Read Online Slocum and the Socorro Saloon Sirens by Jake Logan - Free Book Online Page A

brother. Roger’s scrawny legs dangled over the edge of the bed. He slipped into his white hospital gown to avoid shivering from the cold. He smelled of strong medication, and there was peach fuzz on his chin and jowls. His hair looked like an explosion of copper wire.
    â€œWhat did you bring me?” Roger asked as he scooted forward an inch or two.
    Paddy opened the sack and poured the contents onto Roger’s pillow. Roger’s eyes grew wide and flickered with a happy light.
    â€œTo replace that piece of junk you lost,” Paddy said.
    There, on the pillow, was a brand new Colt .45, the latest Peacemaker model, with stag grips, and a box of Winchester cartridges. The pistol gleamed a bright black in the lamplight. Roger picked it up with his right hand and looked at the fine even bluing of the barrel. He thumbed the hammer back to half-cock and spun the cylinder. The pistol gave out a reassuring purr.
    â€œBoy, that’s really something, Paddy. Is it mine?”
    â€œAll yours, boy. I cleaned it up for you, but it’s a virgin. Never been fired.”
    â€œBrand new? Oh, Paddy.”
    â€œYou can load it up later and we’ll do some plinkin’ when you’re up to it. I got something else to show you before we leave this place.”
    â€œWhat’s that?” Roger said as he eased the hammer back down. He rubbed his fingerprints from the barrel with the sleeve of his gown and set the pistol next to his bare leg.
    Paddy reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He folded it back in half and showed Roger the drawing of a man’s face. Above the drawing there was the legend WANTED—REWARD.
    â€œTake a good look, Rog,” Paddy said.
    Roger studied the drawing of a man’s face on the piece of paper.
    â€œYeah, that looks like the man who shot me. Only not as old. Who is he?”
    Paddy took the paper and unfolded it.
    â€œJohn Slocum,” Roger said as he scanned the name beneath the crude portrait. “How did you know?”
    â€œSombra. He told me that he’d seen the man before and that there was a price on his head. Slocum’s a wanted man. Killed a judge down in Georgia after the war.”
    â€œOne thousand dollars,” Roger said, as that was the legend at the bottom of the sheet of paper: REWARD—$1000.
    â€œIt may be a mite more by now. That dodger was in an old stack of them I found in a file cabinet. Left there by the previous sheriff.”
    Roger looked at the flyer again.
    â€œYeah, that’s him. I’m sure of it,” he said. “And with a bounty on his head. I’d sure like to get another shot at him.”
    â€œHe’s wanted alive,” Paddy said. “Not dead.”
    â€œI’d still like to shoot him.”
    Paddy folded the paper and put it in his pocket. He patted the outside of his pocket.
    â€œThis gives me the right to throw down on that bastard and lock him up. I could use a thousand dollars about now.”
    â€œIf I help, would we split it?”
    â€œSure, kid. We’d split it. Eighty/twenty.”
    â€œEight hundred for you, two hundred for me?”
    Paddy laughed.
    He reached down and opened the cabinet. He pulled out Roger’s bundle of clothes, his gun belt and holster.
    â€œHere, get dressed, Roger, and I’ll take you to home.”
    â€œI can’t wait to put that pistol in my holster and feel its weight on my hip.”
    â€œDon’t get in no big rush,” Paddy said. “You got some healin’ to do.”
    â€œYeah. I’ll heal real fast. Damn that John Slocum anyway.”
    â€œHe shows up in Socorro and I’ll clap him in irons,” Paddy said as he watched his brother dress and strap on his gun belt. Just before they left, Roger slid the new Colt into its holster and grinned.
    â€œIt’s a right good fit, all right, Paddy.”
    Paddy said nothing. He was wondering if he should put together a