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

door and to the bar, where he caught the barkeep’s attention.
    “I wanted to send a message to Trueheart,” he said, “but the gent who was just in here left before I could talk to him.”
    The barkeep stared at him as if he were made of smoke.
    “Don’t know nobody named Trueheart,” the bartender said. “And you’re the only one who’s come and gone. What are you drinkin’?”
    Slocum left without another word. He was getting hot under the collar but understood what was going on. Trueheart had a gang working the trail leading over the mountains, and everyone in town was beholden to him. The merchant bought and sold stolen equipment many times over and the barkeep made a steady income off profits.
    He returned to the corral, where the merchant had dropped a pack and supplies into the mud. Slocum wiped off the filth, carefully packed, making sure he had everything he needed, then lashed the pack down onto the mule’s rump. With a jump, he was over and astride the animal, much to its displeasure. It took a few seconds to convince the balky mule he wasn’t getting down. With some reluctance, the mule turned of its own accord to the trail leading to Desolation Pass and began walking.
    It had been this way before—many times before. Slocum wondered if it had ever gone the entire way.
    Going over the same terrain proved easier the second time. Slocum had a good memory for roads he had traveled, and this was no exception. He passed the turnoff where he had insisted the original party camp for the night and pressed on to the rocky gap. Clem Baransky had made it this far. But how much farther along the road had he traveled before being dry-gulched?
    Slocum realized he might never find the exact spot—or Baransky’s body. It had been pure accident that he had found Hawkins after he had been killed. If the road agents had taken more time and tossed his body over a cliff, the carrion eaters would have reduced Hawkins to skeletal remains within a day or two. The best Slocum could hope was to find where Baransky had been waylaid and maybe bury what was left of him.
    He found himself not wanting to upset Melissa Baransky more than necessary. The sight of her pa’s half-decomposed body slung over a mule’s back would be a shock he couldsidestep with a judicious lie. Slocum reached into his coat pocket and drew out the envelope so he could hold it in the fading sunlight. The copper tint the setting sun lent the writing might have been mistaken for blood.
    The letter was simply addressed “Father.”
    What brother and sister felt was so all-fired important that they had to leave their fancy-ass society and come to Idaho after their pa might be in the letter. Slocum had a passing curiosity about it, but mail was as sacrosanct as a man’s word. He would pass it on to Baransky if he found him alive or, more likely, return the unopened letter to Melissa after he gave up hunting for the corpse.
    As he swayed along, the surefooted mule hardly missing a step as the road increasingly sloped upward, he found himself almost asleep. The dangers were great and he ought to remain alert, but thoughts of Melissa Baransky kept crowding out attentiveness. She was quite a looker. He reached into his coat pocket and fingered the edge of the envelope, wondering what she had written to her pa and why she had traipsed across the country to this godforsaken edge of nowhere.
    It was a mystery but not one Slocum was willing to solve by opening the envelope and reading the letter. Considering how both brother and sister had acted, there might be nothing at all inside. It might be a trick to see how trustworthy he was.
    Such thoughts led to ruin. Slocum had no reason to trust them nor did they have any reason to trust him. He was surprised the merchant hadn’t mentioned Slocum leading an earlier party out, but chances were good he didn’t want to jinx another sale. More than this, Trueheart might not be the only outlaw working the trail. Slocum