Laurel smiled and her eyes opened halfway.

  “I knew you were the right man for the job,” she said.

  “What job? That was pure pleasure, ma’am.”

  “For me, too.”

  She smiled, then reached down and chastely closed her blouse. It didn’t hide much, but she hardly noticed. Slocum had to help her sit up and get her long legs swung around and closed before she could fasten her buttons and get her skirt down to hide her privates.

  Slocum took the time while Laurel was working on her clothes to tuck himself away, and then sat beside her.

  “I suppose you’ve done what you can for me, John.”

  “Might be something left to do,” he said, smiling.

  “Oh, not that!” Laurel blushed delightfully. “I meant that you’d looked for my father and not found anything about him.”

  “He’s probably still up in the mountains dealing with Indians,” he said.

  “Why hasn’t he contacted me?”

  Slocum didn’t bother answering that. There wasn’t likely a postmaster out where Joshua Atkins patrolled, but a different question came to him. If Atkins had been gone from his post for almost a month, why hadn’t he sent a courier back with a report? No one he had spoken to had heard a thing about him since he left Fort Crumpland.

  And Slocum hadn’t found any evidence in Colonel Holman’s file that Atkins had reported back. Most commanders would send out a squad to be certain nothing had happened to what had to be one of his most accomplished and valuable soldiers.

  “Well, John, you’ve done all you can. I’m sure of that since you are an honest man.” She shyly looked up at him with her bright blue eyes. “Your debt’s paid. Go on, but—”

  “But what?”

  “Maybe you can stay in Newsome for another day or two. I’ve got a camp just outside town.”

  “That’s why the clerk didn’t know you. You’re saving money?”

  “That money I paid Mr. Crosby was almost all I had.”

  “Why are you so desperate to talk to your pa all of a sudden?”

  “He sent me this. I was in Salt Lake City and came right away.” She fumbled in the folds of her skirt, found a pocket and pulled out a tattered letter. “He said he was not too happy about his new commanding officer. He didn’t say what bothered him, but there was something. He promised to write again in a few days but didn’t. Now it’s been six weeks.”

  Slocum had been on a fair number of Army posts in his day, but Fort Crumpland struck him as peculiar. The lax-ness was only part of what bothered him. A lieutenant didn’t meet secretly with three privates and a sergeant before addressing the soldiers, yet Tartaglia had done just that. Seeing Davies, Sims and the other two murder the robbers also rankled.

  “There’s nothing more I can find out at the fort,” he said.

  “I know,” she said sadly.

  “But there’s another place I can go to find out a little more of what’s going on around Fort Crumpland.”

  She looked up at him with her wide blue eyes, and he knew he would find her father or die trying.

  6

  Slocum reluctantly left Laurel behind in her pitiful camp. She hadn’t much practice pitching a tent or fixing a meal over an open fire, causing Slocum to decide that she had been raised back East while her pa was on the frontier. He didn’t pry, and Laurel wasn’t inclined to let him know what her life had been like before reaching Salt Lake City, but she had said she had been in the city only a few weeks. Her only contact with her pa in that time had been his letters and a single visit about a month prior to Colonel Holman taking command of Fort Crumpland. He had spoken highly of the former commander, Major Stillman, but other than this Laurel had no knowledge of her father’s post.

  They had passed two nights pleasantly entwined in one another’s arms, but Slocum had begun to feel a little antsy because he was settling into a routine. Laurel wasn’t complaining, but he knew she wanted to find out what had happened to her father—and Slocum had a score to settle with Davies, Sims and their partners in crime. He had seen too much action during the war like that dished out by those four to let them get away with it. Mostly, he didn’t have much truck with lawmen or even the cavalry, but men who swore an oath to uphold the law shouldn’t be taking lives or stealing from stagecoach strongboxes.

  Slocum had taken a good look at a map in the Newsome assay office, gotten the lay of the land and now headed northwest toward a small range of hills that curled around and merged farther north with the Wasatch Mountains. He carefully avoided roads where cavalry patrols might extend outward from Fort Crumpland, and in three days he reached the foothills. Making camp at midday took away several hours’ ride for the day, but from here he had to go easy. He was looking for a man as slippery as a scared toad soaked in axle grease.

  After pitching camp, he trapped a rabbit for dinner and washed it down with the juice from a tin of peaches. Satisfied, he lounged back and let his mind wander over what had been happening all around him. The way Laurel had so boldly come into the saloon to hire him was amusing, but the situation with her father wasn’t. Something was going on at Fort Crumpland he couldn’t pin down, and it might be the reason Joshua Atkins had been missing for almost two months now.

  The more he thought of the missing man, the more his thoughts returned to Laurel and the delightful few days he had spent with her before coming into the Wasatch Mountains. Laurel was a determined woman, but he had never found out her background. She had a core of steel when it came to finding her father, but physically she was no frontier woman. From her accent and the way she looked at things, Laurel must be from a big Eastern city. Boston? Might be. He had come across enough Yankees who had worked hard to erase their accents and who sounded like Laurel. Or perhaps she came from Chicago or even St. Louis. It had to be a big city, and she had to have a wealthy background.

  “Doesn’t fit,” he said to himself. Wealth and having a father who was a sergeant in the U.S. Army didn’t go together well. He had never heard of any soldier becoming rich off his service.

  Except Tartaglia, Davies and their partners, who were trying.

  “You move and I’ll fill you full of holes,” came a cold voice.

  Slocum propped himself up on one elbow and looked into the sun, squinting as he made out the silhouette of a man holding a six-gun on him.

  “Wondered how long you’d take to decide to come on into my camp,” Slocum said. “Want coffee? Boiled a pot not too long back, but you know that since you watched me. Help yourself.”

  “You’re a cool customer for a man who’s gonna get filled with lead. Toss me your money.”

  Slocum laughed harshly. “I don’t have money. Your boss ought to have told you that.”

  “I ain’t got a boss,” the man said. A hint of panic touched those words, telling Slocum he had hit the bull’s-eye. “I work for myself.”

  “You work for Laredo Jack Lansing. You try robbing anybody and not give him his cut, you’ll end up like Swede Johansen. You heard what Jack did to him? He caught Swede stealing from the take after a train robbery. He tied Swede down on the tracks, both hands on the rails. Jack had to gag Swede to keep him from screaming as the train came along. Johansen didn’t steal from Jack or anyone else again.”

  “I heard,” the man said in a choked voice. “How’d you know about Swede?”

  Slocum turned suddenly, tugging at a rope hardly hidden by dirt and rocks. The rope tightened and he pulled harder. The loop of rope caught the outlaw’s right foot, which went sailing from under him when Slocum sat up and snapped the rope taut.

  Moving swiftly, Slocum got to his feet, drew and pointed his six-shooter at the supine man’s face.

  “Drop your hogleg,” Slocum said.

  “Now, why are you goin’ and threaten’ him like that, John?” The voice came from behind. Slocum didn’t turn.

  “I got tired of waiting for you to show up, Jack.”

  “Put the six-shooter away and let poor ole Possum up.”

  “Possum? Hell of a moniker for a road agent,” Slocum said, slipping his six-gun back into its holster. He reached down, grabbed the fallen man’s hand and heaved him to his feet.

  “You do know Jack,” Possum said in awe. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I thought—”

  “Possum, the day you think is the day the world comes to an end. Ride on back to camp. Me and Slocum got things to talk about.”

  “He knew about Swede, Jack.”

  “Possum, you damn fool, he helped me tie Swede down.”

  Slocum watched the young outlaw rush off.

  “Why’d you tell him that?” Slocum asked.

  “Makes life easier for you. I can’t think of any reason you’d ride this way, huntin’ me down ’less you wanted to join up. I can’t think of a man I’d rather have at my side or watchin’ my back than John Slocum, either. Good to see you again, John.”

  “You’ve changed, Jack,” Slocum said, picking up his rope, whacking it a few times against his leg to get the dust off it before coiling it. He studied Laredo Jack closely.

  “Been a hard trail since we split up, John.” Laredo Jack settled down on a rock and took off his hat, wiped his forehead with a bandanna and then put the hat back on.

  “Your hair’s gone gray, what’s left of it.” The lines in Jack’s face and the way he moved as slow and painful as an old-timer told Slocum that his one-time partner had aged faster than the passing years dictated.

  “I do what I can, John, to stay alive. It’s gettin’ to the point where I’m thinkin’ of hangin’ up my six-shooter. But don’t go spreadin’ that around, you hear?”

  Slocum laughed. “You’ve said that as long as I’ve known you. You’ll die with your boots on, and you know it.”

  “Reckon you’re right, John. Time’s been good to you. Or has it? That why you’re wantin’ to join up with a has-been gang like mine?”

  “Possum like the rest of your men?”

  Laredo Jack spat and shook his head sadly. “Yep. If brains was dynamite, he couldn’t blow his nose. I’m surprised he’s still alive, comin’ up on you the way he did. Makes mistakes like that all the time.” Laredo Jack looked more closely at Slocum. “You don’t want to ride with me again, do you?”

  “Can’t say I enjoy riding with any gang,” Slocum said.

  “You always were a lone wolf. So why’d you come lookin’ for me? That’s the only reason I can see you’d go to all that trouble.” Laredo Jack pointed to the lariat looped in Slocum’s hand.

  “I heard your name mentioned at Fort Crumpland. They’ve got patrols out to run you to ground.”

  “Got a big reward on my head from a little stay over in Colorado. Cattle rustlin’, mostly. Ate real good for a spell but never made much money off the beeves. Didn’t think the cavalry would worry so much about me, but then . . .” The outlaw’s voice trailed off.

  “Things at this fort are different, aren’t they?” Slocum said. Laredo Jack nodded. “I’m looking for a friend’s father. Sergeant Atkins rode out of the fort nigh on six weeks back and hasn’t been heard from since.”

  “A friend?” Laredo Jack chuckled. “A redhead? You always had a lech for redheads.”

  “Blonde,” Slocum said. “You know me too well, Jack. Her pa headed out on patrol right after a colonel name of Holman took command. I poked around and asked a few questions but got nowhere. I overheard one of the lieutenants giving orders to his men to track you and your gang down, so I thought you should know. Besides, we can catch up on old times.”

  “Old times.” Laredo Jack spat again. He took more chaw from his pocket, offered some to Slocum, who refused, then bit off another mouthful of the plug and worked on it awhile. As he sat and chewed, Slocum took out the fixings in his pocket and rolled himself a smoke. He was almost out, but it seemed the neighborly thing to do while Laredo Jack was thinking.

  “You see anything wrong at that post, John?”

  “Nothing wrong,” Slocum said carefully. “What are you getting at?”

  “Might be showin’ you is easier than explainin’ since I can’t explain it. Come on. Saddle up and let’s ride to my camp.” Laredo Jack stood and stared at the coffeepot. “You got more coffee?”

  “About a pound.”

  “I’ve got a hankerin’ for coffee like you can’t believe. It’s been too long since I even smelled it. I’ll trade you what I know for your coffee.”

  Slocum nodded, knowing that times were indeed hard for the outlaw if Jack hadn’t been able to buy—or steal—coffee anywhere. He packed his gear, slung it on his horse, then climbed into the saddle. Laredo Jack waited impatiently for him. That had changed in the outlaw, too. When Slocum had known him, Laredo Jack had been as patient as any man west of the Mississippi. That had made his robberies go successfully, with very little bloodshed. Slocum had always appreciated that, after seeing so much death during the war. But Laredo Jack was not a man to cross.

  Swede Johansen had discovered that.

  They rode in silence, following a stream into the mountains until Laredo Jack held up his hand, motioning Slocum to halt. Jack pointed silently into a canyon leading off to their right.

  Slocum’s hand went to the six-shooter at his hip, but Jack wasn’t ready to fight.

  “Injuns,” Laredo Jack said. “Peaceable for the most part. Leastways, they let me and my boys camp a mile farther up that canyon and don’t disturb us none. Wish I could say that for the cavalry.”

  They rode on, Slocum aware of the Indians watching them closely. The canyon walls narrowed until the stony faces were only inches beyond his fingertips if he reached out on either side. As constricted as the way was for a hundred yards, it opened abruptly into a grassy meadow ringed by tall mountains.

  “The perfect hideout,” Laredo Jack said, “if you’re not goin’ out to rob anybody.”

  “The narrow throat to the canyon would trap you?”

  “This is the biggest, damnedest trap you ever did see. A box canyon with steep walls and no other way out. But there’s grass for the horses and a stream comin’ from higher in the mountains, game, everything a man could want. But one cross-eyed sniper could pen us all up.”

  “Why stay?” asked Slocum. Looking around the veritable paradise made him uneasy. A man could get fat and lazy here.

  “Don’t that tell you anything? We’re not doin’ much in the way of train or stagecoach robbin’. I thought on the wagon trains headin’ out of Salt Lake City goin’ north and figured they weren’t worth it. What would we steal? A load of pots and pans and seed corn?”

  “Why are you still around, then?” Slocum asked. He studied the men in camp and wondered at how far Laredo Jack Lansing had come. Not a one of these men ought to be trusted with a six-gun, much less robbing a bank or sticking up a stage. Most were still wet behind the ears and some had the look of frightened rabbits. Slocum wasn’t sure which was worse. The arrogance or the fright. Either could get a man killed.

  “I don’t know how to do anything else,” Laredo Jack said.

  “If the pickings are slim around here and the cavalry’s thinking on a serious effort to capture you, why not move on? California’s got some fat businessmen looking to be cheated at poker games. I remember you as being a pretty fair cardsharp.”

  “No longer, John.” Laredo Jack held up his hands. “The pain in my joints is so bad I scream myself awake at night. It’s hard even holdin’ a six-shooter, but I can at least do that. But my problems aren’t yours.”

  “You said you had something to show me. What is it?”

  “Grab some grub, give me that coffee you promised, and we’ll find ourselves a nice spot to sit and watch the sunset.”

  That struck Slocum as odd, but this wasn’t the Laredo Jack he remembered. He joined the others at the campfire in their sparse meal. The coffee was put on to boil, but Slocum let his old friend drink the lion’s share. He sipped at water from a nearby pool and thought this was almost as good. When they finished, Jack motioned for him to mount. They rode back through the throat in the rock and turned in another direction once away from the box canyon.

  “Over yonder hill’s the main road leading up to Salt Lake City,” Laredo Jack said. “I heard tell there’s goin’ be some action when the stage comes rollin’ ’long in about an hour.”

  “You fixing to rob it? Just you? Or do you want me to help out?” Slocum wasn’t sure what to make of this. He’d ridden with the Lansing Gang for almost six months and owed Laredo Jack, but robbing stages right now wasn’t what he wanted to do. He was flat-ass broke, hardly two nickels to rub together, but that mattered less than finding out what had happened to Joshua Atkins.

  It mattered far less than stopping Davies and Tartaglia.

  “We’ll set a spell and watch. Just watch. Nothing more. You got field glasses or do we have to get in closer?”

  Slocum reached back, fumbled around and shook his head. The gear he had appropriated from the dead outlaw didn’t include anything as fancy as binoculars.

  “Then we nuzzle on up. I found a spot that is ’bout perfect for a holdup. We go across the road from it, and we ought to have a front-row seat.”

  They rode for almost an hour, swapping stories of when they had ridden together. As they crested the hill, Laredo Jack cautioned Slocum to silence. Jack rode off the road, to a stand of scrub oak, and then dismounted. Slocum followed him into the thicket.

  “Leave your horse and come with me,” Laredo Jack said. “Don’t make no noise from now on or we’ll have one whale of a fight on our hands.”

  Slocum crept through the thicket as silently as any Apache and stopped beside Laredo Jack when they had a decent view of the grade up the hill. In the distance Slocum saw a cloud of dust moving along the road.

  “Stage,” Laredo Jack said in a low voice.

  Slocum had figured that out. He also had figured out they were not alone on the hill. Not a hundred yards off, on the far side of the road, a tumble of rocks provided the perfect point to ambush a stagecoach. The stage had to climb the steep hill. If road agents emerged before it reached the summit, the driver would have no choice but to put on the brake and surrender. There was no way the stagecoach could turn and race away downhill, and once the stage had drawn to a halt, getting it moving again uphill would be quite a chore for a tired team.