The Great West Detective Agency by Jackson Lowry

away his pistol and went after Amanda and the men, his steps allowing them to increase the distance so they weren’t likely to notice him. Lucas had no clear idea what he intended until the trio ahead turned and started up York, going to Dunbar’s house. Telling Amanda to her face he wasn’t going to continue the hunt for her dog—or whoever’s dog it was—looked more like a suicide mission by the minute. The three went to the front door, knocked, and were let inside.
    Lucas found a stump across the street and sat on it, staring at the elegant house. He had taken her money and felt obligated to complete the job, but she had lied to him. Not once had she told him of her alliance with Jubal Dunbar or that the dog would be passed from her hand to the politician’s once it was found.
    Tovarich was better off scrounging through garbage than being in Dunbar’s care.
    It took some moral wrestling but Lucas finally decided the money he had received, or what was left of it after bribes and greasing information sources, had been earned in spite of not finding Tovarich. Amanda had forfeited his services.
    The stench of sewage still clung to him in spite of fancy stinkum toilet water and hard scrubbing with lye soap. Spending Amanda’s money, he would end up about even when he bought a new coat and replaced the rest of his clothing soiled in the dunking. This hardly evened the score with Dunbar’s men, though.
    A slow smile came as he thought that he was pretty much invisible to Amanda. She thought he worked for the Great West Detective Agency. Unless she happened to wander into the Emerald City, to see Carmela, he was safe from discovery.
    He retraced his steps, but when he got to the intersection, he stopped. Ahead lay his rooming house and to his left the Emerald City. The hairs on the back of his neck rose, warning him he was being watched. Using a hitching post to lean against, he worked to build himself a cigarette, taking his time and looking around without seeming to do so. He caught his breath when sudden movement down a branching street caught his attention. Someone dodged out of his line of sight.
    With his cigarette lit and a cloud of smoke rising around his face, he smoked for a couple minutes. He won the waiting game. The quick move of a head out and back showed that whoever was spying on him had kept up his vigil. Not hurrying, Lucas walked across the street toward a tannery, then spun and darted to the street in time to see his stalker running away. His fingers brushed over the butt of his Colt. Again the distance was too great and the reason for shooting nonexistent. He might be jumping at shadows.
    He crushed out the cigarette and walked to the corner of the tannery, knelt, and looked at the tracks closest to the wall. All he could make out was a small footprint, possibly a woman’s boot or that of a large boy. He sighed, then inhaled. As he did so, he caught a curious odor. He sucked in even more and tried to remember where he had encountered this before.
    â€œWhatsa matter, mister, you havin’ an attack? You a lunger?”
    He looked up to a man wearing canvas pants and a red-and-black-checked shirt. His occupation fairly screamed out to Lucas, having sat across a poker table from others dressed similarly.
    â€œProspecting for gold,” he said, sure he identified the man’s profession.
    â€œAin’t nuthin’ in this town what ain’t been extracted already. You got to get into the hills if you want to hit it rich. Oro City, Ouray. Them’s where the blue dirt is, where you’ll find color both gold and silver.” The prospector fixed Lucas with a steely look, as if daring him to refute such logic.
    â€œI’m not so sure I haven’t hit pay dirt.” Lucas stood and took a final sniff. The lingering scent was so familiar, but identifying it was just a tad beyond his ken.
    â€œDon’t ask me to stake you, mister. You dig there,