The Afterlife of Slim McCord E-Book

Jack Martin

• Herausgeber: Robert Hale Fiction
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Serie: Black Horse Western Collections
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Seitenzahl: 161

Beschreibung

Blackman and Tanner have seen it all, but nothing has prepared them for what they find in the town of Possum Creek: the mummified remains of notorious outlaw Slim McCord, in a travelling carny show. And Slim McCord, long after his death, is now involved in the most lucrative bank robbery of his outlaw career. The three men, thrown together again in the most unlikely way, must face this dangerous turn of events head on, as the bullets fly...

Leseprobe

The Afterlife of Slim McCord

Blackman and Tanner have seen it all, but nothing has prepared them for what they find in the town of Possum Creek: the mummified remains of notorious outlaw Slim McCord, in a travelling carny show.

And Slim McCord, long after his death, is now involved in the most lucrative bank robbery of his outlaw career. The three men, thrown together again in the most unlikely way, must face this dangerous turn of events head on, as the bullets fly. . . .

By the same author

The Tarnished Star

Arkansas Smith

The Ballad of Delta Rose

Wild Bill Williams

The Afterlife of Slim McCord

Jack Martin

ROBERT HALE

© Gary Dobbs writing as Jack Martin 2013

First published in Great Britain 2013

ISBN 978-0-7198-2822-5

The Crowood Press

The Stable Block

Crowood Lane

Ramsbury

Marlborough

Wiltshire SN8 2HR

www.bhwesterns.com

Robert Hale is an imprint of The Crowood Press

The right of Gary Dobbs to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him

in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

All rights reserved. This e-book is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

This one is for Beth

Author’s note

They say that truth is stranger than fiction and although many of the events in this story may seem fantastic, not least of which is a band of desperados riding around with a mummified outlaw, I would point you to the strange story of Elmer McCurdy, a real life outlaw who was indeed mummified.

In 1911 McCurdy was shot during a failed robbery and, as no one claimed his body, the undertaker embalmed the outlaw with an arsenic based preservative and put the corpse on display. From there the corpse ended up in various travelling shows before disappearing sometime in the 1930s. Incredibly in 1976, a prop man on the set of the TV series, The Six Million Dollar Man, rediscovered it. It had been thought to be a wax model, and used in a fun house set before a finger broke off, revealing it to be actual human remains. Elmer McCurdy was eventually buried in 1977 in the Boot Hill section of Summit View Cemetery, Oklahoma with most of the cast and crew from The Six Million Dollar Man in attendance.

This book is also dedicated to the memory of Elmer McCurdy and all those who rode the Wild West, both in life and death.

Chapter One

‘Shot in the back,’ the barker yelled. ‘Ain’t no lawman who could have taken Mad Slim McCord face on.’

‘You sure got that right.’ Clay Blackman offered a nickel but the barker held up his hands, palms forward.

‘No, no, old-timer.’ He shook his head vigorously. ‘Not me, give it to him.’

‘Him?’

‘Sure,’ the barker smiled. ‘Put it in his mouth. He’s the one you’re paying to see and it’s only right he takes your money.’

‘In his mouth?’

‘Sure, he’ll gobble it right up.’

Blackman frowned. It seemed a particularly gruesome thing to do but nevertheless he pushed the coin between his dead friend’s lips. He winced as his fingers brushed the dry, almost abrasive tongue.

Strange but McCord didn’t even look dead, propped up as he was against a wooden frame, more like he was sleeping on his feet. The preservation was incredible, and the dead man’s skin, although cold and leathery, seemed to glow with vigour. His eyes of course were glass; Blackman knew that because Slim’s eyes had been a pale grey, rather than the vibrant blue that now stared sightlessly into an unfocused distance. One of the eyes had also been placed at an irregular angle, which gave Slim something of a cock-eyed appearance.

‘How’d he end up like this?’ Blackman wasn’t aware that he had given the thought a voice.

‘Well now.’ The barker rubbed his chin, as though considering his reply rather than going into a well-practised sales pitch. ‘Was a time Mad Slim McCord was one of the most feared men in the West. He terrorized the badlands and sent many a lawman to an early grave.’

Blackman smiled at that. As far as he knew Slim had never been much of a killer; he hadn’t liked killing, and would avoid doing so whenever it was possible. He tended to scare folks with a dazzling combination of skilful gunplay, which was often all it took. One time, Blackman remembered, Slim had shot a sheriff’s hat clean off his head and then plugged it twice more as it spun through the air. After that the lawman hadn’t been any trouble to them and they had been free to go about their unlawful business.

‘The fact that he lived as long as he did is testament to how successful a bandit he was,’ the barker continued. ‘But McCord’s luck ran out one day down in Santino when a lawman recognized him from an old Wanted poster and shot him in the back. Just like that. No warning and a bullet in the back.’

‘Long way from Santino,’ Blackman said. ‘How’d he end up here?’

‘You see, no one claimed the body,’ the barker said. ‘And so the undertaker, figuring he could profit from such an infamous outlaw, decided to embalm the body in preserving solution made of arsenic and strong spirits.’

‘And you bought him?’ Blackman looked the barker directly in the eyes.

The barker nodded, proudly.

‘He’s been dead close on seven years now and looks as if he could have been shot this very morning,’ the barker said. ‘The undertaker had to remove a lot of his innards you know, stuff him back up with sawdust and the like, but that’s a darn fine preservation job, darn fine. American craftsmanship at its best.’

‘You bought the body to turn a profit?’ Blackman found that the most tasteless thing he had ever heard.

‘Sure did,’ the barker said. ‘And I charge a nickel a view. That’s what’s called the entrepreneurial spirit operating in a free market. God bless America.’

‘Guess he sure ain’t gonna choke on that nickel,’ Blackman said.

‘We’re only here one week in Possum Creek,’ the barker said with a broad smile. ‘Be sure to tell all your friends.’

Immediately another man entered, holding his nickel out between a thumb and forefinger. There was a queue of at least fifty people outside the tent waiting for a chance to see the dead man.

Slim had never been that successful an outlaw, Blackman recalled, and guessed that he was making more money dead than he ever had alive.

‘I hear he’s been preserved with a paint made of strong whiskey,’ someone in the crowd said, as Blackman pushed through and made his way to the saloon.

‘Ghoulish,’ Blackman said. ‘That’s what it is, ghoulish.’

‘Sure don’t seem right.’ Tanner drained his glass and immediately slid it across the counter to the barkeep. ‘Put another whiskey in there.’

Two cowmen, still dusty from the trail, came in and took up positions next to Blackman and Tanner at the bar. They both tipped their hats in greeting and then bunched together, losing themselves in their own concerns.

‘Don’t seem right because it ain’t right,’ Blackman said, and then went on to repeat himself. ‘Ghoulish is what it is.’

‘Gives me the spooks to just think about it,’ Tanner agreed.

The two men fell silent while they drank, both lost in private but common thoughts of the many years they had spent riding with Slim McCord. Those years may have often been hard, but, as the two men looked back, they were imbued with a rosy glow. Forgotten were all the times when they’d had to bed down on the hard ground, more often than not freezing because they couldn’t light a fire else they alert some passing law, or the many many times they’d ridden with empty bellies and pockets that didn’t stretch to a meal. Instead, they saw their past as a golden place; an El Dorado in the sun and Slim McCord had been a big part of those golden years.

They had been young men when they’d first ridden together and although neither of them could remember exactly how long ago it was since they’d first taken the owlhoot trail, they knew it had been a mighty long time ago. It had been well before the war. They were both in their late-sixties, so it was a good guess that they had first met a stretch more than forty years ago.

‘Do you recall when we first met him?’ Blackman asked, presently. ‘I can still see those two naked women if I close my eyes.’

Tanner laughed at that. If he thought real hard, pushed through the sands time had scattered over the memory, then he too could see them.

‘To think,’ he said, ‘that the bestest and bravest man a fella’s ever had the pleasure to ride with should end up being part of a travelling carny show.’

‘Yeah.’ Blackman shook his head and drained his own glass. He motioned for the barkeep to leave the bottle and then poured himself another drink. ‘Usually the deal is when you die you get to rest, but poor old Slim’s still on the move. That barker’s doing a roaring trade with our pard’s mortal remains.’

‘Ain’t right.’

‘Nope.’ Blackman had by this point drained and filled his glass twice more, and was starting to feel that fuzzy glow above his eyes. ‘It’s as wrong as wrong can be.’

Yesteryear

Blackman and Tanner were still giggling when the stranger came up silently behind them and cocked his big old Colt Paterson. Their hilarity ceased just as soon as they heard that hammer go back, and they looked at each other and then turned to look into the face of a grinning gunman. At first they didn’t make out any of the man’s features as their attention was solidly focused on the cold mouth of the iron the man held in his hand.

‘Slide your guns from leather,’ the gunman said. ‘Nice and slowly and toss them on the ground.’

Blackman and Tanner both did so.

‘Good, now sit down on the ground.’

Again Blackman and Tanner obeyed and the gunman went and scooped up their guns and slid them into his own gunbelt. Only then did he seem to relax and although he kept his weapon trained on them he was visibly more at ease.

‘Let’s see what amused you two.’ The gunman walked around them and looked down over the banking to the river below. He saw the two women, naked, bathing in the clear mountain waters.

‘We weren’t doing no harm,’ Tanner said, but was silenced when Blackman elbowed him in the ribs.

The gunman turned back and looked at Blackman and Tanner.

‘You know these ladies?’ he asked.

‘Nope,’ Blackman said. ‘We just came upon them.’

‘We weren’t gonna hurt them none,’ Tanner said. ‘Just looking is all. You can’t blame a man for that.’

‘Well I don’t blame you.’ The gunman smiled. ‘They sure are a pair of fine looking ladies.’

It was a glorious afternoon and other than the giggles of the two women in the river and the gentle hum of the breeze through the trees, all was silent. The gunman watched the women some more and then turned back to the two men.

‘Where you heading?’ he asked, but before he could get an answer from either of the men the roar of gunfire filled the air. This was closely followed by screams of alarm from the two women in the river. The gunman looked back towards the women and saw three men, each of them holding iron, standing at the river’s edge. They were laughing and motioning for the women to forget their modesty and get out of the water.

‘Those fellas with you?’ the gunman asked.

‘No, sir,’ Blackman said, and despite the fact that he was unarmed, he crawled forward and lay on the ground next to the gunman. Tanner waited a moment as if to see what would happen to his pard and then he too crawled towards the edge of the bank.

‘We thought we were all alone out here,’ Tanner said, looking directly at the man with the gun. ‘Then first we come across those women, then you turn up and now this.’

‘It sure is getting mighty crowded out here,’ the gunman said. Then: ‘Are you sure you aren’t nothing to do with those excitable fellas down there?’

Both Tanner and Blackman shook their heads.

‘If you’re joshing me I’ll kill you,’ the gunman said and slid the men’s weapons from his gunbelt and placed them on the ground. He kept his Colt in his hand but no longer pointed it at the two men. ‘The way I see it is those fellas down there are a bad sort and you may need these.’

Blackman and Tanner exchanged glances, but at first made no move to take their weapons.

‘Name’s Samuel Isaacs McCord. Friends call me Slim.’

‘Clay Blackman,’ Blackman said, and carefully took his gun. He didn’t want to spook this man McCord with any sudden moves.

‘Tanner,’ Tanner said, and that was all the name he had ever needed. He took his own weapon.

The three men crouched looking down over the bank and Slim flinched when one of the men below fired into the river, ordering the women, who were both holding their arms in such a way as to cover their breasts, out of the water and on to dry land. The women were shaking their heads and pleading with the three men to be left alone, but that wasn’t going to happen and the men were all laughing and shouting out crude remarks.

The way Slim saw it the men must have been aware of the women’s presence and had managed to sneak up on them, maybe they had even been following them for some ways. It wouldn’t have been too difficult to take the women by surprise and he guessed the men must have tied up their horses somewhere in the scrub and gone to the river on foot. There were two mules, no doubt belonging to the women, chewing on the foliage at the river’s edge. The dumb beasts were not startled by the men and continued with their foraging, ignoring everything going on around them. One of the mules had a battered Stetson upon its head, holes cut into the brim through which its ears protruded.

‘This is gonna get nasty,’ Slim said. ‘Those fellas down there mean to take those women for their own pleasure.’

‘Sure seems that way,’ Blackman agreed.

‘They’ll likely kill them afterwards,’ Tanner pointed out. He had heard tell of men like this and didn’t much like the stories he had been told.

‘And we gotta stop them.’ Slim looked at Blackman and Tanner. ‘You two with me on this?’

Blackman and Tanner exchanged a glance and then nodded.

‘We’re with you,’ Blackman said.

‘Then the way I see it . . .’ Slim looked around them and then back at the men below. One of the women was cautiously wading over to the river’s edge while one of the men stood on the bank, arm out, eagerly awaiting her. ‘Those men don’t know how many guns we have up here. I want you two to spread out while I go down and shake them up some. Don’t fire until I give the signal and when I do I want you to fire off a few rounds, but move about between shots. Likely I can bluff these men that there’s a bunch of guns with me.’

‘What’s the signal?’ Blackman asked.

Slim looked at him, smiled, and ran a hand through the stubble on his chin.

‘I’m gonna get as close as I can,’ he said. ‘I’ll maybe get to the bottom of this slope before they notice me since they seem to be concentrating on the women. And I’ll fire a warning shot, but when I fire for the second time I want you two to open up.’

‘Got it.’ Blackman slid over to the far left of the slope, while Tanner went in the opposite direction.

Slim stood up, looked towards the heavens, crossed himself and then slowly started down the bank.

Below him the woman had reached the river’s edge but was still reluctant to get out of the water. She pointed to her clothes, but the men were laughing and then one of them picked up the clothes the women had arranged neatly on a large rock and started dancing about. The other woman remained in the water, watching her companion. Even from this distance Slim could see the fear in her face.

Slim reached the foot of the bank without the men noticing him. He now stood less than twenty feet from the men and, just as the man grabbed the woman’s hand and was about to pull her naked from the water, he let off a warning shot, firing into the ground at the dancing man’s feet, sending dirt spitting into the air.

The three men suddenly forgot the woman and turned to face Slim.

Slim smiled.

‘Howdy, boys,’ he said.

The men exchanged puzzled looks and then one of them, a tall gangly-looking man with long black hair that framed the cruel lines of his face, stepped forward and regarded Slim through eyes that were hooded like those of a hawk.

‘You figuring on taking on the three of us?’ he asked.

‘Could be,’ Slim said. ‘If you fellas push it that way.’

‘If we push it that way!’ The man looked at Slim, a mixture of amazement and perhaps fear in his eyes.

Slim nodded. ‘Though to be honest,’ he said, ‘I would rather the three of you rode away nice and peaceable. But if you push it then I’ll kill you.’

‘You sound mighty confident.’ The man spat into the dust.

‘I am that,’ Slim said.

‘One gun against three don’t seem like good odds,’ the man said. ‘Least not from your side. Looks to me like the cards are stacked in my favour.’

‘You ain’t seen my hand,’ Slim said and raised his gun and fired into the air. Almost immediately a barrage of gunfire followed from the bank above. Slim smiled, counting over seven shots before there was silence.

The two gunmen furthest away were visibly shaken and were looking to the third man for guidance.

‘You want to play your hand now?’ Slim asked, a smile upon his face and the hint of laughter in his pale grey eyes.

For a moment it seemed as if the man was indeed ready to answer the gunfire and Slim tensed, but then the man slid his gun back into its leather and backed away to the other two men who followed his lead and holstered their weapons.

‘I see you again, I’ll kill you, stranger,’ the man said.

‘Sure,’ Slim smiled again. ‘I’ll likely manage to avoid such an ugly threesome as you fellas.’

‘You do that,’ the man said, and then once more spat into the dirt. He started walking along the trail, his men following behind. Slim waited until they were out of sight before collecting together the women’s clothes and placing them on the river’s edge.

‘I’ll turn my back,’ he said, ‘while you ladies climb out and get dressed.’

‘Thank you,’ one of the women said.

Slim turned away and looked up the hill, wondering if Blackman and Tanner were getting an eyeful as the women climbed from the river behind him.

Chapter Two