Slocum's Silver Burden (11 page)

He walked slowly up one side of the main street and down the other, looking inside every store for any trace of the outlaws. More than once, he asked after Drury and his partner, Baldy. No one had seen them—or nobody fessed up to it. Slocum was good at reading a bluff across a poker table and almost as good at seeing when he was being handed a line. The good citizens of Newburg weren't lying. The ones he had asked hadn't seen the train robbers.

After an hour of reconnaissance, he returned to the saloon, where Harry and Riley still sat at the back table. They huddled together, whispering. Neither saw him and neither showed any inclination to budge from their chair. For two men inclined to shoot first and aim later, they showed a great deal of patience.

They were waiting for Drury and Baldy.

Slocum went to the livery stable and let the stableboy tend to his trusty mare. For a railroad horse, the animal had been remarkably dependable, and Slocum wanted to show his appreciation. There had to be more hard riding ahead, and he wanted to be ready.

Slocum settled into a chair on the boardwalk across the street from the livery stable and continued to evaluate his options. When he finally got up, he walked briskly to the telegraph office. The telegrapher looked up from a week-old
Alta California
.

“I need to send a couple telegrams.”

“That's why I'm here. Send enough and you can make my week.”

“Been slow?” Slocum watched the young man closely. The telegrapher twirled the tips of his thin handlebar mustache. He was old enough to grow some facial hair but young enough that it had to be a chore. That made him even prouder to show it off. Slocum saw no reason not to build the boy's confidence with a compliment about the mustache.

“Thank you kindly. Every man in the family's growed a big one. You shoulda seen my granddday's. I do declare, it went out to here.” Like a man lying about how big the fish he'd caught, he held his hands on either side of his head.

“A regular longhorn, your grandpa,” Slocum said. He took a blank pad of telegraph forms and wrote swiftly.

“Time for me to get to work,” the young man said, obviously disappointed that he didn't get to brag more. He took the telegram and looked at it. “You said you had more 'n one to send.”

“I want that sent to the Central California Railroad depot in Oakland, to the main office in San Francisco, and to the postmaster in the next town over.”

“Next town? You mean Fremont?”

“I do.”

The telegrapher scratched his head, then looked up at Slocum. “This is mighty strange. Don't you know where this T. Crittenden is?”

“Not exactly, but one of those people'll know where to deliver the message.”

“Your money. Ain't never seen anything like this before since 'grams are so expensive, but you're sendin' it to railroad men, so—”

“I'm charging it to the Central California Railroad.” Slocum took out the papers he'd received from Collingswood and laid them on the counter. “This is my authority.”

“Send 'em and collect from the railroad?”

Slocum saw the calculation working in the young man's eyes.

“I'm trusting you to send an honest bill, but Mr. Collingswood has to know how difficult this is for you and will pay accordingly.”

“He's the vice president, all right. I applied for a job, and I seen him. Not personally, mind you, but he was talkin' to the foreman doin' the hirin'.”

“I can't imagine how he let a crackerjack telegrapher go unhired.”

Slocum took back his sheaf of papers and tucked them away. They had come in handy again. If Collingswood refused to pay, Slocum would be long gone when the bill was brought to his attention.

And with any luck, Tamara would have received a telegram telling her to come to Newburg.

“Two days,” Slocum said. “I thought you'd be here quicker.”

Tamara Crittenden laughed, and it was the sound of morning bells and soft evening breezes slipping through the pines. She reached over and put her warm hand on Slocum's arm, squeezing gently.

“I came as fast as I could. The stationmaster in Oakland gave me the message. It was such a surprise.”

“You didn't think I'd get in touch with you?”

Slocum sat stolidly as she squeezed down just a little harder, then moved her hand away. They both looked up as the waiter brought them their breakfast. The runny eggs and leathery steaks gave off an unappetizing odor, but Slocum dug into his. It had been too long since he'd eaten. Since sending the telegrams, he had hardly left the saloon and the other two specials. Harry and Riley had gotten knee-walking drunk on the cheap trade whiskey, and he doubted they could have won a fight with a newborn kitten if the need had arisen. While he saw they were lacking in intelligence, both had a cunning that told him they'd not risk their own hides needlessly. They were waiting and knew the train robbers wouldn't show up while they were drunk on their asses.

“Oh, I never doubted you would. I meant that the lazy stationmaster showed some initiative in tracking me down. It was a good thing I asked after the two gamblers from Fremont, or he might not have known I was even in town.”

“Why did you follow them?”

“I didn't know if they were involved in the robbery. Besides, you had Drury dead to rights.” She reached out and brushed away a lock of greasy hair from his eyes. “You were roughed up, weren't you?”

“The barkeep tried to drug me, but it didn't work out so well for him.”

“Not if he thought you were any kind of victim.” Tamara sat back in her chair, eyed the breakfast with distaste, then began sawing at the steak. She held up the piece she'd cut off and stared at it. “If I needed my boot sole patched, this would work.” She stuffed it into her mouth and began chewing. “My boots would have better flavor.”

Slocum grunted as he worked on his own meal.

“Why do you think they aren't budging?” Tamara asked.

“They overheard Drury and Baldy say something about this town.”

“Baldy? He's another one? We know Jack, Drury, and now Baldy. There were four.” Tamara dropped her fork onto the plate with a loud clang. She sipped at the coffee, made a face, and kept drinking.

“I haven't told them that Jackson's dead.”

“That's smart. Never show your hand until the pot's called.”

Slocum looked at her. A tiny smile curled her lips. She was joshing him, and he found that he liked it.

“They haven't seen you. You might get them to reveal something that I'd have to beat out of them.”

“From the sound of those two, beating it out of them would be more enjoyable.” She delicately dabbed her lips and then used the napkin to clean off the rim of the coffee cup. Another quick sip. She made a face. “The dirt made it almost drinkable.”

“The lousy chow's the reason Newburg is turning into a ghost town. Do you think the robbers rendezvoused here because of that?”

“Why don't I see what our two erstwhile railroad specials have to say while you ask after Drury and Baldy?”

“I've not heard anyone talk about strangers, other than me, Harry, and Riley.” He grinned. “With you in town, there's going to be plenty of tongues set to wagging.”

“Why, Mr. Slocum, is that a compliment?” She lowered her voice and locked eyes with him. “Or is it a promise to do something to me that will positively outrage these fine, upstanding townspeople into salacious gossip?”

“Not to you, with you,” he said, pushing back his chair and standing. He drew hers back. She pressed briefly against him, giving her hip just the right amount of touch against his groin to cement the promise of doing something outrageous later.

She left without so much as a backward look at him, but he watched as she went down the street to the saloon. The hitch in her git-along was as promising as her words. He dropped a greenback dollar on the table and went outside to start asking after the robbers. He came down the far side of the street and saw that Tamara had lured Riley and Harry from the saloon and out onto the splintered boardwalk. She crowded both men, and they reacted with what Slocum had come to believe was common among wranglers. The attention of such a lovely woman thrilled them as much as it frightened them. Riley tried to brag. His words echoed across the street, but Harry hung back, licking his lips and waiting for his chance to swoop in should Tamara reject his partner.

When she did, Harry stepped up, but Riley caught his arm. For a moment Slocum thought they'd come to blows. Then Harry swung his partner around. Both men stared down the street. When they went for their six-shooters, Slocum turned to see what interested them more than Tamara.

He cursed under his breath. Drury and Baldy rode in from the north. Drury had seen better days. Always thin, he looked as if he had one foot in the grave now. His face was paper white and his eyes burned with balefire. In spite of his condition, he spotted the specials before Baldy.

Harry and Riley went for their guns, but Drury got off the first shot. No matter that he looked like death warmed over, he proved more accurate than either of the specials, too. Harry yelped as hot lead tore past his cheek. A spatter of blood caused him to wipe furiously to clear his right eye so he could sight. As he rubbed, Riley got his smoke wagon firing, but his accuracy was less than adequate for the task. His rounds all went wide, giving Drury and Baldy the chance to wheel about and gallop away.

Slocum moved into the street, his Colt leveled, but the chance to join the fight had passed.

“You stepped in front of me, John.” Tamara's voice was choked.

“Did you get hit?”

“You blocked them from hitting me. That's why you weren't able to gun them down.”

Slocum had instinctively put himself between the woman and the outlaws. This had prevented him from getting a good shot.

“Those two fools scared them off. Now we'll have to chase them down.”

“My horse is in the stable, in the stall next to yours.”

“Come on.” Slocum took Tamara's elbow and hurried her along to the livery, where the stableboy stood in the middle of the street, his mouth gaping.

“Did you see that? Them two gents started firing, and the two on horseback shot back and—”

“We need our mounts,” Slocum said, shaking the boy out of his shock. “Now.”

“I'll get them for you.”

He vanished into the stable. Slocum started to speak but found himself saving Tamara again, this time from a wagon clattering down the street at a breakneck speed. His arm snaked around her trim waist, and he spun her about out of the way of the rig. For a brief instant, he reached for his gun, but then relaxed. Taking a shot at the reckless driver accomplished nothing. He had probably been spooked like the rest of the sleepy town. With a declining population, those most inclined to shoot it out had left for more spirited towns.

“Thanks again,” Tamara said, catching her breath and patting her hair back into place. “That's twice in a couple minutes that you've saved me.”

“The driver was in a powerful hurry to get out of town.” Slocum stared after the empty wagon.

“Here's your horses,” said the stableboy, handing over the reins.

“You know who that was in the wagon?”

“Ain't seen him before. He bought the wagon from Old Man Hansen. You know him. The fellow who wears that leather mask. Got his face all blowed up in a mine explosion. Tore the skin right off down to the bone, or so they say. He wears it so he won't scare the kids.” The stableboy coughed and looked sheepish. “Truth is, he'd scare me out of my wits if his face is half as ugly as everyone claims.”

“The wagon driver,” Slocum said. “You don't know him?”

“That's what I said. You hard of hearin,' mister? Old Man Hansen's sorta deaf, too. Blowed an ear off and—”

Slocum swung into the saddle. Tamara stepped up onto her horse and rode close.

“What's wrong, John?”

“Nothing,” he said, seeing that the wagon had vanished down the road leading due west.

He put his heels to the mare's flanks and trotted off, Tamara keeping pace. Staring in the direction taken by Drury and Baldy, Slocum turned cold. The two specials had gotten to their horses but found it difficult getting mounted. Both men sported wounds from the brief gunfight, Harry having taken the worst of it.

“Hey, wait!” Riley shouted. His foot tangled in the stirrup, and his horse started, forcing him to hop along. “Slocum, you can't go after 'em. Them's our outlaws to arrest.”

“They know I'm with you now,” Tamara said.

“Did you learn anything at all from them?”

“Not much more than what you'd guessed. They overheard Drury and Baldy talking about coming here. Even those dimwits understood what that meant.”

“Where would they stash the stolen silver?” Slocum was thinking aloud and didn't expect an answer. He tried to visualize the lay of the land.

They were some distance from the railroad tracks and much farther from where the train had been robbed on the steep grade leading to the pass.

“This is the town closest to the robbery, John,” Tamara said. “Are you still here or has your mind wandered off like a little lost sheep?”

“Sorry,” Slocum said. He kept trying to understand what was going on.

All the two specials cared about was getting the drop on the outlaws or maybe gunning them down so they could take scalps in for the reward. Slocum knew he had to be smarter than that. Collingswood had hired him to bring in the outlaws, then fired him. Retrieving the silver was going to make for a fine payday, but Slocum knew a quarter of it was already lost when Jackson died.

“Off the road,” Slocum said suddenly. He trotted into a ditch and followed the channel uphill to a stand of trees.

“There they are,” Tamara said with some distaste as Harry and Riley galloped past.

“There's no way we can find the outlaws. Drury was too spooked. He and Baldy would split up and get together somewhere else.”

“You can find them, though, can't you, John?”

He shook his head. The outlaws had enough head start to lay a trap. Any ambush would get rid of the two specials, but Slocum thought Drury and Baldy wouldn't stay together. Once they split up, they doubled their chances of outrunning pursuit. The land around was forested and hilly, making tracking difficult. He might get lucky and find a trace, but Slocum doubted it. So far his luck had been poor.

Standing around Newburg for two days waiting for the outlaws—and Tamara—to arrive had made him antsy. Harry and Riley presented as much a danger to him as the train robbers.

“We can't let them ride away,” Tamara protested. “Think, John, where would they go? You're the expert. Where would an outlaw hide?”

“They want to take the silver and hightail it. The three remaining outlaws intend to load it on a wagon and get away from here. With the railroad sending out posses, the outlaws' anxiety over losing the silver has to be great. Their own lives would be forfeit if they were caught, but with so many riders scouring the countryside, the silver is at risk of being found.”

“How does that get us on to Drury and Baldy's trail?”

“Back to town.”

“Town, but—” Tamara stared at him. Then her eyes widened and she smiled. “The wagon that almost ran us over. You think that was the third robber?”

“We won't find the other two, not with Harry and Riley on their trail.”

“You're so clever. You asked the stable hand if the driver was a local.”

“He had never seen the man before. That doesn't make him a robber, but the coincidence is too much to ignore.”

She bent over so her lips brushed his cheek.

“You're a genius, and I love you! Come on. Time's wasting!”

They made their way back to Newburg and immediately took the same road as the reckless wagon driver.

“Did you get a good look at him, John?” Tamara glanced in his direction as they rode almost knee to knee. “I heard the horses and the wagon, but you swept me off my feet too fast to see him.”

“I didn't,” Slocum said, distracted by her nearness and trying to work out which of the wagon tracks belonged to the driver whom he felt in his gut to be the last of the gang. “I can't find the tracks, so we need to ride fast.”

“Fast? I like it hard,” she said, giving him a broad wink.

Slocum put his heels to the mare and rocketed away. Tamara kept up, but her horse flagged before Slocum's, forcing him to slow and finally to come to a halt. He didn't understand what was wrong. They had topped more than one rise in the steep road and had a view miles ahead. No one was on the road, much less the wagon and its driver.

“We can't keep going like this,” she said, patting her horse's neck.

“Walk the horse, trot, then gallop, walk, change the gait, and rest a few minutes.”

“That'll cover a lot of distance, but why haven't we overtaken the wagon by now? We've ridden for more than an hour and covered more distance than he ever could have.”

Slocum nodded agreement. He had thought the same thing. They hadn't been more than an hour behind the departing wagon and traveled twice as fast—or more.

“We keep going another half hour, then we decide what to do.”

“I need to rest. So does my horse.”

“We can rest in a half hour. Change gait, cover ground.” He led off. Tamara gamely followed, but he soon saw that her mount stumbled and would soon collapse under her.

At the end of the half hour, they had covered another three miles without sighting the wagon. Slocum hadn't noticed anywhere the driver had left the road, and it was inconceivable they hadn't overtaken the rig by now.