Slocum 420 (15 page)

Slocum grunted as he felt his climax swiftly approaching. Grabbing on to her ass with both hands, he pulled her in close while burying his cock deeply between her legs. He let out a moan, emptying himself inside her as Eliza cried out and gripped him tightly.

Spent and exhausted, both of them lay there for a few minutes until Slocum gathered up enough strength to roll onto his side and lie next to her.

Eliza got up and left the bedroom without saying a word or putting on a stitch of clothing. She returned with a cup of water, which she sipped before handing it over to Slocum. “So,” she said, “did you really catch the Beast of Fall Pass, or did you just say all that to impress me?”

“Did it impress you?” he asked before taking a drink of the water.

“A bit.”

“Well, if that impressed you, just wait until you see what I've got in store after I've gotten some wind back in my sails.”

She giggled and climbed on top of him. Her hands busied themselves by rubbing his chest as her hips ground slowly against his lower body. “I wonder if I can do anything to help with those sails.”

“I can think of one thing.”

Smiling, she eased herself down so her face was poised above his hips. She opened her mouth, wrapped her lips around his member, and started gently sucking.

“I think we're in for a long night,” Slocum said.

Ed Taylor had come to Bennsonn as a vagrant. He'd scraped together enough money to pay for a ticket on the stage heading north from a trading post near the California border with every intention of trying his luck panning for Canadian gold. Having sold most of what he'd owned to pay for food and a new coat, he didn't have enough left over to get any farther than Bennsonn. The driver had left him off, recommending the mill as a good place to look for work. Mr. Womack saved his life by giving Ed a job.

Despite all his good intentions, Ed was first and foremost a drunk. Liquor was soaked so deeply into his body that he barely even felt much of anything when he indulged anymore. The warmth whiskey gave him helped to thaw out his innards on cold nights, but he drank whatever he could because it was the only thing to put an end to the shakes that had claimed him in the last couple of years. On the night of Slocum's return into town, Ed left the mill after sweeping the entire place for an extra bit of pay. Sobriety was an ache that bit all the way down to his core.

It was close to midnight and perhaps a bit past it when he walked out of the mill and locked the door behind him. The air was crisp with a dampness that foretold an upcoming rain. More than anything, he wanted a drink of whiskey, and as he started the short walk back into town, he pondered each saloon in turn, weighing his odds of getting a line of credit large enough to put a splash of liquor into his chilled body.

“Wait a minute!” he said as he stopped dead in his tracks. Mr. Womack kept a small bottle in his desk for the occasional nip. Ed had seen his boss take it out every now and then to celebrate a profitable season or toast some bit of good news. Remembering it now brought a smile to his face. Surely Womack wouldn't know if there was just a little less of the liquor in his bottle the next time he reached for it. “He won't notice at all,” Ed muttered to himself as he turned around and hurried back to the mill.

Every step he took brought a new pain as his muscles tensed and his joints stiffened like hinges that hadn't been oiled once during a long winter. Ignoring the pain as he ignored so many other things, Ed set his sights on the dark shape at the end of the road that loomed just out of his reach. The mill was a familiar sight to him and he'd walked to and from it so many times that he could do so with his eyes closed. Every bump in the ground along the way was familiar to him. Every creaking branch was something he'd heard at least a dozen times before. The stench that hit his nose, on the other hand, was new.

“Damn dogs,” he grumbled while stuffing his hands deep into the pockets of his threadbare jacket. “Bringing more of them dead squirrels and leavin' 'em where they won't be found for—”

Those would be the last words Ed would ever say. The rest of that final sentence was cut short when he turned toward a large, dark shape he'd spotted out of the corner of his eye. That shape stayed low to the ground and moved like a puddle of smoky ink with a stench that was almost too putrid to bear. He squinted into the darkness, trying to make sense out of what he was seeing, but couldn't.

When the shape pounced on him with teeth and claws bared, Ed tried to defend himself. His efforts didn't amount to a hill of beans and only made the thing from the shadows work to pin him down for an extra couple of seconds. Once the thing was crouched on Ed's chest, the struggle was over. From then on, it ripped into him as if it were digging a hole in the ground and Ed's chest was in the way. It stuffed its short snout into the gaping, bloody cavity and pulled out whatever meat it could find.

When it had sated its gnawing hunger, the beast clamped its teeth around Ed's shoulder and dragged him away. Some small pieces of him were left behind. Some of the pieces weren't so small.

 • • • 

It was early the following morning when the Beasley brothers arrived at the mill. For once, Merle was in as rough shape as Darryl since they'd both spent the night drinking away a good portion of the pay they'd gotten from the sheriff for dragging the wild man in from the woods. The only thing that could have gotten them to drag themselves so far away from the beds of the soiled doves they'd chosen during the night's revelry was the promise of even more money from the man who'd put the hunting party together in the first place.

“Why the hell did we walk up here?” Darryl grunted.

“Because we probably would've fallen off our horses,” Merle replied.

“I ain't drunk no more.”

“Me neither, but my head's still spinnin', and if that isn't enough to put me on my ass, the fire in my damn skull is enough to make me throw myself onto a rock and hope I die.”

Darryl laughed and immediately regretted it. Placing one hand flat against his eyes, he winced and staggered down the road that led from town to the mill. After tripping on a wagon rut, he stumbled a few more steps and eventually righted himself. “We almost there?”

Merle slapped his brother's arm. “You see that?”

“No, but I smell it. One of us still reeks of that idiot hermit's skins. I can't believe any lady would have us, whether we paid her or not.”

“No, damn it! Look!”

As much as it pained him to do so, Darryl peeled his eyes open. Immediately upon seeing what was strewn on the ground farther up the road, he forgot about the throbbing pain behind his eyes. “What in the hell?”

“Looks like an animal carcass,” Merle said.

“If that's a leg . . . it's too big to belong to an animal.”

Merle drew the pistol from his holster as he ran to get a closer look. Wincing as the smell of dead flesh hit him, he said, “There's shreds of clothes scattered about. That means this definitely ain't no dead animal.”

“That smell,” Darryl said warily. “Did another killer get his hands on them skins?”

That question still hung in the air between the brothers when something exploded from the trees near the side of the road. Merle fired a quick shot at the thing that rushed at him and didn't know if he'd hit it or not before he was knocked off his feet. More shots were fired as Darryl rushed to help his brother. The thing that had attacked them leapt back and forth from one man to another. Both pistols had been silenced since the hands holding them were no longer able to pull a trigger. One of those hands wasn't even attached to an arm any longer.

When Slocum arrived at the mill, just a bit late for his normal workday, he once again found all the other workers gathering inside the main building. He'd already checked in with the sheriff, only to get a much colder reception than he'd been expecting. The lawman had handed over the payment for following through on the hunt and wouldn't answer any other questions on the matter.

“Go have a word with Womack,” was all Krueger would say.

Rather than press the sheriff for any more, Slocum headed to the mill.

The crowd gathered in the main building was even larger than when Womack had delivered his last speech regarding the beast. After shouldering his way closer to the front of the group, Slocum could see that several of the men gathered there wore stars pinned to their shirts or jackets. One of those lawmen stood beside Womack. He was the same height as the mill's boss and had a lean, wiry frame. Somewhere in his sixties, the lawman had sharp eyes and carried himself as though he were about to pounce. He was clean shaven and mostly bald except for a partial ring of silver hair that circled around the back of his head.

Upon spotting Slocum, Womack hurried over to meet him. “There you are, John. So glad you showed up before we got started.”

“What's going on here?” Slocum asked. “Is this some kind of announcement about the killer we brought in?”

“In part.” Draping an arm around Slocum's shoulders, Womack led him toward the door to his office.

Slocum shook free and stopped before the office door could be opened. “Just tell me what's going on!”

“I'd rather do it in private.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Womack said in a voice that was almost too quiet for Slocum to hear, “more men were killed last night, and it looks like it was the beast's work.”

Before Slocum could ask for details, one of the younger lawmen near the front of the group began to talk. Mostly, he was calling for silence from the others, but workers were already filled with questions, which they flung toward the front of the room. Rather than dividing his attention by listening to the answers given by the lawman, Slocum put his back to all of them.

Leading Womack away from the group without going into the man's office, Slocum asked, “Did that hermit we brought in escape from the cell he was tossed into?”

“No,” Womack replied. “Sheriff Krueger or one of his deputies has been keeping their eyes on him every second since he was brought in.”

“Then what the hell happened?”

Womack was shaking his head as if he couldn't believe his own words before they left his mouth. “Ed Taylor was found on the road outside. Or it's supposed to be Ed Taylor.”

“Ed's the one who stayed after the mill closed to do odd jobs and clean up?”

“That's him. His body . . . parts of it anyway . . . were found on the road and in the woods. He was found by Merle and Darryl Beasley.”

“Did they go after the killer?” Slocum asked.

Slowly, Womack shook his head. “Both of them were attacked as well. Darryl is with Doc Reece. He was torn up pretty bad.”

“What about Merle?”

“He didn't make it.”

“Jesus,” Slocum sighed. “He's dead?”

“Afraid so. There were tracks near the bodies. Marshal Hackett is telling everyone this same thing right now.”

“Then give me the shorter version.”

“Whatever got to those men,” Womack said, “wasn't the same as what got to Edgar and Dave. The tracks were animal tracks. Big ones.”

“I want to have a look.”

“I can't ask you to go back after that thing, John. The marshal will be pulling together a group of men to track it down.”

Slocum's laugh sounded more like he was clearing something from the back of his throat. “Those lazy slugs wouldn't do anything until someone got ripped to shreds within town limits. If they would have gotten off their asses before, some good men would be alive and well today.”

“Be that as it may, there's not a lot else to be done now.”

“I want to go back out and hunt that thing.”

Womack smiled and pat Slocum's shoulder. “I was hoping you might see it that way. When you three first came back, Merle told me that Abner Woodley was nowhere to be found.”

“That's right. The crazy man said something about him, but I wouldn't put much stock in it.”

“Abner was a fine tracker and he was always somewhat single-minded when it came to that beast. He was even working on a specially designed trap that was meant to hobble a creature of its size.”

“Anything like a bear trap?” Slocum asked.

“I imagine so.”

“Yeah, well, I know he caught a deer or two, but don't know about much else. Still, if he's out there tracking that killer, he may know a thing or two that we don't. All I'd have to do is track Abner and he might be able to take me the rest of the way.”

Smiling like a cat with bird feathers in its teeth, Womack said, “I was thinking along those same lines. In fact, fortune has smiled upon us today, and I've found someone who earns his living tracking men. He's in my office right now.”

“All right. Let's have a word with him,” Slocum said. “But if I don't like what I hear, I'm riding out on my own. We don't have any time to waste.”

“I agree wholeheartedly.”

The lawmen were still talking to the group of workers taking up most of the main room. Although Slocum wasn't paying attention to any specifics, he could tell the marshal was spouting a predictable line of bull about how sorry he was about the men that were hurt and killed and how desperately he wanted to see that the good people of Bennsonn were protected. Thinking about the apathy he'd seen before and the fact that the marshal didn't even care to come out of his office after the first bodies were found, Slocum had to choke back the urge to shout a few choice words at the lawmen. When the door to Womack's office was opened and he got a look at who was inside, Slocum's instinct had nothing to do with talking.

“What the hell is he doing here?” Slocum barked as his hand reflexively went to the Remington holstered at his side.

Wincing at the sudden outburst, Womack shoved himself into the office while pulling his door shut before any attention was drawn from the workers or lawmen nearby.

Buck Oberman wasn't quite as surprised as Slocum, but he also reached for his pistol.

Space was limited within the office, but Womack managed to squeeze between the two other men in there with him. “Hold it, you two! Don't you recognize each other?”

Slocum stood with his hand upon the grip of his pistol, watching Buck like a hawk. Neither man had cleared leather just yet, but that could change in a fraction of a second.

“You're damn right I recognize him,” Slocum said. “He's the man that's been trying to mount my head on his wall.”

Buck was quick to respond, “That's only because you killed a good man and U.S. marshal out in Montana.”

“What?” Womack said. Glancing over to Buck, he sputtered, “And . . .
what?
”

“That's right,” Buck said. “My father was killed and all he did was see to his duties as a marshal. That bastard right there is the one who did it.”

Slocum shook his head. “That isn't true and you know it. Max Oberman was killed by Deke Saunders when those marshals were riding after Deke's gang. I was there!”

“I know you were there. Deke told me all about what happened and how you gunned down my father so the surviving members of that gang could get away.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you took a bribe,” Buck said. “That's why.”

“Jesus Christ.” Looking to Womack, Slocum asked, “Why would you throw in with someone like this?”

“Because he told me he was a friend of yours!” Womack's face was red, and a layer of sweat had formed on his brow. Turning to Buck, he said, “You told me you were a friend of his.”

“He lied just to find me,” Slocum said. “Because he ain't nothing but a scheming bounty hunter and that's what bounty hunters do.”

Buck shrugged his shoulders and grinned. “I did what I needed to do to find the man who killed my father.”

“You know damn well I didn't kill Max Oberman.”

“Then why did you run?”

“Because you were out for my blood and wouldn't listen to reason,” Slocum explained. “I tried explaining myself to you once, but you wouldn't have it. Everyone else on that posse knew I wasn't to blame for what happened. I was even acquitted by a judge, but that still wasn't good enough for you!”

“Is that why you tried to hide in this little place out in the middle of nowhere?” Buck scoffed.

“I don't need this grief,” Slocum said to Womack. “Darryl and Merle Beasley may have been loudmouth idiots a good portion of the time, but I owe it to them to put this whole Beast of Fall Pass matter to rest. You wanna take a shot at me?” he added while stabbing a finger at Buck, “then come along and take your damn shot when we're in the woods. If you feel like doing something that won't tarnish your family name, you'll help me put an end to this killing before you fire on an innocent man.”

“Look,” Womack said. “You two obviously have your differences, but good men are dead because of this beast. If you could put those things aside long enough, I believe you can get this job done a whole lot faster than if we left it to those men out there who are still doing nothing but spreading a whole lot of hot air.”

None of the men in the office said anything as they sized each other up. In that time, the echoes of voices from the main room proved that Womack was right about all the talking going on out there.

Slocum kept his hand upon his holstered pistol, but still did not draw. Pointing at Buck, he said, “I did my best to keep Marshal Oberman from getting hurt. I agreed to do a job here and that's what I aim to do. I haven't run from any man or beast. If you want to help me, that's fine. If you want to face me like a man and force me to defend myself, that's fine, too. I'm done with you, Buck. I'm also done with you,” Slocum added while turning to Womack. “After I collect my pay for this job, you won't be seeing me around here anymore.”

Womack nodded. “I understand. And . . . thank you for seeing this through.”

“Don't thank me. Allowing those blowhards out there to stomp after that killer would only make me feel responsible for them getting ripped to pieces.” Slocum stormed out of the office and slammed the door shut behind him. Although the man giving the speech outside paused at the distraction, his droning voice quickly picked up where it had left off.

“Are you truly interested in helping us find the beast?” Womack asked.

Buck approached him. “Of course. All that other business about—”

“If this wasn't a pressing matter of town safety, I would've had one of my biggest men toss you out on your ear for spouting lies to my face,” Womack snarled.

Buck nodded. “I understand. So . . . John Slocum. What is he to you?”

“He's a good man who's already put his neck on the line to do right by this town.” Once that was said, Womack drew a breath and looked at his wall as if he could see through it to what was taking place beyond. “Tell me. What happened in Montana?”

“Slocum signed on to ride with a bunch of men my father had pulled together.”

“Your father was a U.S. marshal?”

“That's right. They went out after a gang led by a known robber and killer named Deke Saunders. That bunch was hiding out after making a run that started in the Dakotas and was bound for California. Deke and his gang were cornered, so the marshals rode to clean them out. Things went to hell and my father was one of many who wound up dead. Deke Saunders made it through with a few flesh wounds. When the law brought him in, he was telling anyone who would listen that he knew the marshals were coming. He said there was someone working with the marshals who tipped him off.”

“That was John?”

Buck nodded. “That's what Deke said and he was in a position where lying wouldn't help him much one way or another.”

“Could be he just wanted to hurt Slocum.”

“I went to ask Slocum about it a few times and there were words exchanged. When I went to find him again, he'd cleared out of town. I make it my business to track men, so that's what I did. Every time I nearly caught up with Slocum, I found bodies in his wake and a whole lot of folks who had some mighty bad things to say about him.”

“Did anyone speak up on his behalf?” Womack asked.

“Sure they did. I figured I'd get everything straight after I caught up to him so I could look him in the eyes. Needless to say . . .”

“The more he ran,” Womack sighed, “the guiltier he looked.”

“If I've learned something while hunting bounties, it's that innocent men don't run.”

“Depends on who's chasing them.”

Straightening his hat upon his head, Buck walked past him and reached for the door.

“Do me a favor,” Womack said as he made a point to stand in the way of the door being opened.

“You're the man paying me. Ask whatever favor you like and I'll let you know if it's within the price we agreed on.”

“I don't know everything about what happened, but it sounds like this business between you and Slocum could be just some kind of misunderstanding. Don't do anything you might regret before you're absolutely sure you're justified.”

“That's your favor?”

“Well . . . yes,” Womack said.

“All right, then. Step aside so I can get to work.”

There was no way for Womack to know whether or not his words had had any effect on Buck. He did know that the damage from him and Slocum crossing paths had already been done and blocking a doorway wasn't going to change a thing. So Womack stepped aside.