6
Amos Foss found Ace Carter drinking whiskey in the Booze Palace. It was early in the day for Carter to be drinking so much, and Foss took notice of that fact. He walked over to Carter’s table.
“Mind if I join you, Ace?” he asked.
“Help yourself,” Carter said, his voice surly.
“Why so friendly?” Foss asked.
“Aw, hell, Amos,” Carter said, “I didn’t mean nothing by it. I just got a lot of things on my mind is all. Sit down. Have a drink on the house.”
“Just coffee,” Foss said. “It’s a little early for me.”
“Hey, Dutch,” Carter called out. “Cup of coffee for the marshal here.”
“Coming right up,” Dutch said.
“I hear there was a little excitement in town while I was away,” Foss said casually.
“Oh yeah?” said Carter. “What’s that? What’d you hear?”
Dutch brought the coffee and set it on the table in front of Foss.
“Thanks,” said Foss.
“Anytime, Amos,” Dutch said. He walked back to the bar. Foss took a tentative sip of the hot coffee and put the cup back down.
“Couple of cowboys brought in Tom Grant’s horses that were stole,” said Foss.
“Oh, yeah,” said Carter. “That. Yeah. Them horses is down in the stable. That was lucky for old Tom. Yeah, I knew about that.”
“There’s a little more to the story,” said Foss. Carter slugged down the whiskey in his glass and poured himself another. He did not look at Foss when he next spoke.
“What else you hear?” he asked.
“Some of the boys figured that the two cowhands stole the horses,” Foss said. “They rode out where the strangers were camped. Only found one of them. They strung him up to a tree trying to make him talk. They might not have meant to do it, but they killed him.”
“Naw,” said Carter, incredulous. “Who’d you hear that from?”
“Then they went hunting the other feller,” Foss continued. “They found him all right, but he killed two of them. Seems it was Trumbull and Chapman.”
“Chilly and Gary?” said Carter. “Chilly and Gary killed? I can’t hardly believe it. Come to think on it, though, I ain’t seen either one of them around town for a spell.”
“Yeah,” said Foss. “Seems like there were seven altogether. Seven that killed the cowboy. His partner means to kill the other five before he quits. It would be a good thing if those five were to turn themselves in to me before that happens. Be a real good thing. I hate to see a blood-bath around here.”
“Yeah,” said Carter. “I can see your point. I guess that would be the best thing for them five to do—before that drifter catches up to them. Say, who’d you hear all this from, anyway?”
“I heard it,” said Foss. “That’s enough for now. I heard more, too.”
“Yeah?” said Carter.
“I heard you were the leader of the mob,” Foss said.
“That’s crazy,” Carter snapped. “What lying son of a bitch said that?”
“Never mind that part,” Foss said.
“You going to arrest me?” said Carter defiantly. “You got any proof of them outrageous allegations?”
“No,” Foss said. “I ain’t going to arrest you. Not just yet anyhow. And, no, I ain’t got proof. Just stories.”
“You ain’t even got no bodies,” said Carter. “Have you? You got bodies?”
“No,” Foss said. “I got no bodies. Got no proof. I do know one thing for sure though.”
“What’s that?” Carter asked.
“I know the cowboys didn’t steal Tom’s horses,” said Foss. “Tom came around, and I went out to see him. He said four hide hunters stole the horses. Seems like the cowboys claimed they got the horses off four hide hunters. You hear that part of the story? Well, anyhow, they were telling the truth about that.” He took a final sip of coffee and then stood up. “It sure would be better for those five men if they were to give themselves up to me,” he said. Then he left the saloon.
“Dutch,” Carter shouted. “Watch after things here. I got something to do.”
He got up out of his chair and headed for the door. He stood there in the doorway for a moment and watched Foss walk toward his office. Then he went outside and headed for the boot shop of Morley Swenson. He walked fast, but he was reeling a little from all the early day whiskey he had consumed. Bursting into the boot shop, he saw that Swenson was with a customer.
“Morley,” he said, heading for the shop’s back room, “we need to talk.”
He shoved open the door to the back room.
“In a minute, Ace,” Swenson said.
“Right now,” said Carter.
Swenson looked at his customer.
“Just try them on till you’re satisfied,” he said. “I’ll be right back with you.” He followed Carter into the back room. “What?” he said. “I have a customer out there.”
“This is more important,” said Carter. “I just had a talk with Amos Foss, and he knows everything.”
“What?” Swenson said.
“He knows everything,” said Carter, “but he ain’t got no proof. All we got to do is keep our yaps shut, and we’ll be all right. Just don’t let any of Amos’s questioning get to you. Just keep a cool head is all. Make out like you don’t know what the hell he’s talking about. That’s all.”
“Is he coming to see me?” Swenson asked. “Does he know who we are?”
“I don’t know that,” Carter said. “I’m just telling you that if he does come to see you, act like you don’t know nothing. There’s something else. Amos said that Slocum aims to kill us all.”
“How would Amos know that?” said Swenson.
“He wouldn’t tell me how he come by any of his information,” Carter said. “I’m wondering if maybe Slocum hisself slipped in and had a talk with him.”
“Slocum in town?” Swenson said.
“I’m guessing,” said Carter. “Just remember what I said. That’s all. I got to go see the others now. Just keep your head.”
Carter led the way out of the room. The customer was gone. Swenson followed Carter to the front door and stepped out onto the sidewalk with him. From inside the marshal’s office, Foss watched them through the front window. Carter started to walk away, but he stopped and shoved Swenson back inside, backing up in the doorway with him.
“Look,” he said. “At Millicent’s.”
Swenson looked and saw Slocum going into Millicent’s Eatery.
“He’s here,” Swenson said.
“Don’t panic,” said Carter.
“I don’t mean to sit around and wait for him to come and kill me,” said Swenson. He turned and went back into his store, back behind the counter, and came back out with a shotgun.
“What the hell are you doing with that?” Carter asked.
“I mean to get him first,” said Swenson. “Get out of my way.”
Carter grabbed Swenson by an arm, but Swenson jerked loose. “Leave me be,” he said.
“Morley,” said Carter, “he’s a damn gunfighter.”
“I got a scattergun here,” Swenson said.
Carter started to say something more but stopped himself short. Yeah, he said to himself. Let him go. He’ll kill Slocum or Slocum will kill him. Either way will be all right. Morley’s too damn jumpy anyhow. He started walking back to his saloon. Just as he reached it, he saw Amos Foss come running from the marshal’s office. He ducked on inside the Booze Palace to wait.
“Well, hello,” Millicent said, as Slocum stepped inside. “I wasn’t sure I’d ever see you again.”
“I wasn’t real sure myself,” said Slocum, “but here I am. Can I get a cup of coffee?”
“Coming right up,” she said.
Slocum found himself a table to his liking and sat down facing the door. Just then Swenson came barging in. Looking around quickly, he saw Slocum and raised the shotgun. Just in time, Slocum threw himself back, at the same time kicking over the table to make a shield. The blast of the shotgun filled the room and rattled the walls, and pellets spanged against the tabletop there in front of Slocum. Slocum stood up immediately after the shot. From behind the overturned table, he raised his Colt and fired. One shot thudded into the chest of Swenson.
Swenson gasped out loud, a sound of both surprise and horror. He looked down at his chest as he dropped the shotgun to the floor. He stood for a moment, weaving, then fell back through the door to land on the sidewalk outside. Foss came running up just in time to hear the shots and to see Swenson fall. He stopped and checked Swenson, finding him dead. Then he stepped over the body to go inside Millicent’s. Slocum was just holstering his Colt.
“Slocum,” Foss said, his voice threatening.
“I didn’t have no choice,” said Slocum. “Ask anyone here.”
“I know you didn’t,” Foss said. “I saw him coming with that gun. I tried to make it in time to stop him, but—well, I didn’t make it.”
Millicent ran over to Slocum’s side. “Are you hurt?” she asked.
“Naw,” he said. “I’m all right. I’m sorry this happened in here.”
“But you are hurt,” she said, taking hold of his left arm tenderly. He looked and saw that his arm was bleeding. Some of the bouncing pellets must have torn into it, but in the excitement, he hadn’t felt anything.
“Better get Doc to take a look at that,” Foss said.
“It ain’t bad,” Slocum said.
“Come with me,” said Millicent. “I can take care of it.” Then she raised her voice for her other customers to hear. “Whatever you’re eating is on the house,” she said. “Soon as you’re done, I’m closing up for the day.”
Slocum let her lead him to her back room, but just as they were going through the door, Foss spoke out to Slocum.
“I want you to leave town, Slocum,” he said. “Get your arm patched up and ride on out. I don’t care where you go, but I want you out of here.”
“All I did was defend myself,” Slocum said. “You can’t run me out of town for that.”
“I can if I figure you to be a danger to the community,” said Foss. “I meant what I said. Get out of town.”
Alone with Slocum inside her quarters and with the door locked, Millicent removed Slocum’s shirt. She washed the wound, picked out some pellets and bound up the arm in clean white bandages. “That should do it,” she said.
“Thank you,” said Slocum. “It’ll do fine.”
“Can you tell me what’s going on?” she asked.
He told her the whole story, including how his dalliance with her had kept him safely away from the camp the night that Harley had been killed.
“Oh, John,” she said, “I’m so sorry.”
“I never meant to imply that it was your fault,” he said.
“That’s just the way it happened. That’s all. There ain’t no one to blame but Ace Carter and them that was with him, and I mean to get them all. There’s three down now. Four to go.”
“But Amos Foss just told you to get out of town,” she said.
“I’ll get,” Slocum said, “but I won’t go far.”
“Let me fix you a meal first,” she said. “You did come in here to eat, didn’t you?”
“Well,” he said, “that might have been on my mind as well.”
She prepared him a steak with all the trimmings and he ate ravenously. Then he had a cup of coffee. She brought out the whiskey bottle and poured him a drink. When he was done with that, he said, “If I ain’t out of here soon, ol’ Foss is liable to come looking for me.”
“Let him look,” she said, and she put her arms around his shoulders. She leaned in to kiss his lips, and he responded by pulling her close to him and holding her tight. The kiss was long and lingering and wet. He started pulling at her dress and she pulled at the waistband of his trousers. Soon they were naked together, and she took his hand and led him to her bed. She crawled in and stretched out on her back, opening her thighs to invite him in. He was ready. He moved on top of her and let his weight down on her slowly and carefully, at the same time pressing his lips against hers.
She reached down with both hands to guide him inside her, and simultaneously they started to move. Their bodies were like a smooth machine with all parts working together in a beautiful rhythm. For a while it was slow and easy, but gradually the speed increased. Soon they were driving themselves against one another. He was driving himself harder and deeper inside her. Her moans of pleasure took on a desperate note. At last she squealed with delight, and then Slocum felt the release that he had been building toward. Soon they lay still, breathing deeply, spent, delighted with the wonders of their two bodies.
Slocum pulled out at last and rolled over onto his back. “Wait a minute,” she said. She got up and left the room. In a moment she returned with a bowl of water and a towel. Lovingly, she washed him off, then dried him. Setting aside the bowl and towel, she leaned over him to give him a tender kiss.
“I hate to say it,” she whispered, “but if I don’t, you’ll have to, and I’d rather say it than hear you say it.”
“What’s that?” he said.
“You’d better go,” she said. “But John, be careful. You were lucky today. Watch out for yourself and stay safe.”
Slocum walked over to his roan at the hitchrail and prepared to mount up. Amos Foss stepped out of his office. “Slocum,” he asked, “where you going?”
“I’m leaving your town,” said Slocum, “like you told me to do. Remember?”
“Where you going?” Foss asked.
“I don’t think I need to tell you that,” Slocum said. “You can tell me to get out of your town, but you can’t tell me nothing after that. You are just a town marshal, ain’t you?”
“That’s right,” Foss said.
“That there town limits sign on the road west,” Slocum said. “Is it in the right legal spot?”
“It is,” Foss said.
“When I’m beyond it then, you ain’t got no say?” Slocum asked.
“That’s right,” Foss admitted. “But don’t try to pull anything cute on me.”
“Mr. Foss,” said Slocum, “there ain’t been nothing cute about me since I was a toddler—maybe not even then. I’ll be seeing you around.” He swung up onto the back of the roan, tipped his hat to Foss, and turned her to ride out of town.
“Slocum,” Foss called out to him as he was riding away, “I know you mean to kill four more men. Men from my town. You’d better watch your ass.”
Slocum waved and continued riding. He did not look back. Foss stormed angrily over to the Booze Palace and barged in. Almost immediately, he saw Ace Carter back at his favorite table and still drinking. Carter had a smug look on his face.
“You’re under arrest, Carter,” said Foss. “Come along with me.”
“What the hell for?” Carter asked.
“Call it suspicion for right now,” said Foss. “Come on.”
“Suspicion of what?” asked Carter.
“If I knew it wouldn’t be suspicion, now, would it?” Foss said. “Take out any weapons you have on you and lay them on the table. Do it now.”
Foss was so angry that Carter decided he had better do as he was told. He pulled out a pocket pistol and placed it on the table. “That’s all I got,” he said.
“It had better be,” said Foss. “Now come along.”
He started walking with Carter toward the jail, hurrying him along.
“You won’t be able to keep me in there,” Carter said. “You got nothing on me.”
“I’ll keep you as long as I can,” said Foss.
“I’ll see that you lose your job for this, too,” said Carter. “This ain’t no way to treat one of the leading citizens of this here town. I got influence, and you know it. I’ll be out of jail, and you’ll be out of a job.”
“Shut up,” Foss said. “There’s four men dead because of you. You know it, and I know it. Maybe I can’t prove it just yet, but if Slocum doesn’t kill all of you first, I’ll get to the bottom of it. You can count on that.”
They reached the jail and went inside. Foss shoved Carter into a cell, shut the door, and locked it. Carter took a bar in each hand and shook the door. Then he let go of the bars, turned away, and paced to the window at the far wall. Stopping, he turned to face Foss who had already taken a seat behind his desk.
“You son of a bitch,” Carter said, “the least you could a done was let me bring my goddamn bottle along with me.”
Foss jerked open a desk drawer and pulled out a bottle. He stood up and walked over to the cell. Handing the bottle through the bars, he said, “Go on. Get drunk as hell for all I care.” Then he went back to his chair. Carter uncorked the bottle and took a long drink. “Maybe if you get drunk enough,” Foss said, “you’ll tell me what I want to know.”
“Is that what you think?” Carter asked. “You think if you keep me in here you’ll scare some kind of confession out of me? Well, forget it, asshole. I ain’t got nothing to confess. I don’t know nothing about all that shit.”
“And I reckon Morley Swenson going after Slocum with a shotgun right after you paid him a visit was just a coincidence, huh?” Foss said. “I reckon you don’t know anything about that either.”
“I don’t know why the dumb shit did that,” said Carter.
“Maybe not,” Foss said, “but maybe those other three might start getting nervous with three already dead and you locked up in here. Maybe one of them will slip up and tell me something. We’ll see.”
Carter didn’t answer. He hadn’t thought of that. What would Hedley do, or Barber, or Cain, when they heard that he had been arrested and thrown in jail? Sure, Foss was right. With Trumbull, Chapman, and Swenson all dead, they would be getting nervous. That could be a real problem.