Slocum 420 (10 page)

“Is that what people are saying about the Beast of Fall Pass?”

“Not exactly.”

“Tell me what they're saying. Please.”

“Why?” she scoffed. “Are you hunting the Beast of Fall Pass?”

After a few seconds of silence, Slocum replied, “That's what some are saying attacked those men I told you about.”

Greta rolled back around so quickly that some of her hair whipped Slocum across the cheek. She stared at him intently and asked, “Are you joking with me after what I told you about my mother's stories?”

“Wish I was, but the men paying me to go into those woods are dead serious and those men that were hurt . . . well . . . at least one of them may be just plain dead by now.”

“They were ripped limb from limb?”

“Wasn't quite that bad, but pretty damn close,” Slocum said. “Looked like it was an animal that did the job, but the more I've been thinking about it, the less certain I am.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Something about the wounds themselves that . . .” When he paid closer attention to Greta's face instead of losing himself in his own thoughts, Slocum could see that she was still plenty rattled. Rather than dwelling on the gruesome details, he said, “Whatever it is truly doesn't matter, I suppose, since we'll be heading out after it one way or another.”

“Who is going with you?”

“Merle and Darryl Beasley.” Even in the dim light, Slocum could see the disgust on Greta's face. “You've heard of them?”

“They came to town around the same time my mother opened this boardinghouse. They needed a place to stay and rented some rooms here. One night, the younger brother tried to have his way with me, and the next night, the older one tried as well.”

“Did they force themselves on you?” he asked in a tense voice.

“No, but they were both very insistent. They said they wanted to do things to me, but they didn't touch me. They are pigs.”

“No argument there. I've already met them. You're sure they didn't lay a hand on you?”

“I am sure,” she said with a shudder. “I wouldn't forget a thing like that.” She blinked a few times before truly taking notice of the fire that was smoldering in Slocum's eyes. In a much lighter tone, she added while rubbing the side of his face, “They did nothing but say disgusting words to me.”

“If it was more than that, I might have to rip them apart worse than any beast could.”

“If they did more than that, I would want to watch while you did that to them.”

Satisfied, Slocum felt his anger subside. “Those two may be pigs, but they're supposed to know these woods pretty well. We're to ride out to where those men were attacked and track whatever it was that spilled their blood. Once we find it, we'll know for certain whether it's man or beast. The only reason I asked you about it was because anything you could tell me about what I'm supposed to be going after might be of some use.”

Greta chewed on her lower lip while taking some time to think. As she pondered her next words, she idly played with a few strands of her hair. Considering the fact that she was still naked and glistening with sweat from their lovemaking, it was quite a sight to behold. She gave him another pretty sight when she sat upright without bothering to cover herself. “I just remembered something!”

“I'm listening,” Slocum replied, even though his eyes were lingering on the tight contours of her bare flesh.

“There were some trappers that stayed here last year and they said they saw the Beast of Fall Pass.”

“Did they really?”

Reaching out, Greta placed her finger beneath Slocum's chin and raised his head so he was looking at her face instead of several inches lower. “Do you want to hear this or not?”

“I want plenty of things.”

“First of all, they said the beast was large.”

“No surprise there,” Slocum said. “Even if an animal is no bigger than a dog, folks will say it's a giant so they don't look like pansies for fearing it.”

“They didn't say it was tall, but . . .” Greta sat up straight, puffed out her cheeks and held her arms out to mimic someone three times heavier than she. “Large. Like this.”

“Oh. I see.” Slocum reached out to slide his hand along her leg all the way up to her hip. “Was that all?”

“No. They also said it made a strange sound. Like heavy breaths or wheezing.”

Slocum's hand stopped midway between her knee and hip. “They said it was wheezing?”

“Yes.”

“That's a bit strange.”

“Not as strange as the smell,” Greta said. “They said it smelled terribly bad. Like rotten meat and garbage.”

“Rotten meat and . . . garbage?”

“Yes. The men were speaking to my mother about the beast and that is what they said.”

“What did your mother have to say about that?”

“She said the wolves from Germany smelled only like wolves and blood. Such gruesome stories.”

It may have been gruesome, but it resonated in Slocum's mind. If Helga had claimed all monsters smelled like that, it could have just been some common bit of folklore that was passed around. But since that piece only came from the men who claimed to have seen the Beast of Fall Pass, that meant it might be something he could actually use. “What happened with those men who saw the beast? Did they try to hunt it? Was one of them hurt?”

“No. They were only frightened after seeing it in the woods. They and my mother talked for hours about such things. Most of it was just stories, but those things I told you were what they said when they first started talking and were still frightened. The rest,” Greta said with a casual flick of her hand, “was just stories told around the fire.”

“That was helpful.”

“You are joking with me again?”

“Not hardly,” Slocum said. “Is there anything else you can tell me?”

She smiled and pushed Slocum so he was lying flat on his back. Her hand slipped between his legs and she started stroking him as she said, “I am through with talking.”

“What if I'm not?” Slocum asked. Even though his mind was wandering in other directions as well, he liked the way Greta was trying to convince him to end the conversation.

She smiled and accepted the challenge he'd thrown down by moving her head between his legs and wrapping her lips around his cock. Her tongue slid along the bottom of his pole and she sucked on him greedily.

Slocum leaned back and grew harder in her mouth. He was definitely through with talking as well.

Considering how much Darryl had drunk the night before and the state he was in the next morning, Slocum was amazed the grizzled man was able to sit upright in his saddle. The sun was still low on the eastern horizon as they took the trail out of town that led into the surrounding woods. Merle rode out front with Darryl behind and Slocum bringing up the rear. Apart from a few grunted greetings when they'd first met up, not many words had passed between any of them that entire morning.

“You all right up there, Darryl?” Slocum finally asked.

Darryl was slouched forward and had begun to lean a bit too far to the right. Rather than center himself on the saddle, he waved off Slocum's question and grumbled something in a slurred voice.

“He's fine,” Merle said. “Just needs to let all that whiskey burn out of his belly.” Turning in his saddle, the younger brother shouted, “Ain't that right, Darryl?”

Swinging at the air as if Merle's raised voice were a swarm of bees stinging his ears, Darryl grunted some more. This time, however, several obscene comments could distinctly be heard.

“He's in rough shape,” Slocum pointed out. “If he doesn't get right soon, he'll just be slowing us down.”

Merle shifted back around to face front. “We're headed to a spot we know. Once we get there, we'll water the horses and let Darryl mix up a batch of his tonic. After that, he'll be right as rain.”

“You sure about that?”

“For the love of God,” Darryl bellowed, “will the both of you shut yer goddamn holes? My head's fixin' to crack in two.”

When Merle turned around again, he wore a smile that was twice as wide as it had been the last time. “Whose fault is that, you damn fool?”

“Whoever brewed that damn whiskey! Now shut the hell up,” Darryl snarled as he drew the .45-caliber Colt strapped to his hip, “before I drill a hole through your yappin' skull!”

Merle chuckled as if he were being threatened by a cork gun. “You won't pull that trigger.”

“Why the hell not? 'Cause you're my brother? We been kin long enough for the appeal to wear mighty thin.”

“Nah,” Merle replied. “Because pulling that trigger would make too much noise.”

Darryl was sighting along the top of his barrel at a point somewhere between his brother's shoulder blades. As he'd watched the two men squabble, Slocum put his hand on the grip of his holstered Remington. Although he wasn't particularly fond of either brother, he wasn't about to let one of them shoot the other in an act of drunken stupidity. When Darryl turned around to fix a hazy stare on him, Slocum tensed his arm in preparation to put the Remington to work.

“You know somethin'?” Darryl slurred. “I think he's got a point.” Then he started laughing while pointing his gun skyward and easing the hammer down with his thumb.

Whether or not Merle knew that his brother's pistol had been cocked and ready to fire, he merely shook his head and laughed while flicking his reins to keep his horse moving down the trail.

It took several attempts, but Darryl eventually found his holster well enough to slide his pistol back into it. After he'd put the gun away, he held on to his reins with both hands and slouched to one side just as he'd been when they'd first left town.

“Jesus H. Christ,” Slocum grumbled. He allowed his hand to move away from the Remington, but wouldn't fully relax as long as either of the Beasley brothers were in his sight.

Just ahead, the trail split off with one branch leading north and the other northeast. Darryl gave his reins a tug to steer his horse down the former.

“Hey!” Slocum shouted. Despite the angry glare he got from Darryl, he didn't bother lowering his voice when he asked, “Isn't Fall Pass to the northeast?”

“Yeah,” Merle shouted back. “So?”

“So . . . that's where we're headed.”

“Not yet. We gotta make a stop first.”

“What stop?” Slocum waited for an answer, but none was forthcoming. He didn't fool himself into thinking that either brother had much respect for authority, but Slocum had another intention when he said, “Womack put me in charge of this ride, you know.”

Merle brought his horse to a stop so quickly that Darryl's nearly bumped into its hind end, which was the exact thing Slocum had expected to happen. “Womack ain't here, in case you hadn't noticed.”

Now that he had both men's undivided attention, Slocum rode closer to the front of the line. He wasn't stupid enough, however, to go so far as to put Darryl behind him. “At the very least, we're in this together. You mind telling me why we're not headed in the right direction?”

“Me and Darryl have done plenty of hunting out in these woods,” Merle said. “We got us a little spot I mentioned staked out not too far along this here trail. We're going there to pick up some supplies and then we'll mosey on over to Fall Pass. That answer your question?”

“Yeah. That wasn't so difficult, now was it?”

“Remind me again why the hell you're along on this hunt,” Darryl said.

“Because I've tracked plenty of men through every kind of terrain,” Slocum replied.

“If what we're goin' after ain't no man, then hunters know plenty about how to conduct themselves,” Merle said.

“That's another reason it's good to have me along,” Slocum said. “I'm a fresh set of eyes. Folks around here are so scared of this so-called beast that they aren't seeing straight. When you're tracking, you need to look at what you can see, not what you expect to see.”

“You hear that, little brother?” Darryl said. “Johnny boy here is gonna teach us how to track!”

“You want to know the biggest reason I think Womack is glad to have me out here hunting this thing down?” Slocum asked.

“I imagine you're dyin' to tell us,” Darryl said while rubbing his forehead.

“It's because I didn't show any fear when someone mentioned the Beast of Fall Pass.”

“You think you can handle yourself well enough to stay alive out here?” Darryl grunted.

In a flicker of motion, Slocum drew his Remington and fired a shot that hissed through the air past both brothers to hit a squirrel that had been scampering across the trail in front of Merle's horse.

“That was a hell of a shot,” Darryl admitted. “You realize the game we're after ain't no squirrel, right?”

Slocum holstered his pistol and shook his head. “Get stuffed, you drunk son of a bitch.”

Darryl and Merle broke into hearty laughter. Before long, Slocum laughed as well and the entire procession made their way down the trail once again. The tension between them lifted like a bank of fog that had been burned off by the morning sun, and the three of them seemed more like a single group focused on a common task.

 • • • 

It wasn't long before Merle diverted once again from the trail they were riding. He steered his horse into what at first seemed to be just another cluster of bushes alongside the beaten path. Darryl followed him without a complaint and Slocum did the same. After his horse had shoved through the brush, Slocum found himself in a small clearing that was just big enough for the trio to gather around a half-buried log.

“About damn time,” Darryl grunted as he climbed down from his horse. “Thought we'd never get here.”

Slocum remained in his saddle as Merle dismounted. “This is the spot you were after?” he asked. “I figured it would be a cabin of some sort.”

“We never said anything about no cabin,” Darryl grunted.

“So where are all of your supplies?”

When Merle wandered into the brush, Slocum figured it was to relieve himself. The younger brother returned, dragging a filthy old trunk along with him. Once he'd brought the trunk into the clearing, Merle turned his back to the other two and proceeded to relieve himself.

“While he's watering the weeds,” Darryl said, “I'm gonna show you the proper cure for what ails a man after a night of drinkin'.”

Slocum looked around and all he could see was the clearing, the log, and a whole mess of bushes on all sides. “Didn't you mention something about watering the horses?”

Merle looked over his shoulder while continuing to piss. “There's a stream off that way. Why don't you take our horses, too, if you're goin'?”

Before he could tell the brothers to take their own damn horses to the stream, Slocum caught a whiff of something that was bitter, pungent, and spicy at the same time. Although he suspected it might have been Merle causing that stench, he realized the odor was growing stronger the more Darryl rooted around inside the trunk.

“Here we are!” Darryl said as he proudly held up a mason jar filled with a murky, dark red liquid. When he shook it and removed the top, the stench that had caught Slocum's attention became almost unbearable.

“I think I'll water those horses after all,” Slocum said. He knew better than to expect any gratitude from the brothers and didn't receive any as he collected the reins to each horse and led them through the brush.

After several more steps, Slocum heard the trickle of water flowing over rocks. He followed it to its source, which was a narrow, winding stream with a clearing just wide enough for the horses to stand on the opposite side. Slocum led the horses across and then tethered them to a gnarled stump with markings that told him it had most likely been used for that same purpose over the course of several years.

All three horses were grateful for the chance to stand still for a while and wet their tongues in the cool stream. Slocum even hunkered down to dip his hand into the clear water and scoop some into his mouth. The crisp drink, partnered with the fact that he was away from the Beasley brothers, made it the best part of his day so far. He allowed his hand to dangle into the water and his eyes to focus on the slowly swaying branches on the other side of the stream while savoring the taste of the water flowing over his lips.

In the distance, the sounds of Merle and Darryl arguing about something or other drifted through the air.

Slocum closed his eyes so he could focus only on the stream.

Heavy steps pressed against the matted leaves and fallen branches covering the ground along the path Slocum had taken from the clearing. He was in the middle of trying to pin down which brother was stomping toward the stream when he heard both of their voices in the distance. Too distant, in fact, for either of them to be approaching the stream.

Slocum's eyes snapped up toward the spot where he and the horses had emerged from the bushes. His hand dropped to his holster while his entire body tensed for movement.

The footsteps stopped immediately and a heavy silence filled the air.

Water rushed down the stream.

Horses lapped up their drinks.

One more step crunched against the ground, followed by the rustle of branches and leaves scraping against each other.

Slocum forced himself to remain still even as his entire body screamed for him to draw his pistol and see what was approaching the stream. Then a rank stench hit Slocum's nose. It wasn't the mixture in Darryl's mason jar, but something even more pungent that reminded him of a dead animal that had been left in the sun to fester.

A shape emerged from behind some of the trees on the other side of the stream. It was broad and thick, but not very tall.

Thinking back to everything Greta had told him about the Beast's calling cards, Slocum drew his Remington. He considered taking a shot at whatever it was, but Slocum could still only make out a rough shape in the shadows between the trees. And as soon as he saw more than that, it was too late for him to anything but watch it bolt into the woods.

“Damn it!” Slocum growled to himself as he took off after the shape that had already disappeared from sight.

Crossing the stream, Slocum was careful not to slip and break his back. The rocks near the edges were slimy, but the silt and gravel along the center of the winding ribbon of water granted him somewhat better footing. As soon as he was able, Slocum hopped onto dry ground, where the dirt and bushes could soak up some of the water from his boots. The instant he felt he had traction again, he took off running into the trees.

With all the swaying branches and falling leaves obscuring his vision, Slocum had to rely more on what he could hear to follow the thing he'd seen. For that same reason, he didn't think to shout for Merle or Darryl to come and help him in his pursuit. All he had to go on was the steady crunch of feet against the uneven ground and the sound of heavy, labored breathing coming from several paces in front of him. Every now and then, one of those breaths was accompanied by a short, grating wheeze.

Soon, Slocum heard other footsteps closing in on him from the left. Since that was the general direction of Merle's clearing, he figured at least one of the brothers had picked up on the fact that something was going on and was trying to get close enough to lend a hand. The thing in front of him must have heard those footsteps as well because it veered to the right and deeper into the woods. Slocum jumped off the narrow path he and the horses had used in an attempt to gain some ground.

“What the hell you runnin' after?” Merle shouted from behind Slocum.

Without breaking stride, Slocum said, “There's something out here. It might be the beast!”

“Hot damn! I knew this job would be easy!”

“Don't celebrate . . .” Pausing so he could duck beneath some low branches and also keep from wrenching his ankle in some exposed roots, Slocum waited until he could take a few safe steps before saying, “Don't celebrate yet. Just help me catch the damn thing!”

Now that his ears had adjusted to the sound of all the rustling and stomping, Slocum had an easier time picking out the sounds of whatever was running in front of him. Those steps seemed irregular at first, but a pattern soon developed like the thump of drums in a simple rhythm.