Slocum 419 Read Online Free PDF Page B

face ragged up with scars and wears a red bandanna, sports a pair of Colt pistols on his belt. Wooden grips and they got notches in ’em.”
    â€œJust Wolf, huh?”
    â€œOnliest name I heard him called by. They was another’n called Hobart, I think. Hell, I don’t remember names when I don’t know a feller. But they’re a secretive bunch. Stay to themselves and don’t buy no drinks for nobody. They go up to the cribs now and then, but never seen them gals since. Both mighty purty, though.”
    â€œDo you know the name of the man who brought the gals into town?”
    â€œClemson, I think. Faron Clemson. He looks meaner’n a bulldog, but don’t come out much.”
    â€œThanks, Wally,” Slocum said.
    â€œYou goin’ to remember all them names?”
    â€œLike I grew up with them,” Slocum said. He touched a finger to the brim of his hat and walked out of the store.
    Wally stared at him for a long time until Roy Cheever, a man who worked in the store, came up to him.
    â€œWho was that, Wally?” the man said.
    â€œI don’t know. Forgot to ask him what his handle was.”
    â€œHe looks like he can take care of hisself,” Cheever said.
    He was a thin young man with peach fuzz on his cheeks and a hatchet face. He had a tablet in his hand with writing on it.
    â€œI wouldn’t tangle with him,” Wally said.
    â€œI never saw so much black on a white man,” Roy said. “Maybe he’s an undertaker.”
    â€œNo, I think he’s probably a gravedigger,” Wally said.
    â€œA gravedigger?”
    â€œI mean he puts men in the ground, I think.”
    â€œGolly. He don’t look like no gunfighter I ever saw. Too polite.”
    â€œDon’t kid yourself, Roy. That man strikes me as somebody who eats gunfighters for lunch and cleans his teeth with their bones.”
    Roy’s jaw dropped as he watched Slocum vanish from the front window.
    He swallowed a gob of saliva and his Adam’s apple bobbed under the taut skin of his neck.

6
    The sign on the building’s front read MINING CLAIMS & ASSAY SERVICES . Underneath was the name ABEL FOGARTY .
    The glass door just said OFFICE and underneath it hung a sign that said OPEN .
    Slocum walked into a small outer office with a divan, two chairs, a desk, and file cabinets. A slender, attractive woman sat at the desk, her brown hair tied primly back away from a smooth, unlined face. She was poring over printed forms, penning in pertinent data. As he approached her desk, she looked up at him over horn-rimmed glasses. He couldn’t tell her age—she could have been twenty-five or thirty-five—but he imagined she’d be even more attractive with her hair down and her glasses off..
    â€œGood morning,” she said. She had a pleasant voice. She also had a slender nose and small prim lips that bore little trace of makeup.
    â€œMorning,” Slocum said.
    â€œDid you want to see Mr. Fogarty?” she asked. “He’s with a client but you’re next in line.”
    â€œNot if you can help me,” Slocum said.
    Just then a wooden door with ABEL FOGARTY engraved on it opened, and a small lean man stepped out, followed by an even smaller man with a beer barrel paunch.
    â€œCome back in a week and I’ll have that claim ready to file,” the second man said.
    The first man opened the front door and walked out onto the street.
    The second man handed the lady a sheaf of notes written on yellow lined paper.
    â€œFill out the forms, Clara, and . . .” The man paused as he noticed Slocum. “I’m Abe Fogarty,” he said. “Did you want to see me? File a claim? Is Miss Morgan assisting you?”
    â€œI’m just here to inquire about a mining claim,” Slocum said. “I don’t know if Miss Morgan can help me or if I need to see you, sir.”
    â€œDo you wish to file a claim?” Fogarty asked. His