Read Slocum Giant 2013 : Slocum and the Silver City Harlot (9781101601860) for Free Online

It’s as close as we can get to the law.”
    â€œThe law! What? Why?”
    â€œOutlaws stole my cargo. They shot your horse, left us for dead. If I don’t report this to Holst, he’ll think I made off with his ice, his wagon, and his team.”
    â€œThat makes sense,” Frank said, but Slocum heard no conviction in the man’s voice. Other than not letting Frank get behind him, Slocum wanted nothing more to do with the red-haired man.
    Slocum waited for Frank to strip the saddle from his horse and heave it up onto his shoulder. He staggered a little. Slocum waited for him to ask for help, but Frank held his tongue. That was just fine. Walking wasn’t something Slocum took kindly to, and reaching Silver City might take a day or longer with this rugged terrain slowing him.
    â€œIf we follow the wagon tracks, we might overtake them,” Frank ventured.
    â€œYou still hot to recover the cargo?” Slocum wondered at the man’s determination. Holst might have found himself a real bulldog. Once Frank got something in his head, he refused to let it die.
    It struck Slocum as odd how Holst hadn’t sent Frank along with him rather than setting him on his trail, but the ice company owner was cantankerous and did things in his own way. A persuasive argument might have been enough for Holst to send Frank along. Or the redhead could have convinced Holst that the cargo was too valuable to trust to Slocum alone. If that were true, Holst’s fears had been realized.
    After an hour walking, Frank dropped his gear, mopped his forehead with his blue kerchief, and pointed off at an angle.
    â€œThe wagon went that way.”
    â€œAnd a half-dozen riders joined them,” Slocum said. He stared at the ground, then dropped to his knees to get a better read. Looking up, he said, “Apaches. These ponies weren’t shod.”
    â€œIndians wouldn’t want the ice. They might just scalp those mangy sons of bitches so we can claim the wagon and ice again.”
    Slocum rolled the idea over in his head. What Frank said had merit. Apaches would strip the outlaws and leave the rest. They had no use for a wagon and even less for ice. But if they made any mistake while trailing the Apaches, he and Frank would find themselves in a world of trouble. Even if they didn’t, the chance of discovery by the Indians was great. Slocum had been told several war parties had slipped away from their reservations dotted around the New Mexico and Arizona borders.
    â€œThe Apaches had a camp at one time where Silver City got built,” Slocum said. “Might be they’re heading there.”
    â€œGoing home?”
    â€œSomething like that,” Slocum said. “This used to be their hunting grounds. More likely, they’re trying to avoid the cavalry and aren’t anything more than a raiding party.”
    The words hardly left his lips when distant gunfire came rolling toward them from farther down the mountain. He touched his six-gun and wished he had the Henry rifle he’d left in the driver’s box. Firepower counted whether they went against either the outlaws or the Indians. Taking on both sides required more guns than either he or Frank could bring to bear. The smartest thing he could do was let the outlaws and Apaches shoot it out, then go pick up the pieces.
    â€œCome on, Slocum. We got to get down there,” Frank said.
    â€œHold your horses. Let me scout ahead before we bull our way into a fight we can’t win.”
    â€œBut the ice!”
    Slocum stared at him. Frank was single-minded about the ice, and that made no sense. Even if Holst paid the man a bonus to deliver the ice—or withheld payment for not delivering it—the devotion to duty made no sense when balanced against the man’s life. If Slocum hadn’t seen the melting ice during the trip, he would have thought Holst was shipping something else to Tombstone.
    â€œYou that good a