Slocum and the Slanderer by Jake Logan

Author:Jake Logan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group

Stone did, indeed, have himself a fair-sized crew by this time.

Of course, they didn’t all agree with him. Elena had done her bit to talk sense to them. And more than half the men had reluctantly—or affably—agreed with her.

But a few less than that, newer men all, agreed with Stone, and he was damned happy about it. He’d never been the center of attention before, not once in his life, except when he was a kid and his uncle would come to visit.

“Ain’t you feeding that boy, Louise?” Uncle Henry would always ask Stone’s mama, like it was her fault he was short. Hell, he couldn’t help it if he never grew past five-foot-four.

With his boots on.

But now, men were listening to him. Big men, tough hands. And nobody had called him Shorty in at least three hours.

A more intelligent man, or a wittier one, might have quipped that he’d grown a few inches in just the last few hours.

This didn’t cross Stone’s mind, though. Not once.

He looked at the three men who had thrown in with him. Looked up at them, actually.

“All right,” he said. “We leave first thing in the mornin’. The sheriff ain’t gonna be back in town for a few days yet, and Mr. Furling’s gotta be pretty out of sorts, wherever it is they stashed him.”

To his left, Butcher Bob spoke up. Butcher Bob had more than likely gotten his name because of the abject pleasure he took in castrating calves, Stone thought. For his part, Stone did it when it was necessary, but he always got a queasy feeling in his stomach—and a sick sensation in his crotch—when he made that quick cut and heard the calf bawl.

Butcher Bob said, “Why not today, dammit? The new boss is in trouble. And I’d like to get my hands on that Slocum character.”

Butcher Bob grinned, as if he’d like to toss Slocum to the ground like a trussed calf and go to work.

This made Stone feel a little funny, but he said, “No. Jim and Pete are just in, off the roundup. I want everybody to be fresh,” he added, in an attempt to underscore his authority.

“Fine by me,” said Jim with a weary nod, and wandered off toward the bunkhouse, followed by Pete.

“Bunch’a mewling babies,” Butcher Bob muttered, but Stone heard him.

“Well,” Stone said, pulling himself up to his full height, which wasn’t much, “we can’t do it by ourselves.” He tried to sound as commanding as possible. “It’ll take all four. So we’ll wait till mornin’.”

And before Butcher Bob had a chance to open his surly mouth, to say anything belittling or cruel, Stone turned and followed the other men to the bunkhouse.

Halfway there, he pulled the bandanna from his pocket and mopped at his brow. Along with rescuing Mr. Furling, Stone had seen this “mission” as a way to build himself up in the other men’s eyes. To make himself seem more imposing, bigger, braver.

Half of them still called him Shorty, and not in a nice way either.

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