Tender Is the Storm Read Free Page A

and wore kneehigh moccasins instead of boots. It helped a great deal. He didn’t have to lie and say he was a half-breed, but hegave that impression, and people thought he was. So after a year of searching, he had finally found Feral Sloan.
    He found him in Newcomb, a town of less than two hundred even if you counted the surrounding ranches and their hands. It galled the hell out of Slade when he learned that Sloan had settled in this town seven years ago, soon after it was founded. It galled him most because Sloan was foreman on the ranch nearby that he and Billy Wolf had raided that last time. He had been that close to his father’s killer and hadn’t even known it. And he was closer now, for Feral Sloan was in the saloon, sitting at one of the card tables with two other men, his back to the wall.
    Slade had spotted him immediately. His image had never left Slade’s mind. The gunslinger was about thirty now, with slicked-back hair and a chin that jutted aggressively. But the lanky body had gone soft, and his hairline had receded. There were lines of dissipation on his face. But if those years had not been kind to his appearance, they had obviously been profitable years. He dressed in an ostentatious display of silver conchas and diamond jewelry and fancy duds.
    Slade concluded that Feral Sloan was either one of the town’s main guns or the only one. The latter was likely. There were many cowboys from the nearby ranches in the room, it being Saturday night. Slade had learned to judge a man in the first instant the other fellow looked at him. He could dismiss all the men in the room except Sloan.
    It was only a waiting game now, and Slade Holthad become good at waiting. He knew Sloan would come to him, would have to, for the sake of his reputation. Approaching a menacing stranger was a task that always fell to the town gun. The people expected it, demanded he ask questions to appease their curiosity. When the town toughs didn’t get the answers they wanted, they either commenced a show of friendliness or walked away grumbling loudly, praying the stranger wouldn’t take offense and start a fight.
    Slade had only twenty minutes to wait before Feral Sloan joined him at the bar. Those men who had moved to the ends of the bar to give Slade plenty of room now moved over to the tables. If there was to be any shooting between these two dangerous men, the tables offered cover.
    “Where you headin’, mister?”
    He remembered the voice all too well. Easiest hundred dollars I ever earned . His head began to ache with the memory, but nothing marred his expression, even as he faced this hated man.
    “You talking to me, Sloan?”
    Feral was surprised and suspicious. “You know me?”
    “Sure. I heard of you a long time back. But that was years ago. Thought you were dead.”
    Slade was playing his man perfectly. Men like Sloan loved their reputations, and Sloan was quick to defend his absence from the public eye.
    “I got such a nice little setup here, I couldn’t resist settlin’ down,” Feral bragged. “But you know how it is. A man’s name sometimes gets so big, people just won’t leave him alone.”
    “I know.” Slade nodded solemnly. “I hear you’re a foreman now on the biggest spread in these parts. Must be a nice job.”
    Feral chuckled. Here was a man who could appreciate his cleverness. “The nicest—seein’ as how I work only when I feel like it.”
    Slade lifted a dark brow, pretending interest. “You mean you get paid for doing nothing? How is that?”
    “I work for Samuel Newcomb, and you might say I know somethin’ about him that he don’t want to become public knowledge.”
    Slade whistled softly. “He’s rich then, Newcomb?”
    “Let’s just say he owns half the town and his bank holds mortgages on the other half.”
    “I guess he can afford to keep you on his payroll then, rather than—”
    “—pay someone to get rid of me?” Feral finished, finding this quite amusing. “That might be