Slocum 421 by Jake Logan

Author:Jake Logan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Group, USA
Published: 2014-02-25T05:00:00+00:00

10

The stuffed dummy took shape easily. Glenna made a head and face on the pillowcase and they sewed an old hat on it. Carter built the hangman’s noose and that was applied to the dummy’s neck and stitched on too so it didn’t pull the head off when they hung the whole thing up.

Slocum punched holes in rusty tin cans with a punch and hammer in the blacksmith shop they had. The others tied them on long strings, separated so they’d make lots of noise when the horses started off from the hitch rack. Each chain was placed in an individual gunnysack so they didn’t get tangled up. Then Jon, Carter, and Slocum sharpened their jackknives so they would be sharp enough to cut through the cinches on the horses.

Before dark the three men rode into Buttercup and hitched their horses out back. It was no trouble staying hidden in the darkness out front of the noisy saloon.

Hitching the strings to the ponies’ tails proved harder than expected, so they tied part of them to the back girths. But everything was finally set, and all they had to do was wait. Carter was posted between the saddle shop and the mercantile. Slocum and Jon were upstairs of what at one time had been the local cathouse, before the madam moved on to richer fields to plow with her girls. The place was now empty, and they had ringside seats at the open windows for the fandango they expected to happen about midnight. The weather still was mild. They talked in low voices, spending the time talking about some good horses they’d owned.

A drunk staggered out of the batwing doors. Slocum watched him close as he went to a Garvin horse, but he was too drunk to get on him. So he went back and lay down to sleep on the porch. With a shake of his head over how close they’d come to losing the trick, Slocum shared a look with Jon. Damn that had been close.

It was closing time and the ranch hands began to wander outside. A big man stretched. “Let’s get home, guys. Toss Fenell over his horse. He’s too drunk to ride.”

Two guys draped the drunk over his saddle and used his rope to tie him on. One guy got in his saddle. His cinch broke and turned him upside down. Another horse jerked and cans rattled. Cowboys cussed. Another bronc stuck his head to the ground and dumped the rider off. The cans had spooked all the horses, who climbed over one another trying to escape, clanging away, cinches breaking. Stomping on their boot soles and cussing, cowboys tried to separate the saddled horses from the saddle-less ones. Several mounts ran away from the town with tin cans chasing them.

Someone shouted, “If I ever catch the goddamn sumbitch did this to us, he’s dead. I mean a dead ass.”

“Damn right, Logan. We’ll help you kill him.”

“We better get to hiking, boys. We ain’t got a damn horse left here to ride.

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