Last Train to Bannock [Clayburn 02] by Marvin H. Albert Page A

up the old buffalo hunter. It took them almost an hour before they found Ranse Blue, sprawled out in a drunken sleep behind a stable at the other end of town.
        It took another half hour, and a dunking in a dirty horse trough, to get Blue awake and on his feet. Even then he couldn't stand without leaning on Roud. He had a horrible hangover and he looked even older than the night before-old and feeble and useless. The way he was, Clayburn knew Cora Sorel would balk at taking him on. And he'd need Blue, maybe more than any of the rest of them. So there was only one thing for it.
        With Roud and Clayburn supporting him, they got Blue to the nearest saloon and bought him a double whiskey in a tumbler. Clayburn watched the old man gulp it, hanging onto the bar with his other hand. Drops of liquor trickled down his gray-whiskered chin, but he got most of it in, his scrawny figure shuddering violently as it went down.
        When the shuddering stopped, Blue straightened a bit and turned his bloodshot, red-rimmed eyes on Clayburn. "Another one of those," he croaked, "and I can maybe let go of this bar."
        Clayburn bought him another double. Blue swallowed it like water, this time without a shudder. He set the empty glass down, sighed weakly, and then took his hand off the bar and straightened all the way. "See?" He wiped a hand over his wrinkled face and, surprisingly, some of his years seemed to drop away from him. He even managed a one-sided grin. "Good as new."
        "Are you going to need whiskey along the trail to keep you going?" Clayburn demanded.
        "Hell no. I only drink in towns. Never take any liquor along with me on the trail."
        "That better be a fact. Because part of our freight'll be a wagonload of liquor. I catch you breaking into that and I'll boot you out of the outfit without a horse-no matter where we are at the time."
        "I said I don't drink on the trail," Blue snarled. "I just needed one big drunk to kiss this lousy town good-by is all. You don't believe me, t'hell with you."
        The strength of Blue's anger reassured Clayburn some. He was turning from the bar when he became aware of the sounds of wagons. Crossing the room, he looked out over the batwings at the street-in time to see George Adler ride by wearing a rough trail outfit. From the way he sat his horse he was obviously no city man, and there was something formidable about Adler that hadn't shown the night before. His wide face was no longer concealing anything, and ruthlessness was written plain on it.
        The bearlike Benjy and the surly kid named Dillon rode on either side of their boss. Behind them rattled Adler's empty wagons, drawn by their teams of mules, following Adler down toward the railroad tracks to be ready when the train pulled in. Since Farnell's Freight Company sided the tracks, there was no such need to get Cora Sorel's wagons lined up for the arrival of the train. There was a ramp leading directly from the tracks into the warehouse, up which they could carry the supplies and roll the barrels of flour, sugar and other foodstuffs Cora had bought for Bannock, as they were off-loaded from the freight cars.
        The loading of Cora's wagons would take place inside Farnell's freight yard.
        Clayburn counted Adler's wagons as they rolled past. There were twelve of them, each handled by a hardcase teamster. Riding behind the last wagon came the scar-faced man called Slope, and four other men Clayburn pegged as gunfighters.
        Clayburn's eyes were narrowed as he gazed after them.
        Behind him, Jim Roud asked quietly, "That the outfit we're expecting to tangle with?"
        "That's them," Clayburn said, half to himself. Adler's crew outnumbered his own by seven men. Bad odds, but not quite as bad as he'd expected.
        It might, he decided, be as good a time as any to find out what his own crew was made of.
        Striding back to the bar, he purchased two