Demon's Pass by Ralph Compton Page B

bar.
    â€œHello, Parker,” Clay called out, cheerily. “Why don’t you come and join me? Barkeep, a sarsaparilla for my friend.”
    â€œThanks,” Parker said.
    â€œMr. Beeker here has been telling me we are too late,” Clay said.
    â€œToo late for what?”
    â€œTo go to Salt Lake City this year. He claims we’re going to get caught on this side of the Wasatch Range before the first snow falls.”
    â€œâ€Will we?” Parker said.
    â€œI don’t know,” Clay answered candidly. “I have to confess that I have never started this late, and I’ve never gone that far.”
    â€œWhat about the Reynolds company?” Parker asked. “It hasn’t been all that long since they left. If we can catch up with them we’d be no farther behind than they are.”
    â€œIt may be that the Reynolds party started too late as well,” Beeker said. “Though, as they are going no farther than Denver, they may not have any trouble.”
    â€œI hope they don’t have any trouble,” Parker said, thinking of the young Reynolds girl.
    â€œI’m sure they won’t,” Clay said, reading his young friend’s mind.
    â€œIf you are bound and determined to leave anyway, I can tell you a way to go,” Beeker said.
    â€œWhat way is that?”
    â€œMost folks go north from Pueblo up to Denver, then through the Rockies by Bridger Pass.”
    â€œThat’s the way I’m planning to go.”
    â€œThere is another, shorter way.”
    â€œWhat way is that?”
    â€œWhen you get to Pueblo, instead of turning north to Denver, go straight west.”
    â€œYou can’t go straight west from Pueblo. You can get through the Sangre de Cristo Mountains all right, but after that you have the La Garitas, and they are impassable.”
    â€œI can see you’ve been looking at the map,” Beeker said.
    â€œLooking at it? I’ve got it memorized.”
    â€œUh huh. Did you see a place called Demon’s Pass?”
    â€œDon’t be talkin’ foolish, Beeker,” the bartender said. He had been listening to the conversation while he was busily wiping glasses. “People have been talkin’ about Demon’s Pass for years, but even the mountain men say it ain’t smart to take it.”
    â€œMaybe it ain’t smart in normal times, but these here fellas are gettin’ started way late. Asides which, this ain’t some big train we’re a’talkin’ about. They don’t have but three wagons.”
    â€œDemon’s Pass? What is it? I’ve been freighting ever since the war,” Clay said, “and I’ve never heard of it.”
    â€œI think it was used a couple of times back when the wagon trains leavin’ here was real big,” Beeker said. “But it ain’t been used in a long time. Everyone agrees that it is real hardgoin’, but they also say it’ll save purt near three hundred miles to anyone as might use it.”
    â€œI’m not about to try anything unless I hear it from someone who actually knows something about this Demon’s Pass,” Clay said. “Do you know of any such person who has actually been through it?”
    â€œMatter of fact, I do know somebody,” Beeker said. He pointed toward the back of the room.
    â€œThat mountain man back there has been through it a couple of times. Not with any wagons, mind you, but he has been through it.”
    Clay picked up his beer. “Come on, Parker, what do you say you and I go over there and have a little confab with him?”
    â€œAll right,” Parker agreed, picking up his sarsaparilla to take it with him.
    â€œGood luck talking to him,” the bartender said.
    â€œIs there any reason I shouldn’t talk to him?” Clay asked.
    The bartender snorted, holding in a laugh. “That all depends on how long you can hold your breath.”
    â€œHold my