Judging by the way the nag shook her head and spattered chewed oats onto the partition, there was a slight chance she’d understood that.

  Stepping away from the horse trader, Slocum almost made it to the narrow gate leading to the other section of the barn before he caught Warren glancing toward the old gun resting on the floor. He dropped a hand onto the other man’s shoulder and shoved him along in front of him. “Show me the damn horses,” he said while escorting Warren toward the back door.

  There was a small lot behind the barn where several horses were kept in a fenced area. None of them would win any prizes, but they had promise and would last a hell of a lot longer than the nag that had barely carried him thirty miles into town. “What about the interest?” he asked.

  “Take two of them,” Warren sighed. “And don’t speak a word about our dispute to anyone. How’s that sound?”

  “Don’t wanna ruin your chances of bilking anyone else, huh? Problem is, I don’t need two horses. I’ll take cash. Let’s call it twenty-five percent of the debt.”

  “I don’t have it.” When Slocum scowled at him, Warren was quick to add, “I lost money in that game, remember? There are some prospects coming in soon, so I’ll have it then. Just give me a day or two.”

  “A day or two so you can cut out on me? I don’t think so.”

  Putting on a smile that covered his face like a greasy coat of paint, Warren asked, “What the hell do you want from me, John? Blood?”

  “Don’t tempt me.”

  When that sank in, the smirk on Warren’s face dried right up. “Tell you what,” he said. “You stay in town and I’ll guarantee to make up what I owe you. Plus interest.”

  “That’s the funny thing about interest. The longer it sits around, the bigger it gets.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I know.”

  “Every day’s another twenty-five percent.”

  Pressing his mouth into a straight line, Warren dug deep for the courage to swat that offer aside. He came up short of his goal, but he did find enough wind to say, “Make it ten percent.”

  “Twenty.”

  Warren was in his element, but his next counteroffer was cut short by a warning glare from Slocum. “Eighteen percent.”

  Since he would have settled for fifteen, Slocum nodded and extended a hand. “Deal. You got yourself a nice little setup in this barn, so I’ll just bunk here to make sure you don’t try to take any spur-of-the-moment rides at an odd hour.”

  “I need room to work, John. Besides, I’ve got a better idea. I worked up some credit over at the Jackrabbit. It’s right down the street on—”

  “I know the place.”

  “Good! Like I say, I’ve got some credit there. It’s good enough for a room for a few nights, some meals, and possibly some company. Know what I’m saying?”

  “Yes, Warren. I think I understand,” Slocum said dryly.

  “Stay there. Use the credit for whatever you need. Think that’d be enough to cover some of that interest?”

  “Depends on how much credit you’ve got.”

  Warren chuckled, slapped Slocum on the back, and then immediately took his hand away. “We just got off on the wrong foot, you and I. I’d hate to foster bad feelings with a man like yourself.”

  “Maybe you aren’t such a bad fellow, Warren,” Slocum said with a smile of his own.

  “That’s the spirit!”

  “Which is why I’m sure you won’t mind if I take one of those pure-bred horses inside as collateral.”

  “No,” Warren replied through gritted teeth. “Wouldn’t mind that at all.”

  3

  The Jackrabbit Lodge had become a contender for Slocum’s favorite part of Reno when he’d first seen it. Now that his beer and room were free, it climbed even higher on his list. The only money he’d spent over the last two days was what he gambled at any of the many tables scattered throughout the main room and the few dollars he paid to a pair of young brothers to watch over his collateral and let him know if anyone tried to sneak off with either of Slocum’s new horses. The one he’d taken as part of his payment was an even-tempered, dark brown mare that had light patches on either side of her head. The collateral was in perfect condition from head to hoof and walked with more power than most horses could accomplish at a full gallop. Just to be safe, Slocum had moved the horses to the Jackrabbit’s private livery. It was a stable that was kept locked most of the day, and when Conrad heard what Slocum needed it for, he was only too happy to oblige.

  Tipping another beer to the barkeep, Slocum grinned and asked, “Still chipping away at Warren’s credit?”

  “Just about through with it,” the barkeep replied.

  Slocum nodded, drained the beer, and set the mug down. It was a good brew on its own, but drinking it for free made it even tastier. Using up Warren Staples’s credit on top of all that made it some of the best he’d ever drunk. “What the hell did he do to earn so much credit anyway?”

  “The owner of the place got a few horses off of him not too long ago. Since Warren comes in here so much, he was willing to take the credit in payment for the animals.”

  “And I’m using the credit, so that means Warren just about gave them horses away for free?”

  After pondering that for a second or two, Conrad nodded. “I guess you could look at it that way.”

  “Damn. This beer just got sweeter. Speaking of sweet . . .”

  As Slocum’s words trailed off, his eyes wandered to another section of the room. Conrad didn’t have any trouble picking out what had caught his attention. “Ah, yes. That’d be Dulcie. She’s been asking about you.”

  “Has she now? Does she work here?”

  “Yes, but not on her back. She talks up the customers, keeps ’em company, and steers them toward the expensive drinks. Every now and then she’ll sing, but it’s been a while since she’s been on the stage.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Got the boys in here too riled up. Having to say no to too many advances makes it tough to do her job, you know?”

  “Sure,” Slocum said without truly listening. “I can imagine.”

  Dulcie sat at a table with two older gentlemen dressed in suits that fell just short of fancy. Their faces were covered in flowing mustaches that took on even more curves as they grinned like schoolboys when she leaned forward to playfully tug at one of their collars. She was a tall, lean woman with long legs wrapped in dark red skirts and polished black boots that Slocum imagined ran all the way up to her knees. A corset was cinched in tight enough to prop up a pair of generous breasts, which spilled out of the plunging neckline of her dress. She had the smooth, pale skin of a woman who didn’t spend much time in the sun, but seemed just a little paler in contrast to the dark red hair that was gathered in a single wave flowing over one shoulder. One of the men said something to her, which she responded to with a laugh that rolled through the air and got her ample curves shaking nicely.

  “What’s she been asking about me?” Slocum asked.

  “Just who you are and how much you’ve been playing at the tables. I told her your name. She’s a good partner to have in a card game.”

  “I’ll bet she is.”

  As if sensing she was being singled out, Dulcie turned to look at Slocum and showed him a very promising smile.

  “So you think I should see if she wants to partner up for a game of poker?”

  Conrad shrugged again before smirking. “You might’ve guessed that’s part of her job, too. Ain’t exactly cheating, but she can sway things where the other players are concerned. If she’s with someone who can take advantage of that, it works out fine all the way around. You two split your winnings and everyone’s happy.”

  “Plus the house gets a cut,” Slocum pointed out.

  “Like I said. Everyone’s happy.”

  Although Dulcie shifted her eyes back to the men at her table, Slocum wasn’t about to take his off of her. He admired the way her body moved as she shifted in her chair, the hair that brushed the sides of her face, and the smile that was hotter than the reddest coals in a cooking fire. Tipping his drink to her, he said, “We’ll see just how happy everyone can get.”

  Rather than approach her right away, Slocum tended to some business and let Dulcie tend to hers. First on his list was checking in on his horse and the one that served as his collateral. No matter how much he was enjoying himself, all of that credit he’d been spending wouldn’t make up for losing out on the reason he was in Reno in the first place. When he arrived at the livery, it was closed up good and tight. Slocum was given a key since the owners knew he had livestock in there. He was just about to pull open the door when someone rushed up behind him.

  “What’re you doing there, mister?”

  Slocum stopped, raised his hands, and slowly turned around. A boy stood behind him with his feet planted shoulder-width apart and a shovel gripped tightly in his eleven-year-old hands. “Don’t shoot,” Slocum said. “I didn’t mean no harm.”

  The boy relaxed and propped the shovel over one shoulder. “Oh, it’s you, Mr. Slocum. I thought you was coming to steal them horses.”

  “You’re doing a good job, Harry. Has anyone been sniffing around this livery?”

  “Nobody that ain’t supposed to.”

  “What about Mr. Staples?”

  The kid was tall for his age and was skinny as a green bean. His face twisted into a knot as he thought over Slocum’s question with enough vigor to make steam come out of his ears. Finally, he shook his head. “Nope. Nobody but the ones who’re usually here. And nobody’s touched them horses,” he added fiercely. “No matter who comes by, I stay where I can see ’em and watch to make sure they ain’t up to no good.”

  “You’re doing a mighty fine job. Where’s your brother?”

  “Gettin’ some food. We aim to stay here all night.” Harry straightened his posture until he looked ready to pose for a likeness of Honest Abe himself. “Someday me an’ him are gonna be lawmen.”

  Slocum grunted at that. While he had plenty of bad opinions about supposed keepers of the peace based on plenty of bad men he’d met over the years, he didn’t want to put out the spark in the kid’s eyes. “Long as you don’t try to become a bounty hunter.”

  “Bounty hunter?” Harry asked. “Why’d I want to go and do a thing like that?”

  “Exactly. Here,” Slocum said as he flipped a silver coin at him. “That’s for being so vigilant. Be sure to split it with your partner.”

  Harry gripped the money in a tight fist, turned to run away, but stopped to cast another look at the livery. Obviously torn between finding his brother and abandoning his post, he chose to stand firm and pocketed the silver. “We’ll come find you if anything happens, Mr. Slocum.”

  The horses were right where they should have been, so Slocum closed the doors and left his hired gun to do his job. From there, he started walking down the street back to Warren’s place of business. He was glad the horses were still intact, but a little surprised that Warren hadn’t tried any foolishness to get them back. From what he’d read on the trader’s face, Slocum was all but certain that those horses would be taken back one way or another long before now. Slocum had come this far already and was getting restless, so he decided to check in on Warren personally.

  As soon as he rounded the next corner, he spotted five horses tied to the post in front of Warren’s barn. One of them still had a rider on its back and was angled so the man had a good view of the street. The rider had a narrow build and wiry frame, sitting in his saddle as if he was more comfortable there than on his own two feet. He wore a dark blue shirt with sleeves rolled up to display a set of dirty forearms. A battered hat sat high upon his head to block the sun’s rays without impeding his view. Spotting Slocum immediately, he stared at him while moving his hand to the butt of his holstered pistol.

  “Just checking on the price of a saddle,” Slocum said as he approached the front of the barn. He held his hands at just above shoulder height in the same easy manner that he’d done while playacting with Harry.

  “You can wait your turn,” the man said when Slocum pulled the door open.

  Pretending not to hear that, Slocum stepped into the barn and shut the door behind him.

  The door rattled against its frame, but the noise was masked by what was already going on inside the barn. Apart from the animals that milled within their stalls, three men were positioned throughout the open area in front of the low wall partitioning off Warren’s living space.

  Warren stood on the other side of that wall. “Look here now,” he said. “You already took what I had. I don’t have no more!”

  “That ain’t the way this works,” a short, muscular fellow squawked. The hat he wore was one size too big for his head, but was held in place by a thick crop of hair that looked to have been stained by a mix of carrot and tomato juice. “You got something for us and we’re here to collect.”

  “But it isn’t—” Warren’s plea was dramatically cut short when the redheaded fellow reached over the top of the partition, grabbed him by the collar, and dragged the horse trader over the top of the low wall. Warren tried to get his legs beneath him, but wasn’t able to do so before he was dumped onto a thin pile of straw that had collected on the floor beneath him.

  The other two men were amused enough by the sight of that to watch instead of look toward the door. Before Slocum could get too comfortable in his supposed advantage, he heard another voice bark at him from on high.

  “Git on out of here, mister!” shouted a dark-skinned man from the loft. Even from a distance, Slocum could see the intensity that burned in that one’s eyes as he sighted along the top of a rifle that was pressed solidly against his shoulder. The thick beard covering his face made it tough for Slocum to make out any more details.

  The warning was enough to bring two of the strangers around to face Slocum. The redhead was still busy with Warren and the horse trader was too flustered to focus on much of anything at all.

  “What’s the problem here?” Slocum asked.

  The man who stepped forward had wide shoulders and mean eyes. Straw-colored hair poked out from beneath his narrow-brim hat and thick hands clenched into meaty fists. “You a friend of this asshole, mister?”

  “No,” Slocum replied, “but he can’t pay me what he owes me if he’s hurt too badly.”

  In an instant, the blond man turned his anger into an ugly grin. Pointing the twisted expression toward Warren, he said, “You ought to pay your debts, Staples. Then you wouldn’t have one trouble piling up on top of another like this. What’s he owe you, mister?”

  “Never mind that. I wasn’t talking to you.”

  The man in the loft levered a round into his rifle and everyone else shifted toward Slocum as if they’d only just taken complete notice that he was there. The blond was obviously the leader because even Warren looked at him to see what was going to happen next.

  “You got a smart mouth on you,” the blond said.

  “And you talk real bravely for a man who needs so much backup against one fat horse trader.”

  Despite everything else going on, Warren had to take a moment to pat his rounded belly and frown disapprovingly at the comment.

  The blond scowled and waved Slocum off. “Get the hell out of here before we hang you from one of these rafters.”

  When the door creaked open behind him, Slocum turned and saw the man from the front of the barn poking his nose inside. The barrel of his gun preceded him by a few inches, telling Slocum that the man wasn’t there just to ask him nicely to leave. When the door swung in toward him, Slocum shut it with a straight mule kick that knocked the barrel of the man’s gun aside and cracked his wrist in between two sections of wood. Battered Hat staggered outside, swearing loudly.

  “Take him, Mark!” the blond hollered.

  Slocum waited only as long as it took for him to decide which one was Mark. Since the dark-skinned man in the loft inched forward to settle his aim, Slocum guessed that was the fellow he was after and acted accordingly. The instant his hand found the grip of his Colt Navy, Slocum’s senses absorbed everything they could. He discarded the panicked words coming from Warren along with all the noises made by the animals. He marked the position of all three men on the floor before shifting his focus to the loft.

  He drew the Colt and brought it up while bending his knees to lower his body. That way, Slocum got the six-shooter up while presenting a smaller target to the others. His finger tightened around the trigger, squeezing rather than pulling, to make sure his round flew as straight as possible. It took a notch out of the edge of the loft about an inch away from the rifleman’s right foot. That sent the man stumbling backward and caused his shot to drill a hole through the wall. Slocum fired again, kicking up a little eruption of dust from the floor a foot or so behind the first hole he’d made.

  The other three men must have had supreme confidence in their partner with the rifle, because they had yet to draw their guns. Upon seeing the man stumble away from the edge of the loft, they reached for their holsters. It was too late, however. Slocum was already on the move and rushing toward them. He kept the Colt held at hip level, but refrained from firing just yet.

  The third stranger was a gangly fellow with arms and legs that looked more like lengths of rope wrapped in tattered clothes. He was the first to throw himself at Slocum after quickly jerking a .38 Smith & Wesson from a rig hanging beneath his left arm. Slocum closed the distance even faster than the gangly fellow had been expecting and swung his Colt Navy so the side of the barrel pounded against the underside of the man’s wrist. He winced as his hand went numb and soon found himself on the receiving end of a knee driven directly into his midsection.

  The redhead came at Slocum next, announcing his intentions with a snarled curse while taking aim with a Peacemaker in each fist.

  Slocum sidestepped and ducked down as low as he could without going face first to the floor. Both Peacemakers exploded, and although he could feel the heat from their muzzles, no lead ripped through his body. He slammed a hip against the partition wall, straightened himself, and jammed the Colt’s barrel deep into the redhead’s rib cage.