one of them easily. It was strange, but he was satisfied.
His ribs were hurting like hell though. He didn’t let on. He walked toward the jail, and Holbrook followed. As he went past the unconscious man, the sheriff tossed the man’s gunbelt onto his back. They reached the office and went inside, and Slocum looked out to make sure they had not been followed too closely. He shut the door, and then he doubled up in pain and groaned out loud.
“You damn fool,” said Holbrook. “You sure you don’t want me to lock him up?”
“What for?”
“Well, for assault and battery. For assaulting an officer.”
“No,” Slocum said between groans, “let’s just call it even. You’ve got the son of a bitch and his pals all down for a trial for the lynching anyhow. Forget it.”
“You are a damn fool. The doc told you to take it easy.”
“Ah, shit,” said Slocum, stretching and wincing. “God damn it, it was worth it.”
Holbrook looked out the window and saw that much of the crowd was still out in the street, apparently talking about what they had just witnessed. A few were going back into Maudie’s. Then he noticed that on the far side of the street, leaning against a post on the sidewalk and smoking a cigarette, was Sam Giddings.
“Slocum,” he said. “When you can stand up straight again, come here and take a look.”
Slocum straightened himself up and stretched, moaning at the same time. Then he walked over to stand beside Holbrook and look outside. He saw Giddings there.
“You suppose that son of a bitch was part of your audience?” the sheriff said.
“I never noticed,” Slocum said.
“He looks plenty calm.”
“Hell,” said Slocum, “he’s got no intention of fighting me that a way.”
“Does he know you’re working with me?”
“Likely he does by now,” Slocum said. “He met with his boss last night and probably got told then. If he was out there watching just now, he seen me walk over here with you. I reckon he knows all right.”
Later in the day, Slocum walked by himself over to the Hogback. He got a bottle and a glass and sat down at a table. He noticed that Giddings was alone at a table on the far side of the room. Giddings stood up and, bringing his glass with him, walked over to Slocum’s table.
“Mind if I join you?” he said.
“I wish you would.”
Giddings pulled out a chair and sat down. Slocum shoved his bottle toward the gunslinger. Giddings poured himself a drink. “Thanks, Slocum,” he said. He lifted the glass as if for a toast and then drank. “Say, that was a hell of a fight you just had out there.”
“Yeah?” said Slocum. “You were watching?”
“From the beginning. The other fellow had all the advantages. Height. Weight. Reach. You still whipped him, and you whipped him real good.”
“Yeah, well, I had my reasons,” Slocum said.
“I think I can see them,” said Giddings, looking at the marks on Slocum’s face. “How many were there?”
“Aw, I’d say about six. Maybe only five. I couldn’t be sure. He was the only one I recognized.”
“Well, I’d say you evened the score all right.”
“I guess.”
“By the way, you were holding out on me yesterday,” Giddings said.
“I was?”
“You never told me you were working with the law here.” “Oh. That. Hell, you never told me who you were working for.”
Giddings smiled. “No, I guess I didn’t.”
“Well?”
“I still can’t tell you.”
“You found out who I’m working for. We both know that we’re on opposite sides. What’s the difference?”
“The difference is that I made a promise. It’s part of what I’m being paid for. I do the work and I don’t tell anyone anything.”
“You’re a real honorable fellow,” said Slocum.
“I have my code.”
“I know what your job is, Giddings,” said Slocum. “It’s to run off as many ranchers as you can. Your boss, whoever the hell he is, means to buy up the property on account of he knows that the railroad is coming through. We got that much figured out.”
“Pretty smart,” said Giddings.
“So what I want to know is this. How do you plan on going about it? You going to kill a few more cowhands? I don’t hardly think that rustling cattle is your style, but then, I could be wrong.”
Giddings took a drink. “Slocum,” he said, “you’ll know what I’m going to do when I make my move and not before. I’ll only tell you one thing. It will be perfectly legal. That’s the only way I operate.”
“No more drygulching, huh? No back-shooting?”
“None of that.”
“I don’t suppose you want to just go outside and shoot it out with me?”
“Not a chance.”
“I know you ain’t afraid.”
“If I let you shoot first, you might get lucky,” Giddings said,
“and if I shoot first, I’ll be arrested. There’s no point. I can win my own way, and I mean to.”
“Yeah? Well, I mean to stop you.”
Slocum took out a cigar and lit it. As a big cloud of smoke rose up from the table, he picked up his drink and took a sip. Giddings took out his makings and rolled a cigarette. He struck a match and lit that. The two men sat in silence for a moment.
“You know, Slocum,” said Giddings, “I like you. I think that I’m going to do this job without breaking any law, and I’ll get paid, and I’ll ride out of here without having to do a damn thing to you or about you. What do you think of that?”
“I don’t think it’ll work, Giddings,” said Slocum.
“I wish you’d call me Sam.”
“All right, Sam.”
“Why don’t you think it’ll work?”
“ ’Cause if you ruin these ranchers around here, I’ll come gunning for you.”
“That wouldn’t be within the law.”
“I won’t be working for the law. I’ll quit.”
“Why do you give a damn? What’s it to you?”
“Well, Sam, I’ve been around here for a while now, and I’ve made some friends. I like these folks, and I don’t want to see anyone take anything away from them. If you do it, I’ll kill you. Now, do you want to go outside and shoot it out?”
Giddings laughed. “Not a chance, Slocum. That was a good try, but not a chance.” Slocum took a drink, and Giddings looked at him and smiled. “God damn it, Slocum, but I really do like you. You know, I don’t believe you that you’ll come gunning for me if I haven’t broken the law.”
“Don’t bet your britches on it,” said Slocum.
