by Logan, Jake
He slowed and finally stopped at the edge of town. Stephen prowled about in the town hunting for his sister. Slocum ought to let him know he was leaving town, but that would create a new row. He had pacified the young man a little by allowing him to begin a search, but Melissa Baransky wasn’t in this town.
She was up on the mountainside in Trueheart’s. If she was alive at all.
More gunshots sounded, convincing Slocum he shouldn’t return and get embroiled in the squabble. Prospectors were like cowboys when it came to letting off steam. They’d fight hugely, drink even more grandly, and then fight again. Afterward, they’d pick up their battered carcasses and return to their backbreaking work. In the case of the prospectors, they were convincing themselves it was worth the danger to crawl over Desolation Pass into a certified gold strike.
Stride long, Slocum started after the man on the mule. The clouds promised more rain. Worse, they kept the night plunged into almost total darkness, but Slocum didn’t track by sight alone. At night it was easy to miss visual clues that would be immediately obvious in the light of day. Instead, he kept sniffing the air and listening hard for sounds ahead. The only one on the road at this time of night would be his quarry.
For a half hour he walked at a pace that had to match, if not surpass, that of the scrawny mule. But it was his keen hearing that alerted him to rocks tumbling and the mule wheezing somewhere off the road to his left. Backtracking, he moved slowly until he found a spot where more than a mule or two had left the main road.
Wagons had come this way, cutting into the embankment. The heavy rain had wiped out all wagon wheel imprints, but this worked in his favor now. He found fresh tracks in the mud leading up into the hills on the eastern slope of Desolation Mountain.
Within a hundred yards of hiking uphill, he found himself on a roadbed in better condition than the main road into town. It sloped upward, was broad, and best of all, carried one set of tracks about right if left by a mule.
He doubted the rider ahead could leave the road—there was nowhere to go other than up. The trail on the western slope of the mountain showed many branches because of the prospectors hunting spots for an easier climb and even because of the scavengers coming from Trueheart’s stronghold in such numbers. But here? There was one road and one alone.
Slocum puffed and panted when the road turned even steeper. He wondered how a loaded wagon could ever make it up this grade, even with a team of six or eight mules pulling.
“Oxen,” he gasped out as he kept walking. “Might be the teams are oxen.”
He hadn’t seen any of the animals in Trueheart’s town but there hadn’t been that much time to look around, and he certainly hadn’t been looking for oxen.
A sudden bend in the road made him stop and look over the verge. A slow smile came to his lips. This had to be the place where Mackley intended to dump the contents of a shipment, then pick and choose what to leave to be stolen from Trueheart later. It was a good spot. The sharp bend in the road provided a reason for a spill. Let a driver misjudge by an inch and over the wagon would go. With the grade this steep, brakes had to be applied constantly. An inexperienced freighter might be hard-pressed to brake, keep control of his team, and have the wheels remain on the road.
A braying caught his attention. The sound came from above where the road switched back at a sharp angle. The outlaw wasn’t too far ahead of him.
Feet hurting from too much walking, Slocum decided he could ride the rest of the way, if not in style then on a swaybacked mule. He gritted his teeth and plunged ahead along the road, found the cutback, and saw the mule and its rider ahead. The mule had balked at an even steeper grade and the rider thought to get it to move by whipping it.
This made the mule dig in its hooves and rock back on its rump, causing the man to slide back.
“You damned bag of bones. Get to your feet. I—”
He got no farther. Slocum didn’t try to hide his advance. The rattle of stones under his boot soles alerted the rider.
“It’s me—Mackley,” Slocum called out. In the dark it was impossible to make out details.
“You ain’t Mackley. You’d—”
The man went for his six-shooter too late. Slocum fired first. He knew he hadn’t made a killing shot and didn’t want to. He needed information he could never get from a corpse.
“You son of a—” The scavenger stepped back, twisted about, and fired into the air. Slocum started to add a second slug to the first one but he no longer had a target. The man had disappeared over the edge of the road.
Cautiously advancing, Slocum peered over the edge and saw the man’s body smashed onto rocks below. From the crazy bend to his body, he wasn’t likely to have survived the fall.
Slocum slid his six-gun back into his holster, feeling cheated. He could have gotten information from the man about not only Trueheart’s mysterious shipment but the town and probably even Melissa Baransky. The road was new and led to the back of Trueheart’s town. Did it require a different ticket to enter? Slocum touched the plugged silver dollar and figured this was still good to get him past the guards.
And now he could ride in style.
It took a few minutes of coaxing, but he convinced the mule to stand and then take his weight. Because he wasn’t in a hurry and let the mule pick its own way, travel went smoothly if not quickly. Several hours later, after the sun had popped above the horizon and was immediately eaten by heavy clouds, he saw another steep drop-off at the edge of the road. This had to be the other spot considered for tipping over Trueheart’s wagon. Slocum had to admire Mackley’s skill in planning. The other turn in the road gave better access to whatever cargo was allowed to remain on the ground.
The mule diligently walked, and Slocum did nothing to hurry it along. He constantly looked down at the road, expecting to see Mackley making his way up, but the road remained deserted. From what he could tell, the dead outlaw’s body wasn’t likely to be seen by a rider coming from the lower elevations. Even a rider descending would have to know where to look to see it. This gave Slocum some hope he could escape detection.
After sundown he saw a signal fire burning ahead. He had considered stopping for the night, but the mule seemed content to keep walking and time crushed down on top of him. Melissa had been taken three days earlier. How long she would survive as Trueheart’s prisoner—if she had even been taken to him—gave a concern that wore down on Slocum.
The fire neared and finally Slocum stopped a few yards away. Two guards with rifles carried easily in the crooks of their arms came out from under a lean‑to. They expected no trouble, and Slocum intended to give them none if they let him pass.
He took out the silver dollar with the hole through it, held it to his eye, and watched the pair approach.
“Mind if I see it?”
Slocum flipped the coin to the guard, who caught it and deftly slipped it between thumb and forefinger. He held it high, scrutinized it, then tossed it back.
“Yup, right year and everything.”
Slocum caught his breath. He had never considered that only specific years as noted by the mint mark would be acceptable. He thanked his lucky stars that he hadn’t allowed Stephen to bull his way along and try to pass a silver dollar with the wrong year stamped onto it. Trueheart was sneakier than he had thought.
“Go on in. There’s a new singer at the saloon. Heard tell she’s quite a looker … and she don’t wear nuthin’ under her skirt!”
The men laughed. Slocum joined in, but his heart almost stopped beating. It felt as if cold fingers had closed around its throbbing life.
“What’s she look like?” The words came out strong, but Slocum felt as if he had fallen off the side of the mountain as he asked.
“Don’t matter. Don’t matter she can’t sing a lick either. All she has to do is bounce around and hike them skirts.” The men laughed again. Slocum knew he wasn’t likely to find out more than he already had. He put his heels to the mule and was surprised when it s
hot forward past the watch fire and took a fork in the road leading away from the main street.
Slocum tried to steer the mule back toward the saloon, but it wasn’t having any of that. He gave up trying because he didn’t want the mule to balk on him as it had the previous rider. Somehow the mule had taken it into its head to go this way and no other.
He soon found the reason. As he rounded a bend, a large corral filled with a dozen or more mules stretched before him. The mule went directly for the watering trough. Slocum kicked his leg over the mule’s back and landed hard. His legs almost gave way since he had been in the saddle so long.
“You want to put that sorry excuse for a mule into the corral?”
Slocum half turned, hand going to his gun. He took his hand away and faced a portly man with muttonchops and the look of a farmer about him.
“You feed all the animals?”
“Some of the human ones, too. You don’t look in such bad condition that you need my services.”
“Go on and sprinkle some feed out. It’s a long way up the mountain,” Slocum said. He started to pull money from his pocket, but the man didn’t ask for any. With a hard tug he got the mule away from the water and then followed it to the feed. “You have the mule ready to ride by morning?”
“You partial to this one?” The man looked surprised. “Hell, you can take any of ’em in the corral. This one’s real mean lookin’.”
“He never quits moving. I like that.”
“Won’t matter much longer since Trueheart’s gonna make us all rich. You kin buy yourself a racehorse then.”
“Maybe two,” Slocum said. He wanted to find out more about Trueheart’s scheme, but he needed to find Melissa.
“Guards out on the road said there was a new singer.”
“Rich and Henry out there? Yeah, they’d like the new chanteuse, but chances are they never heard a note.”
“Skirts,” Slocum said. This provoked deep laughter that made the man clutch his sides.
“Yup, you got it.”
“Fiery redhead from their description.”
“Dang, those boys have gone plumb blind. She ain’t no redhead. She’s got what my mama used to call chestnut hair. Carries it in a ponytail so’s all the better to know what yer ridin’!”
He laughed again, but Slocum had heard enough.
Steps leading down toward town provided a quicker way to the saloon than retracing the road. As before, Slocum found himself caught up in a morass of men, only now he was caught in a tide going toward the saloon. From his vantage point a hundred yards off, he heard a piano banging out a tune and the roar of dozens of men drowning out any possible hint as to the singer’s identity. But Slocum knew. Who else could it be?
He let himself be buffeted around like a leaf caught in a tornado and finally squeezed his way into the crowded saloon. A quick look around failed to reveal Melissa, but the stage at the far end of the long room had tattered curtains drawn. The piano player gamely tried to keep the crowd interested, but there was no question what they all wanted.
“Bring her on!”
“Take it off!” shouted another drunk patron crushed against the bar.
“Pass ’er ’round!”
“After she sings,” protested a man who might have been the saloon owner. He stood to one side of the stage and looked both fearful and greedy at the same time. Whatever his expression, he wasn’t acting.
Slocum moved to a spot in the corner where he got a decent view of the stage. He tried to figure out what he would do. There was no doubt this crowd couldn’t be fought. Anyone trying to take away their star performer would be ripped to shreds and stomped into the grimy sawdust on the floor. As much as he hated to admit it, he would have to let the crowd do their worst and try to rescue Melissa afterward.
Afterward.
He began feeling his anger rising as the men shouted increasingly lewd suggestions. Worse, he heard others saying that this was nothing compared to what she had done in earlier shows.
The piano fell silent. Slocum stood a little straighter. Then the piano player began hammering out as loud as he could a song Slocum almost recognized. He didn’t try to figure out what he was listening to because the audience fell silent.
When the curtain pulled back, an ear-shattering roar went up. The performer came out, turned, and flashed her bare buttocks at the crowd to great approval. Then she turned and began singing.
It wasn’t Melissa Baransky.
12
Slocum lost sight of the woman on stage as the men waved their hats about and hopped up and down to get a better look at her intimate regions. He pushed one man away, got a sour look, then found himself in possession of a chair. Stepping up gave him a better look at the stage. The woman teased, dancing to the edge and throwing her skirt out for the benefit of those pressed close to the stage. The man who had introduced the act came by, charging for a look and even more for a fleeting touch.
Different negotiations went on when the men tired of just watching and groping. How much was charged Slocum didn’t know, but the performance became more active, with the crowd shoving wads of money at the man to take their turn with the woman on stage.
Slocum hopped down. He didn’t have to watch. Pushing his way to the saloon door, he bumped into the man who had taken care of his mule.
“Really somethin’, ain’t it?” the man said.
“I’m not much for watching,” Slocum said.
“Me neither. That’s why I go over to Sally’s. She got herself a new girl what looks a bit like that one, only purtier. Nice brown hair, too. That’s what I like, though on occasion a palomino ain’t amiss.”
“Another girl?”
“Just the last day or two. Usually news like that goes fast around this town, but things have been hoppin’. That’s kept most of the men busy.”
“It can do that,” Slocum said. He was torn between asking about the newcomer at the cathouse and finding what went on in Trueheart’s town.
“You headin’ fer Sally’s? That’s where I’m goin’.”
“You tried this new girl?”
“Cain’t afford her. Sally knows a good thing when she sees it. Don’t know where she come from—out on the trail, I suspect, but what a looker like her was doin’ headin’ for the goldfields is beyond me.”
“She might make a pretty penny there.”
“She could marry herself a rich man, she’s so good lookin’. Why bother spreadin’ fer a dozen men a day when you kin do it for one and get all the comforts of home?”
Slocum walked alongside as they wove through narrow alleys and finally came to a three-story building not far from Trueheart’s big warehouse. A single blue light burned in the downstairs window, but all the windows on the upper floors were bright with oil lamplight.
“Might be she’s not doing this on her own,” Slocum said.
“Hell, what whore does? Most are dope addicts and
drunks. And those are the least diseased of ’em. One of these days my pecker’s gonna fall off from some pox I got pokin’ them, but ’til then, I’m not askin’ too many questions.”
He stopped outside the door and yelled, “Hey, Sally. You got payin’ customers. You don’t want us to stay outside with our peckers hangin’ out. The night air’s not good for us.”
“Ross, you old reprobate, get yourself in here. Bring your pecker with you.”
“She doesn’t mean you,” Ross said, laughing as he let the middle-aged woman pull him inside.
Slocum trailed the other man and looked around. Most brothels had a bouncer, but he didn’t see one here. The madam might be packing a six-shooter under her voluminous skirts, but he couldn’t tell. The sitting room was dimly lit by the blue light in the window. From the head of the stairs gushed bright light and sounds of pleasure.
“Haven’t seen you here before. You’re welcome, if Ross here vouches for you.”
“This here place is by invitation only,” Ross explained.
“Him and me got the same taste in ladies, Sally. He just rode in, but he looks like a gentleman.”
“Are you a gentleman with money?”
Slocum silently drew out what money he had, then tucked it back into his pocket before Sally could grab it from him.
“I’d like to look over the merchandise,” he said.
“This place isn’t like the Nubile Nugget, what with their peep show and all.”
“That’s the saloon,” Ross needlessly told him.
“It’s Trueheart’s own special place, and we’re under his protection,” the madam went on. “I say the word and Trueheart takes care of any problem. Any problem,” she emphasized.
“Understood. Now can I see your girls? Ross said you had a new one that might just be what I’m in the mood for tonight.”
“She’s a special one,” Sally said, going up the steep stairs. She made sure Ross and Slocum got a good view of her rump and the bustle bobbing on it. At the head of the stairs she held out her hand for Ross. He was obviously well thought of here.
Slocum reached the top of the stairs and found it opened onto a small sitting area. Three demimondaines lounged on chairs, trying to look demure. None of them was Melissa Baransky.
“These are mighty pretty but…” Slocum began.
“But not what you were looking for, eh? She’s not here,” said Ross. “Why don’t you fetch her, Sally? I’d like to look. Just look since I don’t have the price.”
“She’s a princess, a lovely lady the like of which you don’t find on the frontier,” the madam said, spinning her sales pitch. She made a gesture, and one of the women made a sour face, stood, and went down a hallway toward the back of the house.
Slocum’s heart almost exploded when he saw the woman return. With Melissa.
She walked with her head down, only looking up when the madam put a finger under her chin and lifted. Then brown eyes went wide in surprise. She started to speak but Sally cut her off.
“She’s a rara avis,” she said. “That’s foreign for rare bird.”
“I see that. She’s the one I want,” Slocum said.
