Free Slocum #396 : Slocum and the Scavenger Trail (9781101554371) by Jake Logan

lyin’ ’bout havin’ more mules? That means you’re tryin’ to cheat me.”
    Drew stepped back and pulled his coat away from the six-shooter slung at his hip.
    “You willing to die over this?” Slocum asked.
    He saw that Buddy Drew was from the way he flexed his fingers.
    Slocum squared off, a cold calm settling over him.

7
    “Why don’t you jist give ole Buddy Drew that mule and we kin call it even-steven?” The man’s fingers twitched again, and Slocum knew no deal was going to happen that didn’t also include swapping a few ounces of lead.
    “I’ll pay for the drink.”
    “Sure you—” Drew’s hand stopped twitching as he went for his iron. Talking while drawing might have stayed some men’s hand but not John Slocum’s.
    His fingers closed around the ebony butt of his Colt as he turned slightly to his right. The six-gun slid from his cross-draw holster and fired almost in the same blink of an eye. The white smoke filled the room, then had even more added as Drew fired.
    But Slocum saw his slug had been enough, and there was no need for a second shot. A small red splotch spread on Drew’s chest. He reached out to support himself on the bar with his left hand, but his right was too weak to hold his six-shooter. It clattered to the floor, resting inches from where his bullet had torn a path through the boards. He followed his weapon to the floor and lay unmoving.
    Looking around, Slocum hunted for anyone who would take advantage of the situation and gun him down. The few men in the saloon who had been disturbed by the gunfight turned away. Only two were interested enough to wander over, more curious than angry that one of their own had been killed.
    A man dressed in miner’s garb looked down, scratched himself, then asked, his eyes never leaving Drew’s body, “You mind if we help him on out of here?”
    Slocum shook his head. He kept the six-shooter in his grip, waiting to see what happened. A harsh laugh escaped his lips when he saw the two men dive down on the fallen crook and begin rummaging through his pockets. When a bright gold watch appeared, Slocum stepped out and grabbed it.
    He held it up, then let it spin slowly on its chain.
    He dropped it into the scavenger’s outstretched hand and said, “Thought it was mine.”
    “Mine now,” the scavenger said gleefully, tucking it away. He and his partner made rapid work of stripping anything of value from the carcass.
    “Git him on outta here,” the barkeep said, showing his first interest since pouring the drinks. “It’s bad for business to leave bodies around like that.”
    “He’s all yers, mister,” one scavenger said, looking up at Slocum.
    “Do what you want with him. You’ve been paid.” Slocum pointed with his six-gun. The movement caused one to slip and sit down hard. The other fumbled for his own six-shooter, then thought better of it.
    “You heard him. Buddy’s all yers. Take him on out the back way. Now, dammit, do it now!” The barkeep slammed his fist down hard on the bar, causing the empty shot glasses to jump. He looked over at Slocum and asked, “Want another?”
    Slocum slid his six-shooter back into the holster and leftwithout saying another word. Chances were good the drink would have cost him more than the price of the whiskey. This one would have been laced with a Mickey Finn.
    It was that kind of drinking emporium.
    He stepped out, shooing Wallace out of his way. The man had been peering around the corner of the doorway watching everything that happened inside.
    “You kilt him. You got a quick hand, mister. Kin I work fer you?”
    Slocum started to laugh, then considered how difficult it would be finding anything in this town. The palisade and armed guards told him this was closer to a prison than a town.
    “Get yourself a bottle and come back out and join me.” He handed Wallace a couple of the greenbacks and examined the chairs along the boardwalk. He found one that would support his weight without