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

didn’t have a horse and wasn’t strong enough to walk too far.”
    â€œI got me a new deputy. He can take care of our refugee.”
    â€œBut the doctor told you everything I said was right?”
    Whitehill looked hard at Slocum and nodded once. Slocum saw he wasn’t a man to take anything for granted and had questioned the doctor.
    â€œAs much as he could. Saddle up.” Whitehill hesitated, grinned crookedly, then amended, “Mount up. We got a hard ride ahead of us.”
    Slocum found himself hard-pressed to maintain the pace set by the sheriff. His pony was tired from hauling two men into Silver City and hadn’t been given time enough to rest or eat its fill. Still, the Apaches had trained the horse well, and it lagged behind only a few times.
    After four hours of riding, the sheriff motioned for Slocum to pull up.
    â€œSee those tracks?”
    Slocum didn’t have to dismount to know they had come across the wagon tracks. From the way the right side tracks were intermittently wider, he knew this was the ice wagon. The wheels on that side wobbled a mite, causing it to track poorly. He had complained to Holst about this but all the satisfaction he’d gotten was a wrench, a spare axle nut, and the promise to repair the wagon when Slocum drove back from Tombstone.
    â€œTook ’em longer to get here than it ought to have, from what you said about the robbery and the skirmish with the Indians.”
    â€œThey likely wanted to put some distance between the Apaches—and me.” Slocum explained about the right wheels.
    â€œThey can’t be too far ahead.” Sheriff Whitehill looked at Slocum’s six-gun. “Don’t be too quick to use that hogleg, but don’t be too slow neither.”
    With that, the sheriff motioned Slocum to ride some distance to his left, then slowly worked his way along the rocky path down a steep slope. Slocum spotted the wagon before the lawman. He imitated a quail to get Whitehill’s attention, then pointed. The sheriff slid his rifle from the sheath and started ahead. Slocum mirrored his approach.
    They didn’t immediately go to the wagon sitting forlornly in the middle of a rocky clearing. The mules tugged on their harnesses, trying to reach some grass nearby. The canvas had been ripped away from the crate. The road agents had worried open the side of the crate. From the puddle of water beneath the wagon, Slocum knew the ice had been exposed to the sun and had melted away.
    â€œNow don’t that beat all,” Whitehill said. He cocked his rifle.
    Slocum perked up and looked around. Seeing nothing that threatened them, he rode to the far side of the wagon so he could get the same look at the crate that the sheriff already had.
    He caught his breath.
    â€œPass over that Colt, Slocum. I got some questions to ask, and you’re goin’ to give me the answers.”
    Slocum stared at the damage done to the crate, the sawdust insulation all caked and lying in wet lumps—and at the body that had been frozen into the ice he had been shipping.

7
    â€œYou can’t think I had anything to do with killing him,” Slocum protested.
    â€œShut yer tater trap and drive. I’ll get to the bottom of this, but it surely does look as if you are the one who killed . . . him.”
    Slocum looked sharply at the sheriff. From the way Whitehill spoke, he knew the identity of the dead man. How that was possible posed as big a question as to how the body got into the cake of ice Slocum was driving to Tombstone. A quick look at the body had shown a bullet had ended the man’s life, going into his chest just above his heart. The ice and melting water had partially erased the blood from the man’s coat, but the expression on his face had been frozen. He hadn’t died easy.
    Snapping the reins, Slocum maneuvered the mule team along a steep ravine. He considered his chances of letting the wagon tumble