Dancers trail, p.16
Dancer's Trail,
p.16
“Yes, sir?” said the clerk.
“I’m checking out,” said Slocum, reaching for his money. Then he hesitated. He stopped fishing in his pockets. He looked at the clerk and said, “Send the bill to the sheriff’s office.”
20
For the next weeks, Slocum wandered from one small town to another, and it seemed that everywhere he went, Dancer had been there, but he had left two days before or three days. He was always just ahead. Now and then, Slocum discovered, Dancer had killed someone in the town just before leaving. He was not leaving behind any friends. That much was certain. Before too long, Slocum’s money was running out again. At last he found himself at Harvey Blane’s Rocking B Ranch, busting broncs to line his pockets again. He would save up a little more money and get back on the trail of Dancer.
He had just ridden a real ring-tailed cayuse to a standstill, and he was feeling battered as hell. That tough little son of a bitch had beat him nearly to a pulp. He kicked it in the sides and rode it calmly around the corral a few times. Then he dismounted, unsaddled the creature and let it go. He hobbled over to the corral fence and tossed the saddle over the top rail. He bent over with a groan and slipped through the top and middle rails to get outside the corral. He was about to head toward the bunkhouse, walking with a list to one side, when a young cowboy called Reson came riding up.
“How you doing, Mr. Slocum?” Reson said.
“Feeling kind of old,” Slocum said.
Reson swung down out of the saddle. “I’d like to talk to you,” he said.
Slocum stopped walking. “What is it?” he asked.
“I got to turn this horse loose first. You going to be around?”
“I’ll be in the bunkhouse,” Slocum said.
“I’ll see you there in just a few minutes. Okay?”
“Sure. Come on ahead. I won’t be doing anything. Just recovering is all.”
As he limped his way on over to the bunkhouse, Slocum wondered what the young fellow wanted to talk to him about. Surely not about bronc riding. He couldn’t think what it could be. He went on inside to his bunk, sat down, pulled off his boots and then stretched himself out with a moan. That damn cayuse had been his fourth that day. He was really worn out. He closed his eyes and thought that he was about to drift off, when he heard Reson’s footsteps coming in, and a moment later, his voice.
“Mr. Slocum?”
Slocum looked up. “Yeah. What’s on your mind, young feller?”
Reson sat on the bunk next to Slocum’s and twirled his hat in his hands nervously. He did not look directly at Slocum. “Mr. Slocum,” he said, “I don’t rightly know how to ask this, but I—Well, some of the boys has been saying that you’re a gunfighter. Is that true?”
“What kind of a question is that to ask a man?”
“I’m sorry. I know it ain’t polite. But I’m needing some advice, and I—”
“Just tell me about it,” Slocum said.
“Well, all right. I will. I was in town this morning, and I run into a feller. I hadn’t never seen him before. Didn’t know him, and he didn’t know me. Well, cutting through all the bullshit, he kinda pushed me, and I called him on it. Now I’m supposed to meet him out by boot hill this evening to have it out. You know, a shootout. He looked and talked like a gunfighter. I wasn’t wearing no gun. That’s how come we’re to meet later. I said I’d get my gun. I know I shouldn’t have let him push me into it, but I—Well, there was several guys hanging around listening to ever’thing that was said. Before I knew what I was doing, I’d agreed to meet him.”
“Well, you let yourself get suckered, kid, but I don’t know what I can do for you. What do you want from me?”
“I—I don’t know. Hell, I shouldn’t even have brought it up, I guess. I just went and got myself into something I hadn’t oughta. I guess I’ll just have to find my own way out of it. Or get myself killed. I’m sorry I bothered you, Mr. Slocum.”
Reson stood up, put his hat on his head and started to walk away, but Slocum sat up and stopped him. “Hold on, boy,” he said.
Reson turned back. “Yes, sir?”
“First thing, stop calling me mister.”
“Okay.”
“Now, you went and got yourself caught up in a gunfight with a real gunfighter. Right? Now you’re scared, but you can’t back out.”
“Yeah. I guess that’s about the size of it.”
“How are you with a gun?”
Reson shrugged. “I guess I can handle one all right. I mean, I can knock a can off a fence post. But I ain’t no fast draw. Hell, I never pulled a gun on a man. Never.”
“Try to keep the sun at your back,” Slocum said. “That way it will be in his eyes. Whatever you do, don’t let him get you facing the sun. Don’t try to beat him to the draw either. Just make sure that you draw your gun and hit what you aim at. More often than not, the man who gets his gun out in a real big hurry is so busy being fast, he misses his first few shots. Has to empty his six-gun to kill a man. The main thing is to try to stay calm.”
“Thank you. I’ll remember that.”
“I wish I could help you more, kid, but it was kind of short notice. We ain’t got time for shooting lessons.”
“Yeah. Well, I just met that son of a bitch this morning. Cocky. Just itching to kill someone, I think. All dressed in black, too, and—”
“What?” said Slocum. “Hold on. Dressed in black, you say?”
“Yeah. He was. All in black. Everything.”
Slocum stood up and walked toward Reson. Suddenly there was a look in his eyes that froze the blood in the boy’s veins. He put his hands on Reson’s shoulders and looked him straight in the eyes. “This gunslick,” he said, “did he have a name?”
“Called himself Dancer.”
Slocum’s arms dropped to his sides as he heaved a heavy sigh of relief from all the long searching time, all those times he rode into town to hear that Dancer was two days out. All that long trail he had ridden, and all the bodies that Dancer had left along the way. He took a deep breath and tried to remain calm.
“Boy,” Slocum said, “when you get ready to ride over to boot hill to meet up with Dancer, I’m going to ride along with you.”
“You mean it?”
“You damn right.”
“Well, I—I appreciate it, Mr.—uh, Slocum.”
“It’s all right.”
“Say, do you know this man?”
“I know him,” Slocum said. “Just let me know when you’re ready to ride.”
“I will.”
Reson left the bunkhouse, and Slocum started pacing the floor. He was anxious to get on the way to the meeting. At last, he had caught up with Dancer. Or Dancer had caught up with him without knowing it. In any case, he was just in town, and apparently had no idea that Slocum was anywhere near. Slocum told himself to calm down. He had been on Dancer’s trail for so long, that a short wait wasn’t going to make any difference. But he felt like a man who was near the end of his road, had only two miles left to ride. It was the longest two miles he had ever seen.
He went back to the bunk and stretched out again. He would have to force himself to relax, take it easy, but he was anxious. There was no denying that. He was no longer thinking about his sore muscles and tired bones. There was no room in his mind for anything other than Dancer. He did not sleep. He lay there thinking until Reson showed up again. It was early evening.
“It’s about time for me to be heading over there,” Reson said.
Slocum sprang up from his bunk. “Let’s saddle up,” he said.
He did not saddle his Appaloosa. He saddled a brown horse from the remuda. He did not want to call attention to himself, did not want Dancer spotting him from a distance and running away again. The cemetery was on a flat piece of ground with a grove of trees nearby, and Slocum and Reson were the first ones to arrive. They tied their horses at the grove, and Slocum melted into the trees. They could see the town, but there was no one nearby. On the other hand, Reson stepped out from the trees to make sure that he was seen. He did not want Dancer telling it around that he had chickened out.
Soon they could see a rider coming from town. It took a couple of minutes, but then they knew that he was coming their way. In another couple of minutes, they could recognize him. It was Dancer all right. Slocum’s heart pounded with anticipation. He did not even pay attention to the kid, who was nervous as hell, contemplating the end of his own young life. Slocum pressed himself against the trunk of a tree, hiding in the shade. Dancer rode on up close and dismounted.
“I didn’t think you’d show, kid,” he said.
“I’m here.”
Slocum stepped out in the clear. “So am I,” he said.
Dancer’s jaw dropped. “Slocum,” he said. He tried to laugh. “It’s been a while, ain’t it?”
“It’s been a while,” Slocum agreed.
“Well, what are you doing here?”
“I came to take this young feller’s place, Dancer. Step aside, kid.”
“Hold on,” Dancer said. “I ain’t going to fight two of you.”
“Kid,” Slocum said, “take off your gun belt and toss it over yonder.”
Reson hesitated, but he did as Slocum told him, tossing the gun belt and gun a good ways away from himself.
“Just me, Dancer,” said Slocum.
“Hell, Slocum, we’re old pards. We don’t need to fight it out.”
“You switched sides in the war with the Double Cross outfit.”
“That was just a job. I asked you to go along with me.”
“You caused me to kill that kid. He forced it, but it was you that put him up to it.”
“Now, Slocum, he done that on his own. I swear it.”
“You killed young Vicenti, and you ambushed us on the road. Shot his pa up.”
“Was you with that bunch? Hell, I didn’t know it. How could I?”
“That’s enough talk, Dancer. I saved your neck once. It was a big mistake. I mean to make it right today.”
“No,” said Dancer. “No, you don’t. You see, I ain’t going to draw against you.”
“You’ll draw. After I shoot off your fucking ears.”
“No. No, I won’t. And the kid here can forget that we had this meeting. I’m forgetting our differences. I’m fixing to turn my back on you, Slocum, and I’m going to walk back over to my horse and mount up and ride out of here. I’m going to turn my back, and you won’t shoot me in the back. I know you, boy.”
He was grinning. He slowly turned around, his back to Slocum. Slocum watched him. Reson was looking from one man to the other, amazed at what he was witnessing. Dancer took slow steps toward his horse.
“I’m leaving, Slocum,” he said. “Hey, maybe we’ll cross paths again somewhere along the way, old pard.”
Suddenly Slocum pulled out his Colt. He pointed at Dancer’s back. He pulled back the hammer, and Dancer flinched and stopped walking when he heard the ominous click, click.
“You won’t do it,” he said, and he started to walk again.
Slocum waited a few more steps. Dancer was about to reach his horse. Slocum squeezed the trigger, and his slug tore into Dancer’s back between the shoulder blades. Dancer jerked with the impact of the bullet. He tried to turn around to face Slocum, but halfway, his knees buckled, and he fell to the ground. He was still alive. He could still try to shoot back. Slocum walked toward him, his Colt held ready. He looked down to see Dancer’s astonished expression.
“I didn’t believe,” Dancer began. “I didn’t believe—”
He died without ever finishing the thought. Slocum finished it for him as he holstered his Colt. “That was your problem, Dancer,” he said. “You just didn’t believe.”
He busted two more broncs for old Blane the next day, and then he quit his job. He had other and more important things to do. He collected his pay and packed up his gear. As he rode away from the Rocking B, he thought about old Vicenti. He hoped the old man would still be alive when he got back to Janos. Slocum really wanted to give him the good news.
Watch for
SLOCUM AND THE UNDERTAKERS
296th novel in the exciting SLOCUM series
from Jove
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Jake Logan, Dancer's Trail
