The Last Trail Drive Read Online Free Page A

Saloon, found Jack Trevor standing at the bar nursing a warm beer. Clint could tell the man wasn’t happy to see him.
    â€œAdams,” he said.
    â€œTrevor.”
    â€œHow’d you do, Jack?” Flood asked.
    â€œI got the supplies,” Trevor said, “we can pick ’em up in the mornin’. I’ll have a couple of the men come in and collect ’em.”
    â€œWhat about a cook?”
    â€œWell, now, there I didn’t have much luck. In the old days we woulda found two or three of ’em sittin’ around the saloon, waitin’ to be asked.”
    â€œWell, Clint actually thinks there may be somebody in this saloon who can do the job?”
    â€œOh? That so? Is Adams an expert on chuckwagon cooks, now?”
    â€œNot an expert,” Clint said. “I just know there’s somebody here who’s done the job before.”
    â€œWho might that be, then?” Trevor asked.
    Clint pointed a finger at the barman and said, “Him.”

EIGHT
    â€œYou say this fella’s got experience?” Trevor asked.
    â€œ I don’t say it,” Clint said. “He said it earlier today when we were talking.”
    â€œWhy were you and him talkin’ about chuckwagons?” Trevor asked.
    â€œWe were just passing the time, Trevor,” Clint said, “and he mentioned it.”
    â€œWhat’s it matter why he said it?” Flood asked. “Let’s find out who he’s worked for, and maybe we’ll get an idea if he’s any good.”
    â€œI’ll talk to him,” Trevor said, turning to call the man over.
    â€œSince I’m, here,” Flood said, “I’ll just listen in.”
    â€œMe, too,” Clint said. When Trevor looked at him he added, “I’ve got nothing else to do.”
    â€œSuit yerself,” Trevor said.
    The barman saw them and came over.
    â€œNice to see ya back, Mr. Adams,” he said. “Beer?”
    â€œI’ve had enough warm beer for one day, Spud,” Clint said. “Meet my friend, Jack Trevor and Henry Flood.”
    â€œFlood?” Spud’s eyes popped.
    â€œSpud Johnson, Hank,” Clint said. “Used to be a chuckwagon cook.”
    â€œSo he says,” Trevor commented.
    â€œWell, Mr. Johnson,” Flood said, “who’ve you worked for?”
    Johnson gave Flood a few names, and a few personality descriptions as well, enough to convince Flood that he was telling the truth.
    â€œWell,” Flood said, “sounds good enough for me.”
    â€œHow do we know he can cook?” Trevor asked.
    â€œNo matter how he cooks,” Flood said, “it has to be better than my cookin’.”
    â€œThat’s for sure,” Clint said.
    Trevor looked at both of them, then said to Flood, “It’s up to you. You’re the boss.”
    â€œYeah, I am.”
    Trevor walked away, out the batwing doors.
    â€œSpud, you’re hired,” Flood said. “Can you be ready to leave tomorrow?”
    â€œToday, if you say so, Boss.”
    â€œTomorrow will do,” Flood said. “And Spud, on the trail you’ll take your orders from me, and from Mr. Trevor.”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    Flood looked at Clint.
    â€œNow there’s only you to make up your mind,” Flood said.
    â€œYeah, I guess there is.”
    Â 
    Jack Trevor stopped just outside the saloon, still didn’t see the man across the street. He was mad—mad that Clint Adams would be coming along on the drive, even madder that Flood had hired the barman as their cook without consulting him. He was the segundo, he was supposed to have some say in who got hired and who didn’t.
    He decided to walk over to the livery and check on his horse. The animal was going to have to be sound for this trip. He had four others with the remuda back at the herd, but this one was his favorite.
    As he headed for the livery stable the man watching him fell into