by Jake Logan
“He kept going, off the path.”
“What gives you that idea?” Harry asked.
Slocum had seen a freshly broken twig on a low bush as well as grass only now popping back up from where a man had trod on it recently. Nothing said this was Drury’s doing, but they hadn’t come on anyone else following the path, going in either direction.
“There was two of ’em back in the restaurant. That means we kin get rewards for half the gang,” Riley said.
“You want to split up and go after the other one?” Harry said. “You think we kin tackle ’em like that, one on one?”
Slocum waited to see what conclusion they reached. Tamara had been absent for so long, he reckoned she had taken up with the gamblers who had been in the game with Drury. But the two specials were right about the man with Drury in the restaurant being another robber. Slocum had overheard enough to know, but if they split and each went after a robber, that left Slocum to decide which man to team up with. Harry and Riley were of a kind, neither a mental giant. That gave Slocum the chance to grab the silver from under the nose of whichever special he took up with.
“We stay with Drury,” Riley said, the one of the pair most inclined to worry on such matters.
Slocum felt a little disappointed. Drury was the easy one to nab. The other man wasn’t carrying the burden of being a narcotist. Slocum had seen how Drury was suffering from lack of hop. He would make mistakes and even blunder straight for his silver cache with the intent of taking a bar or two into San Francisco and an opium den. Slocum had seen men out of their minds. The drug made them unpredictable, but as long as he kept that in mind, Slocum knew tracking Drury would be easier than the other robber, who had argued against smoking the opium.
“We stick together. That set well with you, Slocum?”
He simply pointed in the direction of the trail he had been following, then urged his mare up a steep slope. Along the rocky trail he saw occasional bright silver streaks where a shod horse had nicked the rock with a sharp-edged steel shoe.
“Dang, Slocum, you could track a ghost through a snowstorm,” Harry marveled as they came out along a rise. Even he spotted the trail now. “How’d you learn to follow spoor like that?”
“I bet he was a scout fer the army. You got the look of a man used to bein’ out and after Injuns and robbers. That so, Slocum?” Riley looked hard at him.
“You fellows spend most of your time in San Francisco?”
“We don’t hit the trail much, if that’s what you’re sayin’. Harry ’n me, we help out the railroad however we can.”
“Collingswood hired you before the robbery?”
“Naw, it’s not like that,” Harry said. “We do odd jobs, but now and again, Underwood comes up and asks us to do certain chores.”
“Union bustin’,” Riley said. “They get this bug up their asses that the railroad ought to be closed down. Me and Harry take care of that, but there ain’t been so much work like that recently.”
Slocum kept his mind on how to find Drury and get away from the two specials. They were strikebreakers and as likely to shoot him in the back once they were done with him as to give him the time of day. Considering how much silver was at stake, Slocum knew they were less likely to return it to the Central California Railroad than they were to keep it for themselves. When they found Drury’s cache, splitting it three ways wasn’t in the cards either.
“He’s headin’ there,” Harry said in a low voice.
“Shush.” His partner sounded like a faulty steam valve as he hissed out the order.
Slocum had overheard the exchange and realized the two specials knew more about Drury’s destination than they let on.
“There’s a town ahead,” Slocum said, staring at a huge plume of rising smoke. “Nobody starts a fire that size without it getting out of control.”
The two whispered frantically again. This time he couldn’t overhear but got the gist of what they argued over. Finally Riley rode alongside.
“That there’s Newburg. A small mining town that’s danged near empty now.”
From the smoke, Slocum doubted that. More than one chimney sent that curling plume aloft. They wound around an increasingly well-traveled trail until they came out on a rise looking down on the town. Riley had overstated how much of a ghost town Newburg was. There had to be a couple hundred residents. Slocum cast a sideways look at the two specials. They were whispering furiously again, Riley getting more agitated than his partner.
“We ought to get on down there,” Riley said. “That’s a good spot to spend the night.”
“It’s hardly past noon,” Slocum said.
“I’m feelin’ a mite peaked,” Harry piped up. “And it’s past mealtime fer me.”
Harry might be hungry but it wasn’t for food. The smell of silver came from Newburg—or at least the scent of Drury and his partner.
“What was the other one’s name?” Slocum asked. “The one with Drury at the restaurant?”
“Heard him called Baldy,” said Harry before his partner shushed him.
“Nothing more than that?”
“Harry’s likely wrong ’bout that. It might be that Drury knows a lowlife with the moniker of Baldy. That’s nothin’ to worry over, I’d say.”
Slocum rode down the trail toward the town, thinking hard. He had names for all but one of the robbers now. Riley and Harry didn’t know about Jackson, and he wasn’t inclined to share this with them. Riding with men he didn’t trust wasn’t all that unusual for Slocum, but seldom did so much money hang in the balance. The two bragged of their employment by the railroad, but this much silver had to tempt a saint. Slocum had given his word to David Collingswood and would have returned every ounce he found—until the vice president fired him, insulted him, and threw him out.
“I’m feeling a tad dizzy,” Slocum said as the two specials passed him to ride on either side. “Why don’t you two go on ahead and let me rest here?”
“Partners don’t abandon a friend, ’specially a new one. Let’s git on over to the saloon and buy you a beer.”
Slocum looked around but didn’t see a saloon. He rode slowly after the two, who headed to a cross street and took it without a second thought. They had been here before, giving Slocum an uneasy feeling they expected more than Drury to hole up here.
“Ain’t much of a saloon, but Newburg ain’t much of a town,” Harry said, stepping down.
Slocum trailed the other two into the small gin mill but didn’t immediately join them at a table toward the rear of the long, narrow room. Windows had been opened at the side of the room to let in some fresh air, but it did little to kill the smell of vomit and spilled, stale beer. Two other customers leaned against the bar, which had once been a thing of beauty. Now too many boot toes had kicked at the front, leaving ugly white gashes, and the surface itself had been scratched deeply. In those wooden trenches, filth and more had accumulated. Slocum tried not to identify the black, gummy substance, but spilled blood came to mind.
“Don’t you want some booze, Slocum?” Harry motioned for Slocum to join them.
He walked slowly and studied the two specials. Now that they had reached Newburg, all urgency had passed for finding Drury.
“You been in this town before?”
“Fact is, Slocum, we never knew it existed until we spotted it. But it surely does give a chance for us to kick back and rest ’fore we get on that robber’s trail again.”
“You don’t know if he’s in town,” Slocum said. “Why not look for him?”
“We need to get some food and maybe swill some of that filthy whiskey you got behind the bar!” Riley spoke loudly enough for the barkeep to grab the bottle and bring over three glasses.
Slocum settled into a chair not already occupied by Riley’s boots. The special leaned back, laced his fingers behind his head, and stared up at the c
eiling. He let out a long, loud sigh.
“Yes, sir, this is the life. Findin’ bad men and drinkin’ whiskey.” He sat up a bit, took hold of the shot glass, and knocked back the whiskey. He belched loudly, then resumed his position, staring up as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
Slocum sipped his shot, made a face, and put it back virtually untouched. He could drink the worst swill, but not this. The trade whiskey had been concocted with too much nitric acid in it. The sip had caused a blister to spring up on his lip. What it would do to his gut had to be a damned sight worse.
“You gonna drink that, Slocum?” Harry pointed to the barely touched drink. When he got a shake of the head, Harry slid it close, then knocked it back. His eyes glazed for a moment, then he sank back and stared out a window.
The change in the two turned Slocum wary. He sat quietly. Silence demanded to be interrupted, and he wanted to hear what they said.
“You know, Slocum, this is the kind of place where we ought to rest up. Me and Harry are about at the end of our rope.”
“You’d let me keep on after Drury?”
“You’re more dedicated than me and Harry,” Riley said. “Mr. Collingswood made a durned good decision hirin’ you on.”
“I’m going to look around town, ask some questions.”
“You do that,” Harry said. “Me and Riley, we ain’t got enough energy to budge. You can find us here when you get tired of nosin’ around.”
They signaled for another drink. Slocum pushed away from the table and left the saloon, his mind racing. They had wanted his tracking skills, but once they caught sight of the town, they wanted to get rid of him. That meant they knew something they hadn’t shared. Slocum decided they had overheard Drury and his partner say something, maybe about meeting in a town when they split up. This was the town.
He walked slowly up one side of the main street and down the other, looking inside every store for any trace of the outlaws. More than once, he asked after Drury and his partner, Baldy. No one had seen them—or nobody fessed up to it. Slocum was good at reading a bluff across a poker table and almost as good at seeing when he was being handed a line. The good citizens of Newburg weren’t lying. The ones he had asked hadn’t seen the train robbers.
After an hour of reconnaissance, he returned to the saloon, where Harry and Riley still sat at the back table. They huddled together, whispering. Neither saw him and neither showed any inclination to budge from their chair. For two men inclined to shoot first and aim later, they showed a great deal of patience.
They were waiting for Drury and Baldy.
Slocum went to the livery stable and let the stableboy tend to his trusty mare. For a railroad horse, the animal had been remarkably dependable, and Slocum wanted to show his appreciation. There had to be more hard riding ahead, and he wanted to be ready.
Slocum settled into a chair on the boardwalk across the street from the livery stable and continued to evaluate his options. When he finally got up, he walked briskly to the telegraph office. The telegrapher looked up from a week-old Alta California.
“I need to send a couple telegrams.”
“That’s why I’m here. Send enough and you can make my week.”
“Been slow?” Slocum watched the young man closely. The telegrapher twirled the tips of his thin handlebar mustache. He was old enough to grow some facial hair but young enough that it had to be a chore. That made him even prouder to show it off. Slocum saw no reason not to build the boy’s confidence with a compliment about the mustache.
“Thank you kindly. Every man in the family’s growed a big one. You shoulda seen my granddday’s. I do declare, it went out to here.” Like a man lying about how big the fish he’d caught, he held his hands on either side of his head.
“A regular longhorn, your grandpa,” Slocum said. He took a blank pad of telegraph forms and wrote swiftly.
“Time for me to get to work,” the young man said, obviously disappointed that he didn’t get to brag more. He took the telegram and looked at it. “You said you had more ’n one to send.”
“I want that sent to the Central California Railroad depot in Oakland, to the main office in San Francisco, and to the postmaster in the next town over.”
“Next town? You mean Fremont?”
“I do.”
The telegrapher scratched his head, then looked up at Slocum. “This is mighty strange. Don’t you know where this T. Crittenden is?”
“Not exactly, but one of those people’ll know where to deliver the message.”
“Your money. Ain’t never seen anything like this before since ’grams are so expensive, but you’re sendin’ it to railroad men, so—”
“I’m charging it to the Central California Railroad.” Slocum took out the papers he’d received from Collingswood and laid them on the counter. “This is my authority.”
“Send ’em and collect from the railroad?”
Slocum saw the calculation working in the young man’s eyes.
“I’m trusting you to send an honest bill, but Mr. Collingswood has to know how difficult this is for you and will pay accordingly.”
“He’s the vice president, all right. I applied for a job, and I seen him. Not personally, mind you, but he was talkin’ to the foreman doin’ the hirin’.”
“I can’t imagine how he let a crackerjack telegrapher go unhired.”
Slocum took back his sheaf of papers and tucked them away. They had come in handy again. If Collingswood refused to pay, Slocum would be long gone when the bill was brought to his attention.
And with any luck, Tamara would have received a telegram telling her to come to Newburg.
11
“Two days,” Slocum said. “I thought you’d be here quicker.”
Tamara Crittenden laughed, and it was the sound of morning bells and soft evening breezes slipping through the pines. She reached over and put her warm hand on Slocum’s arm, squeezing gently.
“I came as fast as I could. The stationmaster in Oakland gave me the message. It was such a surprise.”
“You didn’t think I’d get in touch with you?”
Slocum sat stolidly as she squeezed down just a little harder, then moved her hand away. They both looked up as the waiter brought them their breakfast. The runny eggs and leathery steaks gave off an unappetizing odor, but Slocum dug into his. It had been too long since he’d eaten. Since sending the telegrams, he had hardly left the saloon and the other two specials. Harry and Riley had gotten knee-walking drunk on the cheap trade whiskey, and he doubted they could have won a fight with a newborn kitten if the need had arisen. While he saw they were lacking in intelligence, both had a cunning that told him they’d not risk their own hides needlessly. They were waiting and knew the train robbers wouldn’t show up while they were drunk on their asses.
“Oh, I never doubted you would. I meant that the lazy stationmaster showed some initiative in tracking me down. It was a good thing I asked after the two gamblers from Fremont, or he might not have known I was even in town.”
“Why did you follow them?”
“I didn’t know if they were involved in the robbery. Besides, you had Drury dead to rights.” She reached out and brushed away a lock of greasy hair from his eyes. “You were roughed up, weren’t you?”
“The barkeep tried to drug me, but it didn’t work out so well for him.”
“Not if he thought you were any kind of victim.” Tamara sat back in her chair, eyed the breakfast with distaste, then began sawing at the steak. She held up the piece she’d cut off and stared at it. “If I needed my boot sole patched, this would work.” She stuffed it into her mouth and began chewing. “My boots would have better flavor.”
Slocum grunted as he worked on his own meal.
“Why do you think they aren’t budging?” Tamara asked.
“They overheard Drury and
Baldy say something about this town.”
“Baldy? He’s another one? We know Jack, Drury, and now Baldy. There were four.” Tamara dropped her fork onto the plate with a loud clang. She sipped at the coffee, made a face, and kept drinking.
“I haven’t told them that Jackson’s dead.”
“That’s smart. Never show your hand until the pot’s called.”
Slocum looked at her. A tiny smile curled her lips. She was joshing him, and he found that he liked it.
“They haven’t seen you. You might get them to reveal something that I’d have to beat out of them.”
“From the sound of those two, beating it out of them would be more enjoyable.” She delicately dabbed her lips and then used the napkin to clean off the rim of the coffee cup. Another quick sip. She made a face. “The dirt made it almost drinkable.”
“The lousy chow’s the reason Newburg is turning into a ghost town. Do you think the robbers rendezvoused here because of that?”
“Why don’t I see what our two erstwhile railroad specials have to say while you ask after Drury and Baldy?”
“I’ve not heard anyone talk about strangers, other than me, Harry, and Riley.” He grinned. “With you in town, there’s going to be plenty of tongues set to wagging.”
“Why, Mr. Slocum, is that a compliment?” She lowered her voice and locked eyes with him. “Or is it a promise to do something to me that will positively outrage these fine, upstanding townspeople into salacious gossip?”
“Not to you, with you,” he said, pushing back his chair and standing. He drew hers back. She pressed briefly against him, giving her hip just the right amount of touch against his groin to cement the promise of doing something outrageous later.
She left without so much as a backward look at him, but he watched as she went down the street to the saloon. The hitch in her git-along was as promising as her words. He dropped a greenback dollar on the table and went outside to start asking after the robbers. He came down the far side of the street and saw that Tamara had lured Riley and Harry from the saloon and out onto the splintered boardwalk. She crowded both men, and they reacted with what Slocum had come to believe was common among wranglers. The attention of such a lovely woman thrilled them as much as it frightened them. Riley tried to brag. His words echoed across the street, but Harry hung back, licking his lips and waiting for his chance to swoop in should Tamara reject his partner.
