Sathow's Sinners by Marcus Galloway

surprised by Deaugrey’s willingness to let it drop.
    â€œEh, keep it,” Deaugrey said. “I can always steal another one. Just don’t get in my way before I find that sweet little filly of mine.”
    Of course, there was no underestimating the attraction of smooth, warm and willing flesh to desperate hands. When Deaugrey broke away from him after telling him all he could remember about the man who’d been in possession of the fancy knife, Nate was more than willing to let him go.
    The camp hadn’t impressed Nate very much the first time he rode through it and there was nothing to change his opinion now. Ruts in the ground took the place of anything close to roads and, after a few short bouts of rain had rolled through the area, those ruts were filled with muddy water. Unlike most places, rain didn’t do a damn thing to break a hot spell in Missouri. Instead, the clouds rolled out to leave watery memories in the air like warm, sticky tendrils that soaked through a man’s clothes to pull the sweat from his brow.
    From a distance, Nate could see several small groups of workers sifting through the waters of a stream, busting rocks or doing all manners of work that tended to break a miner’s back. In front of him lay the main camp which consisted of about a dozen hastily built shacks, tents of varying sizes and several carts lined up to sell various wares. Nate rode to a corral that was just a larger shack with a small patch of ground roped off to keep a few bony horses from getting away. Judging by the sorry condition of those animals, they probably didn’t have the strength to jump the low barrier unless a fire was nipping at their rumps. He dismounted and led his horse to a man who sat in a chair with his legs splayed in front of him and his hands clasped over a belly that poked out from beneath his ill-fitting shirt.
    â€œHowdy,” Nate said as he came to a stop in front of him. “Is this a good spot to put up my horse for a short stay?”
    â€œI don’t know,” the fat man grunted. “Is it?”
    Nate reached into his pocket for a silver dollar and flipped it into the air. The fat man took notice of the sound of a thumb meeting the edge of the coin and was sitting up by the time the dollar slapped against Nate’s palm.
    â€œIs this what passes for a stable in this shit hole or isn’t it?” Nate growled.
    The fat man couldn’t get up fast enough. “Sure it is! Sorry about before. We get plenty of undesirables through here that don’t have a penny to their name. Didn’t I see you come through here not too long ago? Maybe you were riding with a group of other fellas?”
    â€œI got a real common face,” Nate told him.
    Dismissing his own question, the fat man said, “I’ll watch over your horse, feed him and even toss in a good brushing. Best bargain in camp!”
    â€œI doubt that, but here,” Nate said while tossing the coin to the fat man. “If I come back to an unhappy horse, I’ll come looking, and a man like yourself,” he added while eyeing the other fellow’s ample belly, “will be mighty hard to miss.”
    â€œTake a look at these horses right here. There ain’t an unhappy one in the bunch.”
    Although none of the animals in the corral looked healthy enough to pull a cart, Nate doubted that was the fat man’s fault. “Just be sure to feed and water him. I don’t intend on being here long.”
    â€œYou here looking for work or just passing through?”
    â€œI’m looking to have a word with someone who’s supposed to be working here. Name’s Dan or . . . maybe Jesse.”
    â€œWhich one? Dan or Jesse?”
    Silently cursing Deaugrey for not paying closer attention to the men he robbed, Nate said, “Maybe . . . both?”
    Instead of looking at Nate like the fool he felt he was, the fat man nodded and said,