Free Slocum and the Grizzly Flats Killers (9781101619216) by Jake Logan Page B

worked its worst and turned the man a touch crazy.
    Slocum bade the miner a good evening and started down the hillside, the hairs on his neck bristling until he was sure he was out of range. The only good thing about the night’s trek was not having to kill a second loco miner. Somehow, that seemed cold comfort as Slocum mounted and rode back to Mirabelle.

7
    It was an hour past noon when Slocum walked into the Damned Shame. The few patrons hardly noticed him, but the barkeep jerked erect as if somebody had stuck him with a pin.
    â€œSlocum, you’re here.”
    â€œMissed a day or two. Hope that doesn’t make a difference. Any trouble while I was gone?”
    Beefsteak Malone started to speak, then clamped his mouth shut, his brow furrowed and his rag working frantically on the glass he cleaned. Slocum had never seen the man so agitated.
    â€œI just figgered you was gone.”
    â€œDidn’t hire anyone in my place, did you?”
    â€œWhat happened to you?” Malone started to say something else, then scowled some more and finally said, “I mean, you all right?”
    â€œFine as frog’s fur,” Slocum said. It was a lie. His side burned as if his wound had been dipped in acid. Riding back with Mirabelle the night before had been something of a chore.
    Every hole they hit in the road sent a new pang of discomfort through his body. Riding into the canyon and shooting the miner hadn’t done him any good. He wasn’t one to cry over spilled milk, but there hadn’t been any cause for the miner to shoot at him or for him to kill the man. The miner and his surviving partner had likely both been plumb loco, eking out a living from the played-out gold mine and nothing more. They wanted to be left alone, and when Bertram had come across Slocum and Mirabelle, he had gotten scared.
    Slocum only wished his partner had known more about the killers who had slaughtered Isaac Comstock and the others. From the depths of the canyon, he believed the miner when he said that he hadn’t heard gunshots, much less the cries of agony as the men were being tortured to death.
    â€œYou look a mite peaked,” Malone said, putting down the glass and picking up another.
    â€œYou already polished that one,” Slocum said. He thought the bar owner was going to jump out of his skin.
    â€œYeah, I have. Why waste effort, right? I ain’t payin’ you for the days you was off, Slocum.”
    â€œNot asking you to,” he replied. “My business was mighty sudden and not likely to happen again.”
    â€œYou tell me if you want to go traipsin’ off.”
    â€œAny trouble brewing?” Slocum looked around the saloon and saw the regulars already starting to get drunk. Many had come in for the free lunch. One or two might have been so drunk they forgot the food was even there, not that Beefsteak laid out much of a spread.
    Slocum helped himself to a couple of the boiled eggs and then took a piece of moldy cheese. He scrapped off the blue fuzz and downed it. He fumbled around and found a nickel for some draft beer. Beefsteak drew it without a word.
    Whatever ate at the saloon’s owner slowly disappeared by the time the evening crowd filtered in. Slocum thought the man was upset that he had been without a bouncer for a couple nights, though it might have been more than that. Beefsteak didn’t strike him as the overly sentimental sort. If Slocum had never been seen again, Malone wouldn’t have given him a second thought. As it was, the barkeep kept looking at him out of the corner of his eye in an accusing way.
    The piano player showed up and began knocking out songs the best he could on the untuned upright. By the time he had finished his first set, the customers were shoulder to shoulder at the bar, making Beefsteak jump to keep their beer and whiskey glasses filled. He even got a couple cowboys in who demanded mixed drinks, forcing him to show his expertise