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  SNAKE OIL: EASY PICKIN’S

  SNAKE OIL: EASY PICKIN’S

  MARCUS GALLOWAY

  FIVE STAR

  A part of Gale, a Cengage Company

  Copyright © 2017 by Marcus Pelegrimas

  Five Star™ Publishing, a part of Gale, a Cengage Company.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.

  No part of this work covered by the copyright herein may be reproduced or distributed in any form or by any means, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

  The publisher bears no responsibility for the quality of information provided through author or third-party Web sites and does not have any control over, nor assume any responsibility for, information contained in these sites. Providing these sites should not be construed as an endorsement or approval by the publisher of these organizations or of the positions they may take on various issues.

  LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA

  Names: Galloway, Marcus, author.

  Title: Snake oil : easy pickin’s / Marcus Galloway.

  Description: First edition. | Waterville, Maine : Five Star Publishing, a part of Cengage Learning, Inc., [2017] | Description based on print version record and CIP data provided by publisher; resource not viewed.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2017004588 (print) | LCCN 2016058126 (ebook) | ISBN 9781432835019 (ebook) | ISBN 1432835017 (ebook) | ISBN 9781432832605 (ebook) | ISBN 1432832603 (ebook) | ISBN 9781432832636 (hardcover) | ISBN 1432832638 (hardcover)

  eISBN-13: 978-1-4328-3260-5 eISBN-10: 1-43283260-3

  Subjects: | BISAC: FICTION / Historical. | FICTION / Action & Adventure. | GSAFD: Western stories.

  Classification: LCC PS3607.A4196 (print) | LCC PS3607.A4196 S63 2017 (ebook) | DDC 813/.6—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017004588

  First Edition. First Printing: June 2017

  This title is available as an e-book.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4328-3260-5 ISBN-10: 1-43283260-3

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  Printed in the United States of America

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 21 20 19 18 17

  SNAKE OIL: EASY PICKIN’S

  CHAPTER ONE

  Northern Kansas

  1878

  The road to Barbrady was every bit as scenic and interesting as the Rocky Mountains were flat. The young courier on that road at the moment was tempted to give his reins a flick, tie them off and take a nap. When Byron Keag had first pointed his cart toward the open Kansas expanse, he’d been genuinely excited to make the journey. Of course, that had been the better part of a week and several miles of flat trail ago. Now, his mind was muddied by the continuous sound of wooden wheels grinding against packed soil and the sight of open land splayed in front of him like a carcass that had long ago been picked clean. Although he fought the urge to doze off, he wasn’t nearly alert enough to catch sight of a pair of gunmen approaching from the left side of the trail. By the time he did see them, it was too late for a damn thing to be done about it.

  The riders swooped down on him from a low range of nearby hills like hawks converging on a mouse. Byron’s hooded eyes snapped open and he braced his feet against the board separating his cart from the two horses pulling it. Gritting his teeth, the young man snapped his reins and prayed his team still had some fire in their bellies. Both horses whinnied loudly as leather cracked against their flanks. Despite the dust kicked up by their hooves, the cart wasn’t about to make a magnificent escape anytime soon.

  By the time the riders came up alongside of Byron, both were laughing. One of the men had skin resembling candle wax that had been melted and drizzled over his skull. A wiry beard jutted from his chin like thorns from a cactus.

  The second rider was slightly bigger around the middle than the first with longer hair and a pug nose. One of his eyes was too lazy to look anywhere but down, making it difficult for Byron to notice much more about that man’s face.

  “Looks like yer horses need a rest,” the man with the dark hair shouted while aiming his pistol at the animals hitched to Byron’s cart. “You’d best oblige before I put them outta their misery.”

  Since his wheezing horses didn’t inspire much hope of making a getaway, Byron pulled back on his reins.

  Lazy Eye could see well enough to point his pistol at Byron while asking, “You want me to check what he’s carrying, Sid?”

  “Not if our friend here is neighborly enough to tell us on his own,” Sid replied. “How about it, friend? You want to save us the trouble of rooting through that cart?”

  “You . . . you’re robbing me?” Byron gasped.

  “Well, we sure as hell ain’t about to ask you to dance!”

  “All I’m doing is traveling into town on business,” Byron explained. “All I’ve got is some clothes and . . . and such.”

  Extending his arm to aim his pistol squarely at Byron’s head, Lazy Eye impatiently said, “Hand over everything you got or I’ll shoot you and take it all myself.”

  “I don’t have anything of value, I swear!”

  “What about cash?” Lazy Eye asked.

  “All I’ve got is a few dollars,” Byron explained. “That’s it!”

  “Then you’d best hand over them dollars along with the rest of your valuables,” Sid told him, “or we’re likely to get impatient.”

  Byron dug through his pockets for the money. “There,” he said while handing over the little bit of cash that had been lining the inner folds of his dusty jacket.

  Having jumped from his saddle, Lazy Eye went around to the back of the cart where he found a large carpetbag lashed in place by a rope looped through a set of iron rings screwed into the weathered wooden panel. “Hey,” he shouted while pulling the carpetbag free and tossing it to the ground beside the front end of the cart. “Take a look at this.” The bag landed near one of the horse’s rear hooves, startling the animal enough for it to shift its weight and shake its head.

  Byron sat in his seat, silver dollars still resting in the palm of one outstretched hand, as Sid moved his horse closer for a better look at the bag. It had opened when it hit the ground, allowing a good portion of the bag’s contents to spill out. Sid leaned over in his saddle and after taking a lingering downward glance, shifted his eyes back to Byron.

  “You got something else we want, mister,” Sid said.

  Ignoring the threat completely, Byron replied, “Here’s your money. Take it and go.”

  “You must be a real successful businessman.”

  Lazy Eye ran over to the carpetbag. “I think I spotted some watches in there, too!”

  “Forget the damn watches,” Sid said in a slow drawl. “Because our friend here is holding something more valuable. Ain’t that right?”

  Byron shifted in his seat beneath the oppressive weight of Sid’s squinting glare. He sucked in a few nervous breaths as Lazy Eye dug deeper into the carpetbag. “You’re right,” Byron sputtered. “There are some watches in there. Take them, too.”

  “Nobody gives a damn about no watches,” Sid growled. “We’re here for some documents.”

  “Why would you want documents?” Byron squeaked. The twitch at the corner of his mouth and the slow lowering of his head made it plain to see that he knew all too well he was digging a deeper hole for himself.

  “Where are they?” Sid asked while moving close enough to the cart to pull open Byron’s j
acket. Instinctively, Byron recoiled from Sid’s grasp. A fraction of a second later, the metallic click of a pistol being cocked rattled through the air.

  Byron froze, his eyes fixed upon the weapon in Lazy Eye’s grasp. Beads of sweat squeezed from Byron’s forehead, trickling down his face.

  Brushing past the interior pockets of Byron’s jacket, Sid pulled the younger man’s shirttail out from where it had been tucked. One more tug was all it took to reveal the wide belt strapped around Byron’s stomach. Apparently, several pouches built into the belt showed some promise for the robber.

  “Sid!” Lazy Eye said in an urgent tone that cracked like a whip. “Someone’s coming.”

  Sid glanced over to his partner and then in the direction Lazy Eye was pointing. Keeping his pistol aimed at Byron, he muttered, “You stay put.”

  Byron held up his hands as the color drained from his face.

  What had caught Lazy Eye’s attention was a large wagon cresting one of the few hills in the vicinity. It ambled slowly toward them using a trail that was all but overgrown. The shoddy path came in from the southwest, circled Barbrady and entered town from a direction that would attract little to no attention. The only reason Byron knew about it at all was because he’d been warned to stay away from the trail by the man who’d sent him on his journey since the path was supposed to be frequented by an undesirable element.

  Sid stood his ground as the wagon drew closer and Lazy Eye climbed back into his saddle so he could ride around the cart to keep his gun pointed at Byron’s back.

  “You make one wrong move and yer dead,” Sid promised.

  Byron nodded as if his head had been mounted on a spring.

  The wagon approached slowly, pulled by a couple of horses that put Byron’s to shame. One was the color of fresh coffee and the other had a dark gray coat with a few patches of black scattered along its left side. As attractive as the horses were, however, it would have taken a pair of elephants to draw attention away from the wagon itself.

  In a former life, it may have once been a covered wagon but now it was so much more. The canvas top had been stripped off and replaced by a square wooden structure that looked more like a shack on wheels. Charms, chimes, bells and a few pans hung at varying intervals along the top of the wagon as if their sole purpose was to announce every bump in the trail with a loud mix of clangs and vaguely musical rattles.

  Once it turned to merge with the main trail, the side of the wagon could be seen. It was covered with brightly colored letters and designs of all sorts. While some of the words were too small to be read from where Sid and Lazy Eye were keeping watch over Byron, the biggest and brightest letters could be seen from miles away.

  PROFESSOR WHITEOAK’S TRAVELING MEDICINAL EMPORIUM ELIXERS, TONICS, SCIENTIFIC WONDERS AND OTHER ASSORTED MIRACLES

  GUARANTEED RESULTS

  All three men strained their eyes to get a closer look at some of the smaller printing scrawled along the side of the approaching wagon as the man driving the garish vehicle stretched an arm out and waved it over his head. He was dressed in crisply ironed black pants held up by a pair of black and silver suspenders. A starched white shirt hung over a set of wide shoulders with sleeves rolled up to display a set of lightly muscled forearms. His face sprouted a light coat of whiskers and beamed with a wide smile. The voice that exploded from it couldn’t have been louder if there were a dozen sets of bellows behind it.

  “Hello there!” he boomed.

  Now that he was closer to the waiting trio, the driver of the large wagon reined his team to a stop and reached down to pick up a black, wide-brimmed hat. After placing the hat carefully atop his head, the man propped a leg upon his footboard and set his reins down. “By the looks of it, there’s a nice little gathering here,” he announced. “You folks preparing to take Barbrady by storm or have you already left the place trembling in your wake?”

  Lazy Eye stared at the well-dressed fellow as if he barely comprehended the words coming out of his mouth.

  Byron did his best to keep still.

  Sid, on the other hand, was downright amused. “Ain’t none of your business, mister,” he said through a light chuckle. “You can move along.”

  The fancy gentleman driving the wagon nodded. His grin faded a bit as he took in the sight of the men gathered around Byron’s cart. In a cautious, yet prosaic tone, he said, “My name’s Henry Whiteoak.”

  “Professor Whiteoak?” Sid asked.

  “One and the same! You’ve heard of me?”

  “No, but I can read.”

  “A genuine accomplishment, my fine sir,” Whiteoak said without missing a beat. “Being a man of learning, you would most definitely be interested in my wares.”

  “Shit,” Lazy Eye grunted. “Nothin’ but a goddamn snake oil salesman.”

  Whiteoak dismissed that with a casual wave. “If, by that, you are implying my tonics aren’t genuine, I can assure you no snakes were killed in the making of my oils.” He smirked, saw his jest wasn’t received well, and moved on. “Actually, I take that back. I do offer a certain vitamin syrup derived from an ancient Cherokee recipe using the rattler of a very rare reptile as a key ingredient. When added to your morning coffee every day for two weeks, it will make a man so light on his feet that he can practically—”

  “Shut the hell up,” Sid cut in.

  Flinching in surprise, Whiteoak said, “Actually, I was going to say he can practically fly, but the practical applications of my tonics are, of course, up to whomever purchases them.”

  “No. I mean you. Shut the hell up. We’re conducting our own business here.”

  “As am I and this is your lucky day. I’ll be making a public presentation soon after I arrive in Barbrady and could use some friendly ears to hear me out.” Smirking with a subtle shrug, Whiteoak added, “Due to some extended time I’ve spent in seclusion with a Mexican healer, my oratory skills might have gotten rusty of late and I could use a sounding board. If you’d all be so kind as to give me some honest opinions on my presentation, I’d be happy to show my appreciation with a discount on a tonic guaranteed to give your horses the speed of a bullet for a full day’s ride.”

  “Horse tonic?”

  Whiteoak nodded. “Something tells me that men like yourselves might need it.”

  “Men like us, huh?” Lazy Eye grunted. “And what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “You are robbers, aren’t you?” Whiteoak asked with an air of innocence. Pointing to the cart, he said, “Ahh! I can see by the look on that one’s face that I’ve hit a nerve.”

  Sid immediately looked at Byron and found the cart’s driver sitting in his seat, sweating profusely. “Tell you what, Professor,” Sid growled as he turned to face Whiteoak again. “Since you didn’t want to leave when you had the chance, how about you hand over that pistol?”

  After a slight, cordial nod, Whiteoak picked up the shoulder rig that had been lying beside him on the seat. The holster dangled from his hand, a silver-handled .38 swinging like a pendulum. Sid rode up closer, snatched the holster from him and draped it over one shoulder before saying, “Now give us a look at what you’re hauling in that wagon.”

  “Might I propose a simple wager?” Whiteoak countered. He climbed down from the wagon, careful to avoid wrinkling his trousers along the way. Once his highly polished boots hit the dirt, he removed a leather cord from around his neck and declared, “It’s fairly obvious you men are out to rob the fellow driving that cart and me as well.”

  “Damn,” Sid said dryly. “You really are a smart one, Professor.”

  Ignoring the snickering from two of the men in front of him, Whiteoak said, “Rather than risk a fight or any spilled blood that might follow, I propose we settle this like gentlemen.”

  “Too much talkin’,” Lazy Eye sighed.

  Sid nodded. “I’m inclined to agree. Where you headed with this, Professor?”

  “With your permission,” Whiteoak said, “I’d like to unlock my wagon. If you int
end on relieving me of my valuables, we’d be doing that eventually anyway.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Well, that is where the lockbox is located . . . as I’m certain you’ve already guessed.”

  Both of the robbers looked at each other with the spark of shared greed flickering between them like static jumping from a brass door handle to a dry hand. Sid climbed down from his saddle and walked toward Whiteoak’s wagon. His gun was held in a firm, steady grip which kept his aim locked on target. Without taking his eyes off the well-dressed man, Sid asked, “You got our friend covered back there?”

  Having circled back around the cart, Lazy Eye straightened his arm to aim his pistol at Byron’s forehead. Nodding, he said, “He ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

  “And neither are you, Professor,” Sid growled as he stared a hole through the man in front of him. “Understand?”

  “Oh, I certainly do,” Whiteoak said.

  “Now, what’s your wager and why the hell should I care about it?”

  “It’s a simple affair, I assure you. May I?”

  Seeing that Whiteoak was poised to open the wagon, Sid shook his head and pushed him away from the wooden structure. “What the hell you got in there?”

  “Have a look for yourself.”

  In Whiteoak’s hand, there was a small key. Sid’s eyes narrowed as he studied the little piece of sculpted metal before snatching it away. Sid placed the key into the small, narrow door at the back of the wagon, turned it, and took a step back. As the door eased open, Sid watched the professor carefully. Nothing jumped out at him as he seemed to have expected and the only sound to be heard was the creaking of hinges.

  Cautiously, Sid approached the wagon again. “You make one move and . . .”

  “I know,” Whiteoak said with hands held above his head. “I’m dead.”

  Inside, the wagon was big enough for a man to do a bit of pacing, but hardly enough for him to stand fully upright. One aisle cut straight down the middle of the interior and went all the way back. On both sides of that aisle were shelves, little square drawers, racks of bottles, water skins hanging from hooks, canteens, and a few cupboards attached directly behind the driver’s seat.