“Thirty percent?”

  Slocum cocked his head and warned her with a cold stare.

  Dulcie was quick to say, “It’ll stay at the percentage we agreed on earlier. Can’t blame me for tryin’. You’ll come back to settle up when it’s over?”

  “I will. I promise.”

  Taking genuine comfort from that, she tightened her grip and gave his hand another shake. “If you’re butting heads with the Terrors of White Pine, just make sure you stay alive long enough to make good on that promise.”

  “That’ll be the tricky part.”

  9

  As it turned out, Harry was one of the best investments Slocum had made while in Reno. The boy not only kept his collateral safe along with the horse that he would take for himself, he also guarded Slocum’s saddlebags and was a hell of a good messenger. Mason’s meeting with Warren was scheduled for later that evening, but Slocum wasn’t about to mosey along right on schedule since it was a good bet that Darrel Teach and his boys would do some moseying of their own. Slocum wanted the meeting changed to an earlier time, and even though he figured the outlaws might still find out about it, an attempt to reschedule was the best he could do to keep Mr. Mason on the hook.

  Harry took the note Slocum scribbled out for him, ran away like a shot, and was back in a matter of minutes. Slocum heard the rattle of hurried footsteps on the boardwalk outside the bakery where he was nursing a cup of tea and watching the street through the front window. He would have preferred something a little harder than tea, but it went along nicely with the fresh cake that had been cooling when he’d arrived. At any rate, it was one of the last places anyone would look for Slocum whether they knew him personally or not.

  “I . . . did it, Mr. Slocum,” Harry said breathlessly as he staggered through the door and placed his hands upon his knees. “I delivered . . .”

  Pulling the boy all the way inside before he told the whole street his business, Slocum shrugged at the large old woman behind the counter and made his way back to his table. “How about something to drink?” he asked.

  Harry looked back at him with confusion and then glanced at the glass case near the window.

  “What about some cookies?” the baker asked. She picked up on the change in Harry’s face right away and added, “I’ll bring some milk as well. How’d that be?”

  “Sounds fine,” Slocum said. Once she was out of ear-shot, he asked, “Did anyone follow you?”

  “No, sir,” Harry replied. “I was real careful just like you asked.”

  “You’re sure about that?”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Slocum.”

  The old woman shuffled over to the table with a plate of oatmeal raisin cookies and a tall glass of milk.

  “Just add it to my bill,” Slocum said with a smile.

  She nodded and brushed her hands on her apron. Convinced that the two were nothing more than a quaint pair enjoying an innocent snack, the baker shuffled behind the counter and into the kitchen to check whatever was in the oven.

  “Did you see any of those gunmen I warned you about?”

  “You mean the Terrors of White Pine?” Harry said. “Not a one. There was lawmen about, so they probably scared ’em away.”

  “What about Warren’s place? Was anyone there?”

  “Just Mr. Staples himself.” Harry grabbed a cookie, bit into it, and then dunked the other portion into his milk. “He was brushing his horses and singing to himself. I snuck up on him without meaning to. I handed him the note and told him it was from you and that I had to stay there until he read it. He was real cross about that, but wasn’t so angry once he saw what you wrote. What’d you write anyways?”

  “You didn’t read it?”

  Harry’s eyes widened and he seemed almost nervous enough to lose his appetite. Almost, but not quite. “No, sir! You told me not to read it and I didn’t!”

  Before the boy raised his voice any further, Slocum said, “All right. I believe you. Did he send a reply along for me?”

  “Yep.” Dunking his cookie again and grabbing another, Harry went on as if he’d already forgotten about the scare he’d received a few seconds ago. “He told me to tell you that it was fine.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s all he said.” Snapping his face up quickly enough to send a few crumbs onto the table, Harry asked, “Was he supposed to say more? You want me to go back there and ask?”

  “No need for that. You did real good.” Slocum dug into his pocket and took out some money. “Here you go,” he said as he handed it all over to the boy. “This is enough to pay for the cookies and plenty more besides. You didn’t leave my horses unattended, did you?”

  “Of course not. My brother’s watchin’ ’em.”

  “Then be sure to split the rest of that money with him.”

  Harry winced at the fact that Slocum had so easily thwarted the opportunity to pocket a little extra at his brother’s expense. Having been a scheming kid himself at one time, it hadn’t been too difficult. Reluctantly, Harry said, “All right. I will.”

  On his way out, Slocum waved to the old woman and told her, “The boy’s got the money to pay for everything. Don’t let him try to sneak out on you!”

  “I’ll keep a good eye on him!” she replied.

  Slocum left the bakery and headed down the street to the Silver Strike Hotel. It was about the same size as the Jackrabbit, but the similarities ended there. Everything from the structure to the signs in the window put the saloon to shame. Just walking into the lobby made Slocum feel like he owed money for stepping on the fancy rugs. The clerk at the front desk saw him coming a mile away and wasn’t at all happy about it.

  “Is there something I can do for you, sir?” the man with the sour face asked.

  “I’m here to see Mr. Mason. He just checked in.”

  After glancing down at the register, he sighed, “Your name?”

  “John Slocum.”

  “Yes, I see he’s expecting you. I’ll have someone take you to his room.”

  When the clerk began to wave at a nearby young man dressed in a red jacket, Slocum cut in with, “Can I get a drink in here?”

  “We’re not a saloon, but we do offer our guests—”

  “Can I get a drink or not?”

  Glancing back down at whatever was written on the register, the clerk groaned, “I suppose so.”

  “Point me to it and that’s where I’ll be. You can have your boy bring Mr. Mason there.” Before the clerk could protest, Slocum said, “It won’t be a problem, I assure you. Is there anything else?”

  “No.”

  “Good.” With that, Slocum tipped his hat and turned his back on the haughty man behind the desk. Apart from punching the arrogant prick in the nose, putting him in his place and ordering him around was the next best thing. Then again, he did want his message delivered, and beating someone to a pulp in the lobby of an expensive hotel wasn’t the best way to keep a low profile. Thankfully, it wasn’t long before Mason came rushing down to meet him. Slocum stood against a short bar, nursing a glass of expensive whiskey. The barkeep must have shared his opinion regarding the desk clerk, because he didn’t have any problem with serving the whiskey on the house.

  “There you are, Mr. Slocum,” Mason said as he hurried over to the bar. “Were you followed?”

  Being asked the same thing he’d asked the boy not too long ago didn’t set well when combined with being talked to like he was a transient less than a few minutes ago. “I wasn’t followed,” Slocum snapped. “Because I know what I’m doing. Your meeting with Warren’s been arranged. We’re due over at his barn in half an hour.”

  “Why change the time of the meeting?”

  “Because you’ve got armed men after you, remember?”

  Now that he was in his element, Mason seemed to have forgotten everything that had come before. He gazed wistfully at the expensive mirror hanging behind the bar and slicked a stray hair back from where it had fallen across his forehead. “Oh, yes. I certainly do recall.”

  “Good. Come along with me then.”

  “But you said half an hour.”

  “Yeah, I know what I said,” Slocum replied. “Suddenly I’ve got a hankering to get this over and done with as soon as damn possible.”

  “I’ll need to get my papers.”

  “Then go get ’em.”

  Mason wasn’t pleased with the turn of events, but that didn’t affect Slocum in the least. By the time he’d finished his second whiskey, Slocum saw the businessman come back down the stairs with his satchel clutched like a baby in one arm. Slocum knocked his glass onto the bar and all but dragged Mason along behind him. The flustered man with the satchel wanted to protest, but knew better than to make a peep along the way.

  Even though he took an indirect route and there were plenty of folks on the streets to cover their tracks, Slocum was nervous as he made his way across town. Whether it was on schedule or off, he half expected to be ambushed at any given time. He cut down the occasional alley or through a back lot to make certain there was nobody tagging along behind him. When they finally reached Warren’s barn, Mason could barely catch his breath.

  “You’re early,” the horse trader said.

  “Conduct your business and let’s get the hell out of here,” Slocum said.

  “Do you have the horses needed to fill my order?” Mason asked.

  Warren had his shirtsleeves rolled up, a brush in his hand, and dirt smeared across his face, but beamed as if he were in his Sunday best. “I certainly do. Of course, one of them is being stabled right outside the Jackrabbit for another matter that—”

  “I’ll have it returned to you as soon as possible,” Slocum cut in. “Get on with it.”

  Shifting easily into his formal mannerisms, Mr. Mason sifted through his satchel and declared, “With the matter of those outlaws in the area, I’m hesitant to move my goods through here at all.”

  “I can assure you it’ll be safe,” Warren said.

  When Mason looked over to him, Slocum nodded.

  “Even so, those men have been plaguing us for some time. You mentioned some sort of solution to that matter the last time we spoke. What is it you propose?”

  “I propose you allow me to set up a way for all of your documents and such to be delivered without fear of being intercepted by a rough element like Darrel Teach and his men. Myself and Mr. Slocum here can guarantee you’ll be rid of those men in such a splendid fashion that nobody will even consider troubling you or your couriers again.”

  The confused expression on Mason’s face wasn’t entirely dissimilar to the one Harry had worn not too long ago.

  “For an additional fee, of course,” Warren was quick to add.

  “The entire purpose of running my couriers in the manner previously chosen was to keep them out of plain sight. Engaging a gang of outlaws isn’t what I would call a good way to do that.”

  “I was thinking along the lines of your competitors.”

  Studying Warren carefully, Mason asked, “What about my competitors?”

  “You’re not the only one who is forced to cross through White Pine County to do your business,” Warren explained. “Surely Darrel Teach’s Terrors know your boys or their routes well enough by now, just like they know the routes of your competitors. If you were to become too much trouble to harass, surely Mr. Teach would simply focus his attention on the easier target.” After a short, contemplative silence, he added, “By that, I mean your competitors.”

  “Yes. I realize that.”

  “Or,” Slocum said, “you could regain some favor with the law or your superiors by being responsible for making the deal that brings those outlaws down for good.”

  Both of the other men shifted their gaze toward him. Although Warren didn’t seem appreciative of any option other than what he’d offered, Mason was intrigued.

  “Go on,” the businessman said.

  “Although I’m sure your business dealings are purely aboveboard and all, I’m sure you’ve got one or two practices or incidents that you don’t want coming to light,” Slocum continued. “After all, if that weren’t the case, you’d just send your documents through the mail or stagecoach or any other option that regular folks use. Am I right?”

  Mason didn’t respond to that directly, but didn’t say anything against it either.

  “As far as the law goes, I’m guessing they’re the reason you want to stay so discreet. Maybe they’re on to some bit of back-dealing or . . . ?”

  Since Mason wasn’t about to finish that sentence and Slocum didn’t really know what else to say from there, he left it hanging in what he hoped was an ominous manner. “Anyway, if that gang were to be brought in and you were able to take credit for it, that should set you up nice and high in the eyes of the law.”

  “Possibly, Mr. Slocum,” Mason said. “But I think Mr. Staples was on to something much more interesting. Do you think it would be possible to point that gang at my competitors? Even if they could make things hotter for them in that county, it would be very beneficial to me and my partners to send my documents and such along at a quicker rate. Sometimes a day or two jump on a deal is all it takes to make sure it goes the right way.”

  “We could definitely arrange something like that,” Warren quickly said. “Ain’t that right, John?”

  “Are you the one that’ll do it?” Slocum asked.

  “Well . . . no.”

  “Then don’t guarantee anything. As for you,” Slocum said to Mason, “tell me how much it’s worth to you to get this job done.”

  “The courier coming through here is carrying vital information. If he could get to his destination unimpeded, it would easily be worth double my normal fee.”

  “If double is easy, then triple shouldn’t be too hard.”

  Having already failed at outtalking him at the poker table, Mason didn’t try it now. He pulled in a deep sigh and let it out along with the words, “I suppose that could be arranged.”

  “And how much is it worth for all of your shipments to arrive even faster than if they were being carried by an escort of Federals?”

  “Quite a bit.”

  “That’s what I thought. You hire us for this job, and one way or another, the Terrors of White Pine won’t be a pain in your ass any longer. How do you like the sound of that?”

  Apart from the ones that Dulcie had gotten out of him, the smile on Mr. Mason’s face was the biggest Slocum had seen.

  10

  Mason and Warren straightened out the particulars, but it didn’t take long for the horse trader to sign the contracts Mason fished out of the satchel he’d guarded with his life. Slocum felt particularly clever for rescheduling the meeting early instead of later because both of the other men were anxious to get through it all as quickly as possible before Darrel or any of the other Terrors showed up. Slocum’s take was going to be substantially more than the sum that had brought him to Reno in the first place. Not only did he get a new horse out of the deal, but he would make enough money to set him up for a good, long while. It may not be enough to survive another bad night at a card table, but he was willing to take his chances.

  The deal was simple. When Warren met up with Darrel, he was to give the outlaws information about when Mason’s courier was leaving Reno. Since they already knew the courier was headed through their county, lying about his route wouldn’t have made a lick of difference. Slocum just had to assume they knew the lay of the land better than he did. The courier would be sent along ahead of the schedule Warren would give to the outlaws and Slocum would follow the courier to make certain the documents reached their destination safely. It looked to be an easy escort ride, but a lot of fancy talk and two very frightened men at the bargaining table made it simple for Slocum to build it up into something more. If not for the attempt on his life, Mason would have surely realized he was just hiring an armed guard.

  Once the courier was on his way, Slocum was to pick the gang off or somehow convince them to leave Mason’s future couriers alone. Slocum didn’t have a good idea of how to pull the second option off, but that didn’t matter. The first would still line his pockets nicely. It had stung badly enough to leave Reno with them thinking they’d run him out of town. Tracking them down again for another chat would have happened whether it was part of a deal or not. Getting paid handsomely to do something like that made the deal that much sweeter.

  After confronting Darrel and his men, Slocum would be paid by Mr. Mason for clearing the way for his couriers. He would also be paid by Warren for making it possible for him to keep Mason’s business with his horse trading company. That was actually the most lucrative part of the deal. Slocum’s arrangement with him was for a percentage of earnings from the horses Mason bought. Considering his history with Warren, Slocum knew there was a real good chance of his payment getting shorted whenever he came along to collect. Even so, it was a steady flow of money that he would only have to earn once and that was a damn good investment.

  Slocum smiled proudly to himself as he rode the collateral horse along a trail through the Desatoya Mountains. It was a black gelding with long, narrow patches of gray running along its flanks and another that went straight up its nose to the top of its head. Compared to the nag that had barely made it from Carson City, this animal was an amazing specimen. When allowed to run at a full gallop, it carried him across several miles without so much as a hiccup. It even made good time through the rocky mountain trail as Slocum headed east toward White Pine County.

  The courier already had a one-day head start and was tearing along a similar route that was purposely intended to allow Slocum to follow along using the trail he was currently riding. That way, if anyone tried to close in on the courier or even scout ahead for an ambush using Warren’s false information, Slocum would be able to catch wind of it. Since it was about a four- or five-day ride to White Pine County, Slocum had some time to plan a strategy before the Terrors made their move. But he wasn’t about to assume the gang would wait before crossing the county line to spring their ambush. If Darrel had half a brain in his head, he would try to ride ahead on his own and pick up the courier’s trail along the way. Slocum always found it better to assume the worst in a situation like this so he was better prepared. Even if the worst did come to pass, they were all riding through plenty of open country. So far, the courier was on his way and on schedule.