Slocum #396 : Slocum and the Scavenger Trail (9781101554371) by Jake Logan Page B

life.”
    “I expect so.”
    By the end of the day they had traversed the long level stretch and were again faced with a steep trail up the mountainside. The six studied the climb ahead.
    “You want to scout fer us, Slocum? You said you was good at that kinda thing.”
    “No need. The trail’s well marked. If others have made it through, so can we.”
    “I’d feel safer if you led the way. You got more experience on these danged mules than any of the rest of us,” Atkins said.
    “You’re doing just fine.”
    “I’ll be right behind.” Atkins motioned for his two friends to follow, letting Melissa ride behind them and Stephen bring up the rear.
    Slocum urged his mule up. The surefooted beast took the incline easily, dislodging a few rocks as it climbed steadily. For an hour they rode, until they found themselves edging along part of the trail that pressed against the mountain on their right and afforded a fifty-foot drop on the left. This didn’t bother Slocum unduly, but he heard the others grumbling.
    Slocum turned and stared hard when he heard Atkins say, “…better in the town when…”
    The rest disappeared in a gust of wind, but Slocum thought he heard “true.”
    Before he could fall back, let Atkins take the lead, and ask, he heard a loud scream. The trail curved around the face of a sheer rock. Seconds later, Melissa cried out, too.
    “Stephen, Stephen! Are you all right? Stephen!”
    “What happened?”
    “Danged if I know,” Atkins said. “You want to keep on?”
    Melissa didn’t stop screaming.
    Slocum slid from the mule and edged his way past Atkins and one of his partners. Melissa was behind him and already on the trail, on hands and knees looking over the side.
    “John, help him. Stephen fell!”
    “Son of a bitch,” he muttered. He stepped closer and chanced a look out. The incline here wasn’t as sheer as in other places, and that might have saved the man’s life. Stephen lay twenty feet below, thrashing about feebly.
    “You need a rope or something to go fetch him?” Atkins asked. The man had come back to see what the trouble was. He led Slocum’s mule.
    “What happened?” Slocum looked from Melissa to Atkins’s other partner, who was behind Stephen’s mule.
    “Can’t rightly say,” the prospector said. “He was a bit wobbly in the saddle. Might have leaned out, got dizzy like, then taken a fall. Seen it happen before.”
    “Where?”
    “What’s that?” The prospector looked up, startled. The expression on his face told the story.
    Slocum went for his six-shooter but something struck him in the back and knocked him from the trail. He flailed about, grabbing thin air, then plunged downward to join Stephen Baransky. He landed hard, tried to get up, and found he couldn’t. Slocum collapsed, and the world turned to darkness all around him.

10
    The moans grew louder, but it took Slocum a few seconds to realize he wasn’t the one making the sounds. He stirred and felt jabs of pain throughout his body. He stopped trying to move and worked on recovering his senses a little at a time. The sun was warm on his head so only a few minutes—an hour at most—could have passed. He sucked in a breath and let the wave of pain roll through him. Then he opened his eyes and saw that he was right about the source of the agony.
    Stephen Baransky lay in a heap a few yards away. A wound on his face bled. Good. That meant he was still alive since dead men didn’t bleed. Slocum pushed out with his hands and found solid rock to support himself. Using this advantage, he sat up. Another minute went by as he examined himself. No bones broken. He had lost some skin when he hit the rough rock and skidded along a few feet, but luck had been with him again.
    If he had slipped another couple feet, he would have plunged another fifty. Surviving that fall would have taken more than luck. At the moment, Slocum doubted divineintervention was going to matter a whole lot to him. He had been dry-gulched