Slocum #396 : Slocum and the Scavenger Trail (9781101554371) by Jake Logan Read Free Book Online Page A

recognized him as one of the road agents who had killed Young and Niederman. His bullet went wide, then all hell came crashing down around him. From shallow ravines on either side of the road agent boiled three more men, their guns blazing.
    Slocum felt an instant of sharp pain, threw up his hands, and knew his six-shooter went flying through the air. Then the world turned black, and he knew nothing more.

5
    Flies buzzing. Hot sun burning his face. Slocum moaned and tried to bat both away. The fly might have been scared off by his feeble swatting but the sun still cooked his flesh. He dropped his hand to shield his eyes and slowly opened them. Sun filtered through his fingers. For a few seconds, it annoyed him, then he realized what it meant and he rejoiced.
    He was still alive.
    Trying to roll onto his side proved harder than it should have. Tightness along the side of his head turned to utter pain when he moved. He stopped screening his eyes and traced the long, narrow crease left by a bullet. The pain he caused pressing into the wound focused him and brought everything rushing back.
    Ignoring the discomfort, he sat up and squinted hard to keep his eyes in focus. He lay in the grassy field where he had thought to be a Good Samaritan and rescue another victim of the scavengers. Instead, he had fallen prey to them.
    “That’s how they got Baransky,” he said. His voice was raspy, hoarse, his lips chapped and feeling like old dried-out rubber. “One decoyed him close and the others grabbedhim.” Slocum tried to stand but wasn’t up to it yet. He sat heavily, regaining his strength. “Why’d they kidnap him and not kill him on the spot?”
    The answer trickled through the barricades that pain threw up in his brain. They had thought he was dead. The dried blood on his head and face made it look as if they had blown his brains out.
    Every instant of the brief gunfight rushed back. He reached across to his holster. Empty. Swinging around, he hunted for his Colt and found it twenty feet away. When he had been shot, he had thrown up his hands and sent it spinning far enough away that the road agents hadn’t wanted to take time hunting for it.
    And why should they? They had—again—stolen the mule Baransky had ridden and put close to a week’s worth of food into their larder. It was a profitable and safe robbery. Who would notice if a few prospectors never reached the area with the most recent gold strike? Even if someone awaited them, they’d think news had come of a bigger, richer strike. And many would never make it across the pass, even in the better weather promised by springtime. The way to the other side of Desolation Mountain was treacherous at the best of times.
    Leave a few dozen prospectors dead along the way, stealing their animals and equipment? It was easier than dynamiting fish in a barrel. The prospectors weren’t likely to have it in mind to watch for ambushers until they reached the goldfields. Some might not even be armed.
    Thinking about how easy it was for the road agents to work made Slocum even angrier. It was one thing robbing a stagecoach or holding up a bank. He had done those crimes himself when need demanded it or the temptation was simply too great to resist. But to intentionally murder men for a few paltry dollars gained by reselling their equipment at the base of the mountain gnawed at his gut like a tapeworm.
    He got his feet under him and heaved. This time, otherthan being a little shaky kneed, he stayed upright. Making his way to where his six-gun had fallen gave him time to recover his strength. He scooped up the pistol and held it in his hand. He tried to remember if the single shot he had fired had found a target. He couldn’t. He wanted to have shot the son of a bitch but figured he would have to save that pleasure for another day.
    Looking up at the sun caused a moment’s uneasiness. When he figured out why, he became even angrier. He had lain in the meadow overnight. It was