Slocum and the Three Fugitives by Jake Logan Page B

Armijo wedding four months back.”
    â€œNot possible now,” Slocum said, shaking his head, but he didn’t elaborate. “Here’re the keys to the place. I’ll expect everything to still be standing when I get back.” Slocum started to go, then asked, “How’d the place get the name? Black Hole?”
    â€œâ€™Twarn’t Tom’s doin’. Him and Annabelle bought the place from a limey name of Cruikshank. Bugger claimed to have been in the British Army over in India. Imagine that. Another place where they call the locals Indians. Anyway, Crook, as we called ’im ’cuz that was what he was mainly, said he named it after some place in India where a passel of limeys died in a prison, all jammed up together more ’n a hunnerd years ago. Crook shoved his customers in shoulder to shoulder, so I suppose it was apt.”
    â€œRemember,” Slocum said. “I’ll be back.”
    Without another word, he made his way back through the maze of crates and got to his horse. The sun had risen far enough to bestir the town and get its citizens moving about for another day’s commerce. As he settled into the saddle, he heard a loud cry.
    He looked up and saw a man with a rifle drawing a bead on him. Slocum reacted instinctively. That saved his life. The bullet tore past and vanished into the cold morning air behind him.
    â€œI got him. Here he is! The killer what murdered Annabelle Harris. I got him!”
    The man worked furiously to chamber another round but the rifle jammed. The man cursed, looked up, worked more frantically as Slocum rode up and drew his six-shooter. Making a big production out of cocking it, Slocum pointed the muzzle at the top of the man’s head.
    â€œDon’t go disturbing folks this early in the morning,” Slocum said.
    The man dropped to his knees and began praying. Slocum eased back the hammer, holstered his pistol, and rode away, aware that the Lockes had called out their posse a lot sooner than he would have thought.
    This sent him thinking along other lines. Maybe it was the deputy or even his pa that had killed Annabelle. Byron Locke had showed up mighty fast after the fatal shot. What Slocum couldn’t fathom was the reason. The father-son team had him dead to rights and locked away in the town calaboose. Why release him to go after the Deutsches, only to loose a posse on his heels right away?
    Everywhere he looked, men glanced in his direction. He rode faster to get out of town, though his haste was due to misgivings about the Lockes’ motives rather than any of the pueblo’s citizens seeing him with a wanted poster pinned on his chest. Heels kicking harder against the Appaloosa’s flanks, he reached the outskirts of Taos and headed into the higher slopes, west toward the X Bar X.
    Getting in with the Deutsch gang would be easier if Judge Locke had killed Annabelle. This gave him a perfect reason to hunt for allies. Who better to recruit than the man who owned or controlled almost all the saloons in town? Even if Lucas Deutsch had been the one who’d shot Annabelle in the back, that made a plausible story. Rory Deutsch might think of ways of using Slocum before trying to double-cross him. As long as Slocum watched his back, he could poke around as a member of the gang.
    He had convinced himself that was reasonable by the time he reached the Rio Grande Gorge and started over the rickety bridge to reach the western side. It became even likelier when his horse reared and tried to twist around. Slocum spotted four riders galloping hard for the bridge, and he doubted they were in a hurry to get across.
    They were the leading deputies of the posse sent to drag him back to jail.
    â€œEasy, boy, keep a steady gait.” He guided the Appaloosa onto the bridge and started across. There might be room for two riders abreast to come after him, but not if he reached the far side. He could hold off an army from that