Slocum 420 (5 page)

“Damn it, Buck,” he snarled under his breath. “You're gonna make me kill you, is that it?”

“You're killing me, John! You truly are.”

It was the following morning when Slocum shrugged at a stout man with a scruffy beard. “I don't know what else to tell you, Mr. Womack. That's just the way it's got to be.”

Sifting stubby fingers through his thinning hair, Womack scratched his head, which sent a fine mist of sawdust drifting onto his shoulder. He and Slocum stood outside his office in the mill. The saws were working at full capacity, which filled the entire building with the sound of iron teeth biting into solid wood. Along with that, men shouted back and forth while logs were dragged into place to wait their turn beneath the large spinning blades.

“But I just gave you that job!” Womack said. “Why would you quit so soon?”

“I'm not quitting altogether,” Slocum explained. “Just turning down the promotion.”

“Is it because of what Lester did? I can loan you some money until the next payday and I swear he won't be a problem again.”

“Oh, I'm not worried about him,” Slocum chuckled. “I just think it might be better if I stay where I was, working as nothing but another set of hands.”

Womack crossed his arms and studied Slocum carefully as if he was expecting some sort of surprise. When he didn't get one, he said, “I suppose that's your choice. Hate to lose a good man, though.”

“Like I said, I'm not going anywhere.”

“I know, I know. I heard you the first time,” Womack grunted. “You're a fine worker, so if you want to go back to splitting logs instead of overseeing the men, I won't stop you. Just promise me you'll think about reconsidering my offer.”

“I will.” Since there wasn't much else to say, Slocum left the disgruntled Womack to fret about hiring another overseer and found a group of men who looked like they needed help loading logs onto a cart to be brought inside.

Work at the mill was hard, yet simple. Both of those things did Slocum plenty of good. Keeping his muscles moving and sweat rolling down his face allowed him to get his blood flowing and work up a hell of an appetite. As his body strained, his mind was able to digest plenty of other things. For the moment, his main concern was what he'd overheard the night before. Although he didn't worry much about a random bounty hunter trying to cash in on his scalp, Slocum was all too familiar with one that had recently taken it upon himself to track him down. Just having Buck Oberman in the same town as him meant trouble would soon follow. Any hint of a scent he might catch would only strengthen Buck's resolve. It was only a matter of time before he caught up with Slocum, and when he did, things would get real messy real fast.

Slocum thought about this for the rest of his workday, tossing different possibilities back and forth in his mind as he carried logs, swept floors, loaded freshly cut planks, and even fixed a broken cart wheel. By the time the day was over, he wasn't certain giving his mind so much time to work on its own was such a good thing.

As he left the mill, Slocum was just one face in a sea of men heading back into town. Those numbers quickly dwindled when some of the men split off to go to their homes while others found their way to a saloon. Slocum couldn't help noticing the folks standing on the boardwalks of the main streets, watching the procession of workers. They were locals tending to their own business or possibly some family members waiting for their loved ones to return to them after a long day. Some of the folks were there almost every day. The ones Slocum didn't recognize seemed as if they were staring directly at him.

Reflexively, his hand dropped to his side but his holster wasn't in its usual spot. Management at the mill frowned upon men coming to work with guns strapped to their hips. It was a reasonable policy that Slocum understood perfectly. Today, he felt exposed and helpless. He still had a knife tucked into his boot, but that wouldn't do a whole lot of good if someone decided to take a shot at him. Simply having a gun belt around his waist was enough to make a potential attacker think twice before coming at him. Unarmed, Slocum was practically inviting an ambush.

“Aw hell,” he grunted. “I'm getting worked up over nothing.”

His walk back to the Morrison House took him through the town's saloon district. The Second Saloon was on his left, so he stepped in there and headed straight for the bar.

“What can I get for ya?” the barkeep asked.

“How's your beer?”

“Best in town!”

Since any barkeep worth his salt would have made the same claim no matter what sludge was mixed into the establishment's brew, Slocum wondered why he'd even bothered to ask that question. Even so, he slapped some money down and said, “I'll take a mug.”

As the barkeep poured the drink, he asked, “You work at the mill, right?”

“I do. Have we met?”

“Nope. You're covered in sawdust,” the barkeep said while placing the mug in front of Slocum. “That's a dead giveaway.”

“I suppose it is.” Slocum picked up the mug and took a drink. The beer wasn't the best he'd ever tasted, but it wasn't putrid and it did a good job of clearing the dust from his throat.

When the barkeep reached for Slocum's money, he was stopped by a sharp slap to the back of his hand. “Hey, now!” he said.

After giving him the playful slap, Eliza wagged a finger at him. “Rolf,” she said, “if you take that money, you'll be getting a lot worse than that from me.”

“Every man's gotta pay for their drinks,” the barkeep said.

She stood beside to Slocum and rubbed his shoulder. “Not after they've saved my life.”

Rolf's eyebrows went up and he nodded. “All right. But just beer.” He then walked away to refill some of the glasses in front of customers at another end of the bar.

“Saved your life?” Slocum asked. “I thought you said Lester wasn't hurting you.”

“He could have,” she said. “He wasn't much of a gentleman.” Lowering her voice, she leaned in closer to him and added, “The only way you would have gotten a free drink from Rolf after telling him anything less would be if you wrung it out of his dead body.”

“No thanks,” Slocum said.

“Exactly. I'm glad to see you.” Examining the layer of sawdust covering his shirt, she said, “I see you're still working at the mill. Was it awkward being there with Lester after all that happened?”

“He didn't show up.”

“Hmm. Imagine that. Must've crawled back under a rock somewhere.”

Slocum turned to lean sideways against the bar. That way, he could take a good, long look at the woman who'd decided to join him. Eliza wore a black dress with hints of white lace in the skirt and sleeves. Though the collar buttoned all the way to her neck, there was still plenty to catch his eye. Even if she'd been wrapped in a burlap sack, he still would have noticed the slopes of her large breasts and inviting curves of her rounded hips. For the moment, though, the most captivating thing about her was the smile that positively beamed as she looked at him.

“You seem to be doing much better than the last time I saw you,” he said. “I'm glad to see it.”

“Funny what a good night's sleep in your own bed can do. My life may not have been in danger, but I do owe you my thanks.”

“No you don't,” Slocum said. “As I told you before, I was coming after Lester no matter what. He got what was coming to him, and if you happened to benefit a little along the way . . . so be it.”

“Here, here!”

Slocum took another drink and then said, “Remind me again . . . how did you benefit exactly? Because if he did hurt you or was about to and you didn't tell me, then I'd like to have another word with Mr. Quint.”

“I told you all there was to tell,” she assured him. “The more I thought about how that man lied to me to get what he wanted, the angrier I got. What I got out of you busting into that room was getting to watch as he was taken down a peg or two by having the tar beaten out of him. There are plenty of men like Lester around, and it's a rare thing for a woman to see that kind of justice done.”

“Well then, I'm glad I could oblige. You need anyone else like Lester to be taught a lesson, you just let me know. I'll do damn near anything for free liquor.”

She laughed and ran her fingers through her hair while brushing her fingertips lightly against one ear. As he watched her, Slocum couldn't help noticing just how smooth the nape of her neck was and how enticing the two little beads of sweat were as they rolled down her neck on their way beneath the front of her dress.

“I just thought of something,” he said.

“What's that?”

“You were in that room under false pretenses with Lester.”

“Yes,” she replied. “But we established that a while ago.”

“We did, but that's when I was preoccupied with the business that brought me to the Tall Pine. There's still the business that brought you to the Tall Pine that night.”

Eliza winced and turned slightly away from Slocum. Because of the paleness of her skin, even the slightest flush in her cheeks was easy to spot. With the amount she was blushing at the moment, however, Slocum would have been able to spot it if her skin was as dark as a Cherokee squaw's.

“You know all too well what I was doing there,” she said in a low voice.

“That's right, I do,” Slocum replied. “You were there to share a bed with John Slocum.”

“Please don't embarrass me.”

As much as Slocum wanted to continue, if only to see how red her face could get, he grinned and said, “All right. I'll ease up.”

“Thank you.”

“But you'll have to do something for me.”

“Don't forget the free drink,” she reminded him.

He lifted the mug, toasted her, and took another long pull of the adequate brew. After wiping the foam from his mouth with the back of his hand, he said, “Then perhaps what I mean is there's something I might be able to do for you.”

“You've done more than enough. Now, if you'll excuse me . . .”

Slocum took hold of her arm in a grip that was firm without being forceful and just enough to keep her from getting too far away. When he pulled her closer, she didn't do a thing to stop him.

“I have a job to do,” she said. But even as she protested, her eyes betrayed a glint of excitement and her lips remained slightly parted as if she was thinking about something she wanted to taste.

“If your job is to convince new customers to visit your faro table,” Slocum said, “then you're doing it real well.”

She smiled and shifted on her feet. When Slocum released her arm, she stayed put and said, “Thank you.”

“What I meant in regards to your business at the Tall Pine,” he said in a voice that wouldn't carry any farther than the two sets of ears it was meant for, “is that you were there because Lester convinced you he was John Slocum. There was no way for you to know he was lying, and even if you did know, you're a grown woman who can do what she pleases with whomever she pleases.”

“You're right about that,” she said while holding her head high.

“It just seems to me that you got the short end of the stick.” With a grin, Slocum added, “Of course, you would know that better than me. I never got a look at Lester's stick.”

Eliza flinched as if Slocum had kicked a hole in the bar. Even after looking around to ensure nobody in the vicinity was offended by his comment, she still acted as if they were both on display. “That is a very crude thing to say.”

“It is? Well, then I should try to come up with new words to use for what I want to say next.” After taking a moment to make a show of mulling something over, he said, “I think I should be given the opportunity to repair any damage done to my good name.”

“I believe you did that when you thrashed Lester Quint.”

“I don't care about him. I want to make certain you have the right face in mind when you think of the name ‘John Slocum.'”

“Don't worry about that,” she told him. “I've got the right face in mind as of right now. I should get back to my table before I get in trouble.”

He nodded and raised his mug. “Thanks again for the beer.”

“Anytime.”

Slocum let her get a few steps away from the bar before he said, “I'd like to see you again.”

Pointing to the faro tables, she said, “You know where to find me.”

Eliza turned her back to him and crossed the room to her table. Although some of her regular customers took notice of her return, they weren't the first to meet her there.

“Who's that?” Mary asked as she hurried over.

“That,” Eliza said, “is the real John Slocum. I wish you would have been able to spot him before.”

“I told you what I heard about him came from a friend of mine over at the Axe Handle. I'd never laid eyes on the man.” Mary looked over her shoulder toward the bar and then quickly turned back again. “But he's sure laying eyes on you.”

“Is he still looking at me?”

“If he was staring any harder, he'd burn holes through your dress. Then again, seeing as how you cut loose before, you might enjoy that sort of thing.”

Eliza swatted Mary's shoulder and said, “That's enough of that talk! You cut loose all the time and it never turns into such a production.”

“I've never had a night with a man that wound up with another man dragging him out by the scruff of his neck and whipping him like a dog.”

“That's not exactly how it went,” Eliza said.

“From what I heard, it was close.” Mary looked over to Slocum and waved. “You shouldn't turn your nose up at a man like that. Take too long to think it over and I may just swoop in and steal him from you.”

Slocum spent the next two days lost in his work. Since he'd found a way to keep his mind as well as his hands occupied with simple tasks required by the mill, those days moved fairly quickly. While the labors he needed to do were tedious and put almost as many blisters on his hands as they did his feet, the repetition allowed him to fall into a continuous rhythm that was, in many ways, restful. He could let go of his concerns and just think about the next simple task that needed to be done. When a team of two horses pulled a cart up to the large double doors at the side of the mill's main building, Slocum figured it was time to unload another bunch of freshly cut timber.

“Quick! Quick!” shouted the cart's driver. “Someone get a doctor! These men need help!”

Snapping out of the almost hypnotized state he'd been in, Slocum rushed over to the cart. The driver had already climbed down from his seat and was hurrying around to the back. By the time Slocum got there, three other workers were crowding in to get a look inside. Two men lay in the back of the cart. One was on his back and the other lay on his stomach. Both were a mess of blood-soaked clothing and shredded flesh.

Although the driver had gotten to them first, he scarcely knew what to do for either of the bloodied men once he was there. He'd climbed into the back of the cart with them, only to stand while looking down and placing trembling hands upon the tops of their heads. “I . . . I don't know what to do for 'em,” he said. “I don't even know if they're still breathin'! Someone help me.”

Since the others around were only gawking at the gruesome spectacle, Slocum pushed them aside so he could climb into the cart. The driver was rattled to the core and shaking like a leaf, but this wasn't Slocum's first time wading through so much carnage. Placing a hand on the wounded men's necks one at a time, he soon declared, “They're both alive. Help me strip off their shirts.”

At first, it was difficult for Slocum to tell where the men's shirts ended and their flesh began. There was so much blood soaked into the material that it all felt like strips of pulp plastered onto them. He and the driver gingerly peeled the torn strips of cotton and denim away as the men flinched and twitched every time they were touched.

“Try to sit still,” Slocum said, even though he doubted either of the wounded men could hear him. “We just need to get a look at you.”

Outside the cart, more workers had gathered. The ones closest to the bloody mess strained to get a closer look, and the ones behind them fought to see past the men in their way.

Now that he'd pulled some of the clothing away, Slocum could get a better look at the damage that had been done. The driver straightened up, looking down at the men before staring at the bloody strips of fabric dangling from his hands. “Jesus Christ almighty,” he gasped.

“What happened?” Slocum asked.

“I don't know. I found 'em on the side of the road.”

“What did this to them?”

“No idea. They didn't say anything. They were just screaming,” the driver said.

“Damn right they were screamin',” one of the nearby workers said. “They been ripped to shreds.”

Slocum wheeled around to address the worker who had spoken as well as any others within the sound of his voice. “Shut up! All of you! This isn't a sideshow. If you can't help, then step back and find someone who can. Is there a doctor around here?”

One of the men nodded. “There's a doctor nearby. I think someone already went to fetch him.”

“If you're not sure, then you go fetch him.” When the man remained frozen in his place, Slocum barked, “Go!”

Not only that worker but two others bolted away from the cart to race toward town.

Slocum bent down to get a closer look at the man who was lying on his stomach. That one's back had been ripped open in several places. Some cuts were too shallow to be concerned about while others went so deep that muscle and bone were exposed to the light of day. The edges of most of the wounds were flayed and tattered. Dirt was stuck to the interior of most of the wounds, making the man look more like he'd been dragged behind the cart instead of riding inside it.

“What happened to these men?” Slocum asked.

“They were attacked.”

Snapping his head up to look at the driver, Slocum said, “I can see as much for myself! I got eyes. Who attacked them?”

The driver shook his head. He was already dazed, and the more he looked at the blood-soaked mess in the cart, the farther away he seemed to drift. Slocum stood up and grabbed the front of the driver's shirt as he spoke in a voice that he hoped would cut through the haze gathering within his spinning head. “You did good to get them here,” he said in the calmest tone he could manage. “There's more help on the way. Until it gets here, you've got to talk to me. Understand?”

Slowly, the driver nodded.

“Start from the beginning then. Tell me what happened.”

“I was headed out to collect some tools that were left at the spot where the last group of trees were cut down.”

“Where?” Slocum asked.

“Fall Pass.” Now that the driver was looking at something other than the bodies he'd found, his thoughts seemed to come to him with more clarity. “Last time the men were cutting out there, it was getting dark and rain clouds were moving in. We wanted to get the timber moved before it got soaked through.”

Trying not to lose his patience, Slocum nodded. “All right. The men left their tools and you needed to gather them up.”

“That's right.”

“So you rode out there and . . . what did you see?”

“I heard wailing,” the driver said.

“You heard these men screaming?”

“No,” the driver said while shaking his head erratically. “I mean . . . I heard screaming as well, but the wailing caught my attention first. It wasn't like anything I ever heard before.”

“An animal,” Slocum said as he shifted his attention down to the man who was lying on his back. Almost immediately, he was pulled up again by the driver.

“It wasn't no animal I ever heard before,” the driver said. “And I heard all there is that lives and breathes in them woods. I was a trapper long before this mill was built. I can recognize bears by the sound of their steps and wolves by their scent. This wasn't nothing like them. The stink in the air was . . . horrible.”

Stooping down to examine the other wounded man, Slocum peeled away some of the clothing to find a similar terrible story etched into that man's body. “Did you get a look at whatever it was?”

“No. I just heard it.”

“What about tracks?” Slocum asked. “Bits of fur. Scat in the brush. Anything at all that could tell you what this thing was or where it went. Did you see any of that?”

The driver blinked as if he'd just been splashed by cold water. Sobered by thinking along more familiar lines, he said, “No. I didn't take the time to look for any of that. These men were screaming and hurt so badly that I just got them loaded up into this here cart so I could bring 'em back here.”

“You loaded them up on your own?”

Blinking some more, the driver looked back down the road from which he'd come. “No. I wasn't on my own. Abner was out there as well! Oh God! He's still out there!”

“Abner? Abner who?”

“That'd be Abner Woodley,” Mr. Womack said as he forced his way through the considerable crowd that had gathered around the cart. “He was out there scouting for the next batch of timber to be cut down. Been doing that for years . . . among other things.”

“I didn't want to leave him there,” the driver insisted. “He helped me get these men loaded and refused to come along. Said he'd only be slowing the cart down.”

“Was that animal or whatever it was that hurt these men still out there when you drove off?” Slocum asked in a tone that was a bit harsher than he'd intended.

The driver shook his head meekly. “I can't say for certain. I imagine so. Abner said something about going after that thing as well.”

Mr. Womack, the mill owner, walked up to the gathering. “You did the right thing by getting here as quick as you could,” he said to the driver. “Now I want all of you men to step away from this cart!” The men responded to the sound of their boss's voice out of pure instinct and moved back. Turning again to the driver, he asked, “Can these men be moved out of there?”

“I'll need some help, but yes.”

“You've got plenty of extra hands.” Womack gathered up enough men to carry the wounded out of the cart and into the bunkhouse behind the mill. Slocum joined in the effort.

“I want some clean clothes, blankets, anything at all that can be used as dressing for them wounds,” Womack continued as the injured men were carried along. “Doc Reece will need all he can get and I don't want him to have to wait for anything. Speaking of which, let's gather up some water or anything else you think those men might need.”

Slocum helped carry the man with the majority of his wounds on the front of his body. Before making it halfway to the bunkhouse, the wounded man started to squirm and groan in agony. Hearing his suffering was bad enough, but the blood covering every inch of him made it difficult to maintain much of a grip. It was all Slocum could do to keep his hold before finally reaching the first room in the bunkhouse. The men carrying the other wounded fellow arrived at about the same time, and Slocum directed them to set the men down as gently as possible.

Along the way, he could tell that both men's wounds covered more than half of their bodies. There were cuts and scrapes all over them, but not nearly as serious as the side that had been visible at first glance. The driver was one of the men helping Slocum and he could not stop babbling for the duration of the entire walk.

“Oh my Lord,” he sighed. “I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. Please forgive me.”

“Take a breath,” Slocum said. “You may have saved these men's lives.”

The driver nodded, but didn't seem to take much comfort from those words.

Once both men were lying on beds and several other workers had scattered to collect the things Womack had requested, Slocum placed an arm around the driver's shoulders and led him outside, where the air was a whole lot fresher. He pointed him away from the cart and most of the crowd so the main thing in the driver's line of sight was the surrounding woodlands. There was a barrel of water nearby and Slocum went to it so he could scoop up a drink with the tin dipper and bring it over to where the driver stood trembling.

“Here,” Slocum said while handing the dipper over. “Take this.”

When the driver didn't make a move to accept the dipper, Slocum snapped his wrist to splash the water into the other man's face. That yanked the driver out of his own thoughts and dropped him squarely back into the present.

“There you go,” Slocum said while slapping the driver's back. “Looks like you're with me now.”

“Yeah,” the driver said as he wiped some of the water from his face. Rather than flick the water from his hands, he pushed it up over his eyes and shoved his hat back to clean off his dusty forehead. “That's a whole lot better. Much obliged.”

Slocum dipped the dented cup into the water barrel once more and offered it to him. “You want this water inside you or outside?”

Taking the dipper from him, the driver said, “Inside will do nicely.” With that, he drank every drop of the water in one series of prolonged gulps. He handed the dipper back, waited for it to be refilled, and then drained it one more time.

“All right,” Slocum said. “Now that you're calmed down a bit, why don't you tell me the rest of what happened out there?”

“Not a whole lot else to tell. It was terrible . . . just terrible.”

“Did you see anything alongside the road? Anything at all that could have been the thing that ripped those men apart?”

The driver thought about it for a few seconds before shaking his head. “Not that I can recall. Like I said, I heard that wailing and then the screams.”

“What sort of wailing? Could it have been a man?”

Although the driver's first reaction was a shake of his head, he had to admit, “I suppose . . . there's a chance it could have been a man. I've heard animals that sound like men and men that sound like animals. Damn it all to hell, I'm not one bit of help.”

“Those men you brought all the way back to where they can be seen by a doctor would tell you different,” Slocum assured him. “Just as soon as they get the care they need. In the meantime, try to think of anything you can, anything at all, that might be a help. I know you're plum rattled right now, but this is when the memories will be freshest.”

The driver nodded. “I know. I know. Just give me a second.”

Womack approached them with his hands on his hips and sweat pouring down his face. “I swear I haven't moved around so much since I was one of the boys dragging logs from one spot to another.”

“How are those men doing?” Slocum asked.

“As good as can be expected under the circumstances. They're still breathing, which is saying a hell of a lot.”

“How long will it take for the doctor to get here?”

“Shouldn't be long at all,” Womack said. “He's been called on several occasions when men get too close to the saw or get crushed beneath a piece of timber. Had one fella trip over his own two feet and split his head open on another man's boot. Any of them times, Doc Reece was here quicker than two shakes of a lamb's tail.”

“Good to know,” Slocum said. “Although it doesn't say much for you being able to keep your men in good health.”

“Ain't none of them was my fault.” Looking to the driver, Womack asked, “How's this one holding up?”

“The bushes!” the driver blurted out.

Womack cocked his head like a dog that had just heard a distant whistle. “Pardon me?”