Slocum 420 by Jake Logan

Author:Jake Logan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Group, USA
Published: 2014-01-27T16:00:00+00:00

13

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.

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