Demon's Pass Read Free Page B

deftly pouring whiskey into Clay’s glass.
    â€œDid you take a look at those three wagons down to Garland’s place?” he asked.
    â€œYes. They’re pretty good wagons.”
    â€œCan’t beat ’em for the price,” Marcus replied.
    â€œI know. That’s why I bought them.”
    â€œSo, you are really going to do it, aren’t you? You’re going to sell goods to the saints out in Utah.”
    â€œI said I was, and I’m going to.”
    â€œYou know, you could do two trips to Texas in the same time it’s going to take you to go to Utah,” Marcus said.
    â€œI know. But if everything goes all right, I can make five times as much on this one trip as I can on two Texas trips.”
    â€œYou said it. If everything goes all right. You could also wind up losing everything,” Marcus said. “From here to Utah by wagon is no easy trip. You’ll have plains, desert, rivers, and mountains to deal with, to say nothing of Indians, wild animals, and who knows what else? And then, even if you do make it through, them Mormons aren’t known to be any too friendly to gentiles.”
    â€œI know it’s going to be hard. But if it was easy, there wouldn’t be any profit in it. I think I can do it, but I’m going to need a good man as my head driver.”
    When Marcus realized that Clay was referring to him, he paused and laughed, then added, “I reckon I could go with you.”
    â€œGood, I was hoping you would.”
    Marcus smiled, and held up his glass. “Utah, here we come,” he said.
    Clay touched his glass to it, and they drank a toast to the venture.
    Marcus chuckled, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Don’t reckon we’ll be doin’ much drinkin’ out there. I hear-tell them Mormon fellas don’t take to spirits.”
    â€œThat’s what they say,” Clay said.
    â€œI’ve always wanted to go there, though.”
    Clay looked at Marcus in surprise. “You’ve always wanted to go to Utah? Why?”
    â€œI want to take me a swim in that Great Salt Lake they got.”
    â€œMarcus, I’ve known you for six years, and I’ve never known you to go near water.”
    â€œThere’s a reason for that. I can’t swim,” Marcus said, easily.
    â€œIf you can’t swim, what’s the attraction to swimming in the Great Salt Lake?”
    â€œBecause they say that even folks who can’t swim won’t sink in that lake. You just jump in, and next thing you know, you’re floatin’ around on top of it, just like a cork.”
    Clay chuckled. “That’s a sight I’ll be wanting to see. Marcus Pearson bobbing on top of the water, like a cork.”
    â€œYou’re goin’ to see it, ’cause I aim to do it,” Marcus insisted. “Now, tell me, how did your scoutin’ trip go? That northern route out of here going to work out all right?”
    Clay shook his head no. “Oh, it might save some time in the early spring, when the creeks and rivers are in freshet stage farther south,” he said. “But, this time of year, we may as well go the regular route.”
    â€œThat’s sort of what I thought,” Marcus said. “But you was dead set to check it out.”
    â€œWell, as you pointed out, it is going to be a long trip out there, and I’m open to any suggestion that might save a few miles.” Clay was silent for a moment, then he continued, in a more somber voice. “I came across a burned-out wagon while I was out there.”
    â€œFreighter?”
    Clay shook his head. “No. Immigrants. Man, wife, son, and daughter. The man and his wife were killed and scalped. Indians took the girl. I’ve got the boy.”
    Marcus had just started to take a drink, but he pulled the glass back down. “The hell you say. You’ve got the boy?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWhere is he