Read Slocum #396 : Slocum and the Scavenger Trail (9781101554371) for Free Online

gentleman is going to aid us.”
    “There’s one outfitter in town,” Slocum said, remembering how the merchant had duped Hawkins. That wasn’t going to happen again. “Let me do the dickering.”
    “We’ll see about that,” Stephen said coldly.
    Brother and sister started toward the merchant’s tent, letting Slocum bring up the rear. It was a pointed insult showing that they considered him little more than a servant who could trail behind his betters, but Slocum didn’t mind since he got a chance to watch Melissa walk from behind.
    “You, sir, a word. We would make a few purchases,” Stephen called out. The merchant wiped dirty hands on his equally filthy apron and graced the Baranskys with a broad smile that died when he saw Slocum.
    “I need a mule and gear,” Slocum said.
    “What’s happened to—” The merchant bit off his question since it didn’t matter. Let Slocum buy everything. Who he sold to was less important than the amount he got for his goods.
    “I need a sturdy mule,” Slocum said, then detailed the rest of the supplies. A week on the trail would be all he required. Either he found Clem Baransky by then or he didn’t and would return to tell his children the man was dead.
    “Got a few good ones out back. Let’s go take a look at ’em, eh?” The merchant jerked his thumb over his shoulder. Slocum noticed the Baranskys let him lead the way down the muddy alley to the corral out back.
    “That’s all you have?” Stephen asked.
    “Don’t need a lot, son, when you got the best. And that’s what these are. The best.”
    Slocum went to the corral and stared at the nearest mule.
    “This one’s the best you’re likely to find,” Slocum said.
    It was the same mule Clement Baransky had left town riding.

4
    “Who sold you the mule?” Slocum asked. He moved along the corral fence to be certain this was Baransky’s mule. It was. A peculiar white star off-center on the face was identical, as was a long brown mark on the right front leg.
    “Nobody around here has a name. Why should they?”
    Slocum glanced at the merchant and knew he was lying.
    “Want to buy some more but going straight to the breeder next time will save time and money,” Slocum said. He got a short, barking laugh as reply.
    “You ain’t cuttin’ me out no deal, mister. No way. Besides, the gent what sold me these mules ain’t a breeder. He just happened to come into them.”
    “Inherited them,” Slocum said in a neutral voice.
    “Why aren’t we pressing on with this negotiation?” Stephen Baransky glared at Slocum. “Time is of the essence.”
    “An hour, more or less, isn’t going to matter,” Slocum said. He walked around the corral, ostensibly to study the other mules. He saw several distinctive boot prints. Someone with a deep V cut in the right heel had walked throughthe mud recently since the prints hadn’t yet disappeared from a welter of mules and other people crowding in.
    “I like the youngster’s conviction on this. Time’s slippin’ away fer us all. Strike while the iron’s hot.”
    “I’ll take the mule. That one.” Slocum pointed to the one Baransky had ridden from town on.
    “Now you’re talkin’.”
    “Do we get a bill of sale?”
    “Little lady,” the merchant said condescendingly, “next thing you’ll be wantin’ me to sign a paper sayin’ I got title free and clear to this animal.”
    “Don’t you?”
    The merchant looked at Slocum, then laughed.
    “You kin tell her how things’re done out here, mister. Either give me one hundred dollars or find another mule.”
    “Here,” Slocum said, peeling off the greenbacks from the roll in his pocket.
    “Wait, sir, I said we would—” Melissa started to open her purse, but Slocum grabbed and closed it. He caught the merest flash of a lot of money inside. It wasn’t smart flashing that kind of scrip around a boomtown—or any town. How she had survived in the world without getting killed for her money was something of a