Free Slocum #422 by Jake Logan Page A

maid were holed up in the first car. Even over the clanking of the steel wheels, he heard snippets of an argument. If he had been more interested, he would have spied on them the way Jefferson did. The conductor stood on the narrow platform between cars, making no bones about eavesdropping. When the dry wind began blowing off the hard desert, the conductor came back into Slocum’s car and looked around.
    â€œYou shore do live like a king heah,” the conductor said.
    â€œFirst time for everything,” Slocum said. He had found a small bar and had poured himself three shots of whiskey. Holding up the glass, he silently offered one to the man. Jefferson shook his head.
    â€œNot whilst I on duty.”
    â€œWhat are they arguing about?” Slocum’s eyes darted toward the front of the train.
    â€œYou cain’t figger that out? You smarter ’n that, Slocum.”
    Sipping the whiskey relieved some of the aches and pains he had accumulated in San Diego and while repairing the engine. The bath had cleaned out the scrapes and cuts and Sarah Jane had done her best to make him forget the worst of his injuries. For her part, she had succeeded better than the fine whiskey.
    â€œThat’s a strange pair,” he said.
    â€œThey don’t look so strange to me, but what do I know? I’s only a po’ black fella who don’t git to look on no nekkid white lady. That ain’t what’s evah gonna happen.”
    Slocum laughed. “I meant Marlene and Sarah Jane, not Sarah Jane’s, uh, endowments. It hardly seems Sarah Jane works for the boss’s daughter the way she acts.”
    â€œShe do be a quiet one.”
    â€œYou’ve got quite a sense of humor. The pair of them were in a cathouse and Sarah Jane was watching a man take one of the soiled doves like she was a dog. Spying on them through a peephole in the wall.”
    â€œDo tell. Sarah Jane’s got mo’ to her than I’da thunk.” Jefferson checked his watch, studied it as if the secrets of the universe were revealed, then snapped shut the lid and replaced the gold watch in a vest pocket. “We’s ’bout ready to cross the ribber.”
    â€œYou sound worried. Should I be?”
    â€œThat there trestle’s been mighty shaky ever’ time we rolled ovah it. We don’t get ovah that bridge, we don’t go nowheah.”
    Slocum downed his whiskey and let it warm him. He couldn’t help comparing this warmth with what Sarah Jane had sparked inside him. That was better. Climbing to his feet, he stretched. Seams across the coat’s shoulders gave way. Slocum was broader there than Burlison and the shirt flapped around his chest and middle. Burlison carried greater girth than did Slocum, but the fine cloth felt as good as anything he’d ever worn, other than Sarah Jane, in a long time. The clothing was expensive and gave him the look of a man of means, even if he didn’t have two dimes to rub together.
    He settled his ­six-­shooter at his hip and followed Jefferson forward. Since the train had pulled out, he hadn’t budged from his car. If he wanted to talk to Mad Tom, he had to pass through Marlene’s ­car—­and get another look at Sarah Jane.
    The car had been partitioned so there were two sleeping quarters. Marlene sat on a chair in the common area working on needlepoint. When Slocum and Jefferson entered the car, she looked up and smiled. Slocum recognized the expression and wasn’t about to do anything about it. She was the boss’s daughter. Besides, he had a spitfire in Sarah Jane to keep him company whenever she could sneak away from her mistress.
    â€œGood day, Mr. Slocum.”
    â€œMa’am,” Slocum said, touching the brim of his hat.
    â€œYou folk, now, you do go on and settle mattahs.” Jefferson disappeared through the front door and worked his way outside along the tender to talk to Mad Tom.
    â€œI should