Free Slocum Giant 2013 : Slocum and the Silver City Harlot (9781101601860) by Jake Logan Page B

stars being blotted out by thin clouds. This time of year brought torrential rains, but it would take an hour or two to build. That’d give him plenty of time to wheedle the livery stable owner for a place to stay in exchange for some work and maybe even get the mules fed and watered. Repairing the wagon could wait ’til sunup.
    But as he walked down the middle of the Silver City street, noise from the saloons appealed to him. He had ridden in thinking how good a taste of whiskey would be. With almost a dollar in change rubbing together in his vest pocket, he could afford a shot or maybe do with only a beer. A smile crossed his lips as he thought how ice could have given him cold beer.
    The smile vanished when he remembered there’d been a body encased in it.
    He stopped and peered into one smoky cantina. The Lonely Cuss was mostly empty, a couple customers sprawled over tables. One snored loudly, and the other made curious hiccuping sounds. A faro table stood lonely on one side of the door, and what might have been a piano at the rear lay cloaked in darkness. No one seemed inclined to play it, which was fine with Slocum. He wasn’t in the mood for music.
    No one stood at the bar. He thought the place might be closed, then saw movement as the barkeep heaved a tray of beer mugs onto the bar with a loud clanking.
    Slocum went in, worked his fingers around in his pocket, and found a dime. As good as whiskey would taste, a couple beers would do him as well.
    â€œBeer,” he called to the barkeep.
    â€œJust a second,” she answered, bent over to lift another tray. Slocum appreciated the view. He might even be talked into a third beer if she would lean over like that again. The trail got mighty lonely, and the real thing in flesh and blood was better than his imagination ever could be.
    She dropped the second tray and turned to him. Their eyes locked, then she said, “Hello, John. It’s been a long time since Georgia and that dead carpetbagger judge.”

8
    â€œHell, Marianne,” he said. “It has been a while.”
    â€œYou want some whiskey? You always had a fondness for Kentucky bourbon.”
    â€œBeer’s all I can afford.”
    â€œI don’t own the Lonely Cuss,” Marianne said, brushing back her auburn hair and never looking away from him, “but Tom doesn’t watch over my shoulder much after the first night or two I worked here.” She rummaged about, found a shot glass that sparkled in the dim light of the coal oil lamp over the bar, and poured two fingers. “Not Billy Taylor’s Finest but good enough.”
    He sipped, then let the bourbon wet his lips and roll across his tongue. His mouth watered at the unfamiliar taste of good whiskey. With a quick motion, he downed it. The fire seared its way down to his belly, where it pooled. After a few seconds the warmth spread and eased some of the aches he’d accumulated from working the mule team on a wobbly wheeled wagon.
    â€œThat’s the second best thing that’s happened to me today.”
    â€œOnly the second?” Marianne asked.
    â€œSeeing you again. That has to be the best.”
    She snorted and snatched the shot glass from in front of him, running her rag over it to give it a good cleaning.
    â€œThat’s a fine thing to say when you didn’t even have the decency to bid me farewell.”
    â€œYou know the reason why. After I killed the judge and his henchman, I couldn’t stay in Calhoun.”
    â€œThey did search for you, that I’ll grant. Had a squad of soldiers from the Yankee garrison hunting for you nigh on a week. By then they decided you’d hightailed it where they’d never find you.”
    â€œNever knew that. I rode due west.”
    â€œI tore down all the wanted posters I could. They must have nailed a hundred to trees and posts in town. Most of the folks were too timid to defy the blue bellies.”
    â€œYou wouldn’t