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

poser.
    “I’ll collect that, too, when I get back.”
    “No, I won’t hear of it.”
    “Let him, Melly. We need to conserve our cash.”
    “Listen to your brother,” Slocum advised her. To the merchant, he said, “I’ll be back in an hour. Have all the gear ready for me then.”
    They dickered a bit more over the price and what was available, then Slocum took both the Baranskys by the arm and steered them away.
    “You find a place to stay until I get back in a few days. It might take a week, but if I’m gone longer than that, bet money I’m not coming back at all.”
    “You mean you will have discovered gold?”
    At first Slocum thought the woman was joking, then saw her solemn expression.
    “Yeah, that’s right.”
    Stephen Baransky obviously caught Slocum’s jest and looked around.
    “I need to get some directions first, then I’ll be off.”
    “But,” said Melissa, “all you need do is ride up that trail. It is quite well defined and easy to follow. I can tell that from here.”
    “The trail gets rockier higher up the slope. Getting through Desolation Pass is something of a gamble at the best of times, and spring storms make the way deadly right now.”
    He tipped his hat to her, exchanged looks with her brother, then headed for the nearest saloon. Stephen made a slighting comment about men who couldn’t go without liquor, but Slocum ignored it. He still had a powerful thirst, but whiskey wasn’t what he sought. A thief who had just sold a stolen mule would likely wet his whistle before heading back up the mountainside.
    And he was likely to head for the nearest gin mill.
    Slocum stepped into the saloon and was immediately engulfed in smoke, stale beer odors, and soaring dreams. A half-dozen prospectors pressed against the bar, all talking excitedly about how much gold they would find and what they were going to spend their first million on. He dismissed them out of hand because the owlhoot he sought knew a better way to getting rich.
    Three men played cards at a back table and another shot pool at a table propped up with a rock and a few wedges of wood. Slocum moved to the poker table, drawn by the click of chips and soft swishing of cards being dealt, but he turned and stared when the man at the pool table leaned forward to make a difficult across-table shot.
    His boot heel was deeply notched in the same way as the print he had discovered at the corral. Slocum dropped into a chair and watched as the man shot and repeatedly missed,then flung the cue onto the table and loudly proclaimed, “Damned table’s not level and them balls ain’t round neither. How you expect a man to play a proper game with defective equipment?”
    “Leastwise the table’s got balls. That’s more ’n I can say for you,” called out the barkeep. “You gonna pay what you owe me or are you gonna just take up space?”
    “To hell with you.” The man fumbled in his pocket and drew out a thick wad of greenbacks. He peeled off a large number of bills and dropped them on the pool table. “That’ll take care of the lot of us.”
    “You want a bottle of the special to take back with you?”
    “Why not? But it had better be real Kaintuck bourbon and not that trade whiskey you boil up. Trueheart ain’t gonna put up with it.”
    “Tell him he’s welcome anytime he’s in town. You, now, you son of a bitch, clear out.”
    The two men’s animosity boiled over. The pool player went for his six-gun, but the barkeep had a scattergun out and pointed. They stood frozen for a moment, then the man at the pool table stalked out the back door. Slocum shot to his feet and went outside, waiting for the man to come into sight. When he didn’t round the building, Slocum went hunting.
    Behind the saloon he found only heavy mud that was too deep to take decent tracks. It looked as if the entire 2nd Infantry from Camp Coeur d’Alene had marched across it. Nowhere did he see the man from the saloon. Slocum went back through the rear