Free Slocum 419 by Jake Logan Page A

like some kind of dark tide.
    He had the odd feeling that someone was watching him as he stood in front of the window next to Hobart. But he saw no one. The pane darkened as he watched, and he knew it would not be long until sunset.
    â€œTime to light the lamps,” he said to Hobart.
    â€œWant me to stoke ’em up?” Hobart asked.
    â€œNo, I’ll light ’em. You keep lookin’ outside.”
    There was a strange tone to Wolf’s voice as he walked away from the window toward the nearest lamp.
    Hobart looked outside. The street was empty.
    He thought he saw movement between a log cabin and a clapboard house. Something moved, something darker than the shadows, he thought.
    He rubbed his eyes and looked again.
    The blob of black was gone.
    Spiders crawled all over the nape of his neck.
    Had he seen something or someone?
    He wasn’t sure, and now the sting of a lit match’s sulphur crept into his nostrils and he staved off a sneeze.
    No need to mention what he hadn’t seen to Wolf.
    No need at all, because he just didn’t know.

11
    Slocum made sure that Lou Darvin had regained most of his senses before he headed up the street to follow the blood trail of the man he had winged in the leg.
    â€œTell the constable I wounded one of the men and I’m going to track him.”
    â€œWill do,” Lou said. “God, I’m sick about Jasper. Poor kid.”
    â€œThese killers just didn’t happen by here,” Slocum said. “Somebody sent them here. I have a good idea who. Now I’m going to prove it.”
    â€œHow?”
    â€œI have a hunch that the man who got away will run right back to the man who gives the orders.”
    â€œHellinger would like to know who you think is behind this so he can arrest him.”
    â€œI think a man named Wolf Steiner sent these backshooters here to kill Jasper.”
    â€œHuh? Why? Jasper never hurt nobody.”
    â€œMaybe not. But my guess is that he was the only living heir to his brother Wilbur’s mine. I think Wolf is just waiting to forge papers to take over Wilbur’s mine.”
    â€œGood God. This is too much for me to handle.”
    â€œStart strapping on a pistol, Lou. With a man like Wolf, nobody’s safe in this town.” As if to emphasize his advice, Slocum opened the gate on his .45, slid the plunger through the chambers with the fired cartridges. They ejected, one by one, until all three fired chambers were empty. Then he plucked cartridges from his gun belt and inserted them into the empty tubes. He spun the cylinder, pulled the hammer back slightly to half cock, and holstered his pistol.
    â€œYeah, I might just do that.”
    Slocum left him and strode to the first spatter of blood glistening the street. That was where he had nicked the fleeing gunman somewhere on his leg.
    From there on, there was a clear blood trail up the street.
    He noted the boot tracks of his quarry, too, and saw where the man had stopped. Little shards of lint lay on the ground. That told Slocum that the wounded man had ripped up a handkerchief to stop most of the bleeding.
    From then on, there was little blood, but the boot tracks were distinct. The man dragged one foot and that left its marks.
    He caught up to the man as he went between two buildings and crossed the street.
    Slocum saw him limp up to the door of a cabin and pound on it with his fist. A man appeared in the window to see who was knocking. Then the man turned away for a moment. Seconds later, he opened the door.
    Once the man was inside, Slocum retreated down the corridor between the buildings, walked to his left, and entered another passageway. He crossed the street, knowing he could not be seen by the man in the window. He hurried between two other cabins and counted two buildings until he arrived at the one the wounded gunman had entered.
    He slunk along the side of the cabin toward the front. There were no windows on that portion of the