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

mule and sat on a rock, letting the animal graze while he watched the ebb and flow of men and supplies throughout the town. It seemed to him that more went to Trueheart’s building than was needed and what came out were pack mules laden with canvas-masked loads.
    Since Trueheart provided a clearinghouse for everything stolen along the trail over the mountain, all Slocum got from this was that another trail down to the town below existed. Trueheart didn’t want to spook the prospectors working their way up the steep hill by blatantly showing the stolen equipment being returned. Some of the parties had to be heavily armed and not worth the effort to steal from.
    Unlike the party of four Slocum had been hired to guide across Desolation Pass.
    That rankled as bad as an infected tooth. He should have known there would be outlaws along the trail and yet he had ignored the risk and it had cost three men their lives. And what had happened to Clement Baransky? Slocum thought he had been brought to Trueheart’s town. But why? And how could he find him?
    The sun began sinking fast since this town was situated around the mountainside away from the trail used by the prospectors. Dawn came earlier here, but twilight cloaked the town sooner in retaliation.
    He decided he had to get a look into Trueheart’s headquarters, no matter what the risk.
    He took his time returning to the town. Unlike many towns, no gaslights blazed to illuminate the streets. Using the shadows to his benefit, he worked his way closer to the large, well-lit building that was four or five times the size of a big barn. And behind it was a regular-sized barn where the men stabled their animals.
    Slocum left his mule tethered in a spot he hoped wouldn’t be noticed by an itinerant thief, then went directly to the barn. Several men finished currying their horses and headed in a loose group to Trueheart’s main building. Slocum trailed them, trying not to look conspicuous. The men were tired from the trail and didn’t josh with one another. They came to the back door of the huge building, and here Slocum hesitated.
    Two guards just inside scrutinized everyone entering.
    He found himself caught in a trap. If he turned and walked off, he would draw attention. But if he tried to bull his way inside, bullets might fly. Seeing the situation, he made a quick decision and boldly walked in behind a short, bowlegged cowboy.
    “Wait,” a guard said. “Don’t know you.”
    Slocum reached into his vest pocket and pulled out thesilver dollar with a hole shot through it. This had been his ducat to get past the palisades.
    “Go on,” the guard said, eying the mutilated coin and paying Slocum no heed.
    Slocum followed the last of the men down a narrow corridor and into a large barracks. As he got a better look, he thought he had entered an army post quartermaster’s storage room. Lining the walls, shelves held about every piece of mining and prospecting equipment he had ever seen. Chisels, picks, hammers, all there. He frowned when he saw carbide lamps, rope, miners’ candles, even cases of blasting powder. More than prospecting equipment was stashed here. Trueheart kept mining equipment fit for cutting shafts and blowing down rock walls to follow a subterranean, meandering vein of gold.
    “What you need, mister?”
    “I was thinking of some dynamite,” Slocum said, looking back over his shoulder at a mousy man wearing a green eyeshade and a shirt that had been white once. He had worn it until it turned gray, and in spite of wearing cuff protectors, the cuffs were frayed. Black stains on the man’s short fingers revealed his true occupation. He was an accountant.
    “Nope, not for sale.”
    “Trade? I got a couple mules.”
    “We got all the animals for the project we need.”
    Slocum wanted to ask what this “project” was but knew better than to betray ignorance.
    “What do you need for the project? I can furnish it special.”
    “We got a dozen men out on the