Slocum 428 Read Free Page B

bucking logs and scaling trees and making sure the girl-men I work with don’t catch a sliver and cry too long.”
    â€œPleased to meet you, Mr. McGee. I’m Slocum, John Slocum.”
    Before he could continue, Jigger cut in, taking the proffered cup of hot coffee. “I bet you’re up here sniffing for work. Am I right? Course I’m right. Nobody other than a fool or a logger’d be found up here any time of year, much less in a raging blizzard!” He sipped from the cup, wincing as he pulled in the steaming draught.
    â€œYou have it about right, Mr. McGee. I was in Timber Hills a few days back. The man behind the bar at the TipTop Saloon said the Tamarack Logging Camp, up this trail somewhere—”
    The little man’s mouth took on a sour, pinched shape.
    â€œCoffee not to your liking?” said Slocum.
    â€œWas . . . until you mentioned that barkeep. That little rascal is a thorn in the backside of every respectable logger in these parts. Been that way since the day he was whelped, so help us.”
    â€œHow’s that?” Slocum sipped his coffee, eyeing the curious little man.
    â€œYou sure ask a lot of questions, young fella.”
    â€œI wasn’t aware I had exceeded my limit. Do you happen to know the way to the Tamarack?”
    â€œThere you go again, asking fool questions!”
    â€œWhy was that one foolish?”
    â€œBecause I’m from the Tamarack, just a few miles up yonder. Yep, that’s where I come from. What do you think I been yammering on and on about since I got here?” The old man let loose with a long, slow sigh, shaking his head at the same time.
    Slocum couldn’t help cracking a smile. He hid it behind his cup and decided to change tactics. “At the risk of you thinking I’m some sort of crack-minded fool . . .”
    That got the man’s attention. He paused, eyebrows raised above the rim of his cup.
    â€œI’d like to ask you about what I heard last night.”
    â€œOh? And what would that be?”
    â€œWell, that’s the difficult part. I don’t know what it was, but I can tell you it wasn’t like anything I’d ever encountered.”
    â€œWell, out with it, mister!” Jigger growled.
    Slocum regretted bringing up the subject. But he’d come too far with the silly story to back up now. “It sounded like a great howling bear crossed with a mountain lion crossed with a man—and a whole lot worse and angrier than all of them combined, too.”
    McGee’s entire demeanor changed immediately, much to Slocum’s surprise. The old man leaned in close to Slocum and, looking around, said in a low voice, “You get a smell of it, too?” Before waiting for a response, he continued on chattering: “Reason I ask is that you ain’t the first. Nor likely to be the last. It’s a . . .” He leaned even closer. “A skoocoom, I tell you.” The last part came out as barely a hissed whisper through his tightly clenched teeth.
    â€œA what?” Slocum wasn’t sure he’d heard the man right. If he had, then he knew the old-timer might be pulling his leg. For he knew what a skoocoom was supposed to be—a big, hairy, wild man of the woods. He’d heard the Indian tales. But that was pure hokum, even though the thought had occurred to him the night before. And then he thought of those eyes, bright and glowing green-yellow, and looking for all the world like something that couldn’t possibly exist. But they had; that much he knew.
    He came back to himself and saw the old man smiling at him, nodding, and then he winked. “You know what I’m talking about, sure you do. You know just what ol’ Jigger’s on about. Ain’t too many folks in these parts would admit it but loggers and fools. And them are one in the same, so it was most definitely a skoocoom.” He downed the last of his coffee,