Slocum's Silver Burden Read Online Free

to see some talent, some hope, have a tad of conviction to place such a wager.
    Had Underwood seen that in him, in spite of what the two-fingered sailor said?
    â€œWish I had money to bet on myself.” Slocum touched the ten dollars in his vest pocket. “Time for me to get some food.”
    â€œI’ll buy you a drink if you’ll listen to me for five minutes.”
    Underwood was sturdy, but he had other injuries besides his hand from the way he dragged his left leg just a mite. Additional evidence came in his cough, deep and rattling. When he spat, bloody phlegm hit the street.
    â€œYou’re the one who looks like he needs a drink.”
    â€œThat I do. Good thing my employer don’t mind if I knock back a shot or two while I’m workin.”
    â€œYou’re on the job?”
    â€œYou can say that. You’re no sailor or stevedore. I been on or by the sea long enough to know that. No, I make you out to be a cowboy. A wrangler down on his luck.” Underwood peered around to Slocum’s left hip, where his Colt Navy was slung. “Or maybe from the way you fight and the worn grips on that hogleg, you might be a shootist.”
    â€œNot that. If you’re looking for someone to kill for you, keep hunting.”
    â€œNot that, no, sir, not that. My job’s to recruit, it’s true, but for a real job. A good one with the railroad.”
    â€œI’ve done some work on a railroad, but not around here. Not in California.”
    â€œWe got plenny of them Celestials to do the hard work. You ever see any of ’em at work? I do declare, they’re scrawny little things, and they do the work of three men. Each of ’em, eatin’ nothin’ more ’n a bowl of rice a day. I was up in the hills when they was goin’ across Las Trampas Ridge in the early days. They got a way of swingin’ down sheer rock walls in baskets and chiselin’ out a roadbed. Damnedest thing you ever did see.”
    â€œI haven’t heard of any railroads being built around here.”
    â€œNope, you wouldn’t. We got all the track laid we need for another fifty years. It’s not that kind of job I’m recruitin’ for.”
    They went into a restaurant a few blocks from the Embarcadero on Market Street that didn’t look as if it would poison them. Slocum settled down and realized how tired he was. Walking wore on him. He wished the horse hadn’t upped and died. If it had been necessary, Slocum could have sold the old nag for a few dollars to keep him going. More likely he would have turned back south and headed for San Diego. Prospects there had to be better than here. Better yet, San Diego was warm while San Francisco was cold and wet all the time.
    Slocum ordered, drank a cup of the bitter coffee, and felt better for it. By the time the pork chops with greens and boiled potatoes arrived, Underwood had begun his sales pitch. Slocum had heard the buskers around Portsmouth Square and had learned to ignore their songs and lectures. He ate with grim determination to fill his belly, and only when he’d finished some peach cobbler did he settle back and let the other man’s words work their way into his head.
    â€œI’m what you call a recruiter for the Central California Railroad.”
    â€œNever heard of it,” Slocum said.
    â€œDon’t matter. It’s a good line, short line for the most part, working out of the goldfields in Virginia City and comin’ ’cross the Sierras to Sacramento ’fore chuggin’ on into the Oakland depot.”
    â€œAcross the Bay?”
    â€œThe ferry service is good ’twixt here and Berkeley. Most of the railroad owners prefer to have offices in San Francisco, though heaven alone knows most of ’em never seen their depots other than to step into a Pullman car. But Mr. Collingswood’s different. He’s worked ’bout every possible job on the line. Worked his way up