Devil's Canyon Read Online Free

“There’s not a wagon or mule to be had in all of Santa Fe.”
    â€œI wouldn’t know about that,” Durham replied. “I acquired my teams and wagon while I was in Texas. A friendly wager turned serious, and I relieved a gentleman’s financial embarrassment by accepting his mules and wagon.”
    â€œYou’re a gambler, then,” said Faro.
    â€œAny objection to that?”
    â€œI reckon not,” Faro said. “I set in on a game occasionally. It’s a cut or two above stealing.”
    â€œA man wins too often,” said Durham, “and it leads to a misunderstanding. There was an unfortunate soul killed yesterday evening, over a game, I hear.”
    â€œYeah,” Faro said, “I heard about that. Every man has his price, Durham. What will it take to separate you from that wagon and mules?”
    â€œLike I told you,” said Durham, “they’re not for sale. When I leave here, I’m going on to California, and I’ll be needing them.”
    â€œReally?” Faro said. “What do you know about the country west of here?”
    â€œNothing,” said Durham.
    â€œThen you should,” Faro said. “It’s all but impassable, even for experienced teamsters, and you’d be better off with a good saddle horse.”
    â€œOh, I have a horse,” said Durham. “He follows the wagon on a lead rope. I kind of like the wagon.”
    â€œDurham,” Faro said, “this hauling job of ours will take us five hundred miles west of here. In the old days, that used to be a trade route to California. What would it take for us to hire the use of your wagon for a load of supplies as far as we’ll be going?”
    â€œI’d have to think about it,” said Durham. “A loaded wagon would slow me down.”
    â€œOh, hell,” Faro said, “the damn wagon
empty
will slow you down to a crawl.”
    â€œI’ll consider it, then,” said Durham. “When will you be leaving?”
    â€œAt dawn tomorrow,” Faro said. “We’ll be at themercantile a while longer, should you change your mind.”
    Durham said nothing, and Faro left him standing before one of the many saloons in Santa Fe. A man who had been following Faro and Durham came on down the boardwalk, and ignoring Durham, entered the saloon. Durham waited a moment, making sure nobody was watching, and then entered the saloon.
    â€œA bottle,” Durham said to the barkeep.
    Taking his bottle, Durham looked around the dim interior of the saloon. It was still early, and there were only two or three other patrons. The seedy-looking stranger who had entered ahead of Durham sat at a corner table, and Durham sidled over there. Without a word, he hooked a chair with his foot, dragged it out, and sat down. The other man eyed him, took a pull from his bottle, and said nothing.
    â€œThere’s four of ’em, Slade,” said Durham, “and all I was able to learn is that they’re haulin’ four wagon loads of supplies five hundred miles west of here.”
    â€œExactly where are they haulin’ ’em?” Slade demanded.
    â€œSomewhere along what used to be a trade route to California,” said Durham. “They’re needing teams and another wagon. They tried to buy mine, and when I refused to sell, this Faro Duval wanted to hire the use of the teams and wagon for as far as they’re going.”
    â€œDamn it,” Slade said, “you should have sold ’em the teams and wagon. You could always take ’em back, after the ambush.”
    â€œI have my reasons for not selling the teams and wagon,” said Durham. “I said that I’d consider hiringthe wagon and teams to them, and when they’ve unloaded their goods, go on to California from there.”
    â€œWell, at least you done somethin’ right,” Slade said. “Now track ’em down and make a deal. I want to know