Read Online Slocum Giant 2013 : Slocum and the Silver City Harlot (9781101601860) by Jake Logan - Free Book Online

cell might be harder than the adobe in the foot-thick walls. Slocum vowed to stay out of those cells, but from the sheriff’s cordial greeting and the lack of wanted posters put up anywhere around the small building, there shouldn’t be a reason to worry.
    â€œI work as a teamster for an ice company up in Santa Fe,” he said.
    â€œHolst? I know the varmint.” The sheriff tipped back in his chair, hooked his thumbs in the armholes of his brocade vest, and fixed Slocum with a steely look.
    â€œHope he didn’t rook you,” Slocum said, “because I need a lawman to help recover the wagon I was driving.” He explained what had happened. The longer he talked, the more the sheriff scowled.
    â€œYou got a name?” the lawman finally asked.
    â€œSlocum.”
    â€œI’ll get a telegram off to Holst about this. I’m Harvey Whitehill.”
    Slocum had never heard Holst mention him. He took that as a good thing since Holst could go on about his political and business rivals until a man’s ears fell off.
    â€œWill the man over at Doc Fuller back up what you said?”
    â€œDon’t know if he’s in any shape to. The doctor thought the trip here took more out of him than getting shot.”
    â€œThree outlaws, eh? And Apaches? Them I heard about. A courier from over at Fort Bayard brought around the news a small band of Warm Springs Apaches had left the reservation. Thought they might end up annoyin’ us here in Silver City since this was one of their old campgrounds.”
    â€œI’d heard that,” Slocum said. “But the Indians attacked the road agents more to get the mules hitched to the wagon than what was in it.”
    â€œOnly ice?” Sheriff Whitehill shook his head. “Can’t say I wouldn’t mind a chip or two of ice in my whiskey, but these gents were mighty insistent on stealin’ the whole danged block. You got to wonder on that. Where’d they sell it?”
    â€œThat thought occurred to me, too,” Slocum said. “It’s likely too late to salvage the ice, but Holst wouldn’t mind seeing the wagon and mules back.”
    â€œCan’t blame him overmuch,” Whitehill said. “Let’s you and me go for a ride.”
    â€œYou know the road agents?”
    â€œCan’t say I do, but from where you said they robbed you, there’re only a couple places they could drive a wagon.”
    â€œAlong the road over to Tombstone,” Slocum said, “where I was headed.”
    â€œNo point in them showing up with the ice if you’d ever challenge them. Might be the only place they could sell the ice, but more ’n likely, they went here.” Whitehill unrolled a map and stabbed down on it. “That’s not more ’n a couple miles south of here.”
    â€œWhy there?”
    Whitehill stroked his mustache and pursed his lips as he thought. Then he shrugged.
    â€œâ€™Cuz they have to go somewhere. No idea why they’d take ice if they didn’t have a use for it. The road to Tombstone is mighty lonely. From here they might go on over to Shakespeare. Those owlhoots runnin’ the way station there might sell the ice to stagecoach passengers with some luck.”
    Slocum saw the town Whitehill pointed out was about thirty miles to the southwest. He had no way of knowing if the sheriff guessed right, but it was better than anything Slocum could come up with.
    â€œAll I’ve got is the Indian pony. No gear.”
    â€œYou rode here just fine. Won’t hurt you none to ride bareback a day or two longer.”
    Slocum went to fetch his horse and waited impatiently as Whitehill ducked into Dr. Fuller’s surgery. The sheriff returned, frowning.
    â€œI got myself the makin’s of a real mystery here, Slocum. The man you brung in let the doctor pull out a bullet, then snuck out when Fuller turned his back.”
    â€œHe must be around town somewhere. He