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Book: Slocum #396 : Slocum and the Scavenger Trail (9781101554371) by Jake Logan
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Authors: Jake Logan
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mule of yours,” a man said, coming through the gate. He walked easy and carrieda rifle in the crook of his left arm. There didn’t seem to be any hint he recognized Slocum or had orders to shoot on sight.
Slocum did as he was told, aware of several rifle barrels poking through loopholes in the palisade. He’d better do some fancy talking because shooting would only win him an early grave.
“Where you headin’, mister?”
“Through there. To the other side of your fence.”
The man laughed so hard that the tips of his well-waxed handlebar mustache unfurled, leaving fuzzy ends.
“Of course you want to get on through. They all do. You got the toll?”
“How much?”
For some reason, that caused the guard to swing his rifle around and aim it in Slocum’s general direction.
“Mister, if this is where you want to ride, you know the answer to that.”
Slocum considered the greenbacks in his pocket. That might be enough to bribe his way past. He doubted simply riding back the way he came was safe. Any of the riflemen could put a bullet in his spine—and likely would.
“Got this,” Slocum said, pulling out the silver dollar with the hole shot through it. He flipped it so it spun about in the air and reached for his six-shooter at the same time.
The guard deftly caught the coin, barely looked at it before tossing it back.
“Why didn’t you say so? No need to get us all het up.” The guard stepped out of his way, and the rifles disappeared from the loopholes.
Slocum wasn’t sure what had happened, but the plugged silver dollar was a ticket past the guards. He tucked the coin safely into his pocket and rode through, looking neither left nor right. He rounded a bend in the road a hundred yards from the fence before he let out his breath in an explosive gasp. Lady luck finally rode on his shoulder. He had thoughtthe silver dollar might be melted down to a nugget and swapped for real coins—smaller ones. Never had he considered it to be the key that opened a gateway to…
…an entire city.
He halted the mule and stared. Nestled in a saddle of a pass that led back deeper into the hills lay a town equal in size to the one at the base on the other side of Desolation Mountain. There didn’t seem to be as much commercial activity but the buildings were numerous, and he saw several large saloons along the main street. Side streets meandered off to one-story houses. From the horses and mules tethered, there might be a population of several hundred living here.
Before he urged his mule on, he cocked his head to one side. A faint sound teased him, then disappeared. He couldn’t put a name to it, but it was familiar. Slocum waited another few seconds, but it never sounded again.
He rode down the center of the broad street, taking in every detail. Like the other town, this one had no name he could discern, but it was as much a boomtown with the buildings thrown up higgledy-piggledy. Most buildings canted to one side or the other and the saloon to his right might have been built by a drunk carpenter. Nowhere did he see a perfect square. The doorway appeared to have been stepped on by a giant and squeezed to one side but was wide enough for three men to enter side by side. Nails had been used liberally to hold it all together, though some cracks between planks were large enough for Slocum to slide his hand through.
One strong wind would topple many of the buildings, but from the men coming and going. he saw no real concern. Most were dressed as cowboys and all wore their iron high up on their hip. A few carried their six-shooters lower, tied down onto their thigh like a gunfighter. From the cold stares he got from them, he doubted many had ridden herd or plowed a field.
As he rode, Slocum was aware of men glancing at him,but that was the full extent of their scrutiny. They paid him no attention other than he was riding down the street. Strangers weren’t to be feared—he guessed most everyone in this town rated
Slocum did as he was told, aware of several rifle barrels poking through loopholes in the palisade. He’d better do some fancy talking because shooting would only win him an early grave.
“Where you headin’, mister?”
“Through there. To the other side of your fence.”
The man laughed so hard that the tips of his well-waxed handlebar mustache unfurled, leaving fuzzy ends.
“Of course you want to get on through. They all do. You got the toll?”
“How much?”
For some reason, that caused the guard to swing his rifle around and aim it in Slocum’s general direction.
“Mister, if this is where you want to ride, you know the answer to that.”
Slocum considered the greenbacks in his pocket. That might be enough to bribe his way past. He doubted simply riding back the way he came was safe. Any of the riflemen could put a bullet in his spine—and likely would.
“Got this,” Slocum said, pulling out the silver dollar with the hole shot through it. He flipped it so it spun about in the air and reached for his six-shooter at the same time.
The guard deftly caught the coin, barely looked at it before tossing it back.
“Why didn’t you say so? No need to get us all het up.” The guard stepped out of his way, and the rifles disappeared from the loopholes.
Slocum wasn’t sure what had happened, but the plugged silver dollar was a ticket past the guards. He tucked the coin safely into his pocket and rode through, looking neither left nor right. He rounded a bend in the road a hundred yards from the fence before he let out his breath in an explosive gasp. Lady luck finally rode on his shoulder. He had thoughtthe silver dollar might be melted down to a nugget and swapped for real coins—smaller ones. Never had he considered it to be the key that opened a gateway to…
…an entire city.
He halted the mule and stared. Nestled in a saddle of a pass that led back deeper into the hills lay a town equal in size to the one at the base on the other side of Desolation Mountain. There didn’t seem to be as much commercial activity but the buildings were numerous, and he saw several large saloons along the main street. Side streets meandered off to one-story houses. From the horses and mules tethered, there might be a population of several hundred living here.
Before he urged his mule on, he cocked his head to one side. A faint sound teased him, then disappeared. He couldn’t put a name to it, but it was familiar. Slocum waited another few seconds, but it never sounded again.
He rode down the center of the broad street, taking in every detail. Like the other town, this one had no name he could discern, but it was as much a boomtown with the buildings thrown up higgledy-piggledy. Most buildings canted to one side or the other and the saloon to his right might have been built by a drunk carpenter. Nowhere did he see a perfect square. The doorway appeared to have been stepped on by a giant and squeezed to one side but was wide enough for three men to enter side by side. Nails had been used liberally to hold it all together, though some cracks between planks were large enough for Slocum to slide his hand through.
One strong wind would topple many of the buildings, but from the men coming and going. he saw no real concern. Most were dressed as cowboys and all wore their iron high up on their hip. A few carried their six-shooters lower, tied down onto their thigh like a gunfighter. From the cold stares he got from them, he doubted many had ridden herd or plowed a field.
As he rode, Slocum was aware of men glancing at him,but that was the full extent of their scrutiny. They paid him no attention other than he was riding down the street. Strangers weren’t to be feared—he guessed most everyone in this town rated
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