Slocum and the Rebel Canyon Raiders

by Jake Logan

  Slocum tried a smile on her. “I’m just taking the air, as the dandies say back East.”

  She slammed the wood on the top of the pile, scattering pieces. “You’d better take the air back in there, mister. Or you’ll be sorry.”

  “Oh, come on now, Julep. I’m not a child and I don’t appreciate being talked to nor treated like one, do you hear me?”

  That seemed to take some of the starch from her, and she blushed. Yet another change her face underwent that was absolutely bewitching. He’d have to stop looking at her altogether if he wanted to get out of this canyon in one piece, and without Deke’s big paw prints around his neck. He was in no shape to fight any man, let alone one built like a granite boulder.

  “I . . . I didn’t mean to treat you like a child, John. It’s just that, you’ve been so unwell. I . . . I didn’t want anything else to happen to you . . .”

  She had moved closer to him, stared into his eyes from but a couple of feet away. She was something else, and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from falling again, tumbling farther than he had those weeks before, this time into that woman’s stunning gaze.

  Slocum cleared his throat. “Look, Julep. I . . . I appreciate all you’ve done for me. More, much more than you know. I’m so grateful that you happened to be here—or that I happened to pick your canyon to drop into.” He tried another smile. It worked a little—she smiled back.

  “But you have to realize, I’m a full-grown man—”

  “I know that much, John.” She stepped closer and he stepped back slowly, leaning against the wall for support. Before he knew it, he was backing into the cave, trying to remain at arm’s length from her.

  She kept backing him up right to the edge of the cot he’d lain in. “You should lie down, John. You’ll be tired, I’m sure.”

  And damned if she wasn’t right. It was as if someone had tugged on all the threads holding him together. And his innards were about to burst the few remaining stitches and weakened seams and he’d collapse in a pile. He forgot about her odd, advancing manner, forgot that he was going to ask her what about Deke, forgot nearly everything in his haste to lie back on the cot once again.

  He did, and closed his eyes, felt Julep’s familiar, cool hand on his forehead, heard her soothing voice close by his face, and even that didn’t alarm him.

  Then he barely felt as if cool breezes were dancing in the hair on his chest, but that was impossible—his shirt was on. He roused himself just enough out of his relaxed stupor to open his eyes and see Julep spreading his buttoned shirt wide. Below, his denims somehow had become unbuttoned, too.

  “What are you doing?” He struggled to raise his head, but he was in some sort of exhausted half-asleep, half-awake state where nothing made sense.

  “Hush now, John. You’ve gone and tuckered yourself out. You need to rest, relax, and let ol’ Julep work her magic.”

  Slocum couldn’t agree more, but he also knew there was something vaguely wrong about all this, but he’d be jiggered if he knew what it was. Just knew he was tired, so damn tired.

  The soft breezes stopped, then just before he could force his eyelids to flutter open once again, Julep spoke, this time close by his face, and in a whisper. He felt her warm breath, smelled its coffee-and-honey scent, and heard her voice purr. “You need some of this muscle-relaxing salve I’ve made, John. It will do you good.”

  The last thing he knew he needed was anything that might make him more relaxed. Especially when he was pretty sure he knew what was happening—and he was nearly powerless to prevent it. And then two things happened at once: Julep’s powerful hands began touching him all over, and a heavenly scent of wildflowers, of honey, of wood smoke, and cinnamon all mingled and filled his senses.

  That must be the salve she spoke of, he thought. Wherever those pushing, pulling, kneading hands trailed on his chest, his belly, his arms, his legs, and even below his navel, his skin, his very flesh, tingled and throbbed, but in a comfortable, welcome way. Soon he felt fresh air all over his legs, and he knew she’d peeled off his denims, leaving him nearly buck naked. One last thing remained, the thin undershorts someone—he assumed it had been Julep—had dressed him in way back.

  And then he knew that even those had been removed, slipped clean off him while he was busy tingling and relaxing all over. Not a bad life for a man who had assumed he’d fallen to his death. And then those hands began massaging his now fully alert shaft, and even in his advanced state of relaxation, Slocum’s breath stuttered in his throat, and worry and pleasure warred for dominance in his mind. “What about Deke?”

  Her hands stopped immediately and she paused in her ministrations. She must have looked around her, then sighed and said, “Don’t do that to me, Slocum. Now what about Deke?”

  “Well, this isn’t right. He’ll no doubt take us both to task for this.”

  “Deke? Why should he care? Now stop worrying and let me finish what I started.”

  Slocum knew that there was nothing he could do or say to change her mind. She was bound and determined to give him a full-body massage. And then he realized she was using more than just her hands. He forced his eyes open and could just see Julep thrusting down her own underpants, hoisting the skirts of her dress high, and gingerly straddling him. In one clean motion, she’d swung a leg over, then slid right down on him, impaling herself and gasping lightly even as she continued rubbing the salve into his chest.

  “I’ve been meaning to give you the full treatment for some time now. But everybody’s been here, getting everything ready for . . . just being busy.”

  Her speech was still a whisper, but came in soft sounds, almost like whimpers, as she worked her slender hips back and forth, fore and aft.

  “Don’t I have a say in the matter?” said Slocum dreamily.

  “Oh, yes, you do. But I happen to know that as your caregiver, anything I feel the need to do to you, such as this”—she stood slightly and reached behind herself and tickled him, making him stiffen even more—“will be far more important and good for you than anything you feel would be good for you, for your best interests.”

  Her logic bewildered him, but Slocum nodded and grinned through his sense-intoxicated haze. “Whatever you say, Doc.”

  Julep continued to knead his chest muscles with one aggressive hand while she tickled and stroked him with the other, jerking herself up and down faster with each stiffening reaction he had. Soon, she rose up, nearly off him, but not quite, gripping a handful of his flesh and holding tight. Then, as if she made some reluctant decision, she plunged straight down, once more impaling herself fully on him. They both froze, Slocum gritting his teeth as he pumped and bucked within her, Julep holding her breath, only emitting a tiny cry that dissolved into a sigh.

  She soon resumed massaging him with both hands, liberally applying the salve and murmuring about tending to his needs. She never once made an effort to rise up and off him, and neither of them seemed to mind. In fact, Slocum found that he had not diminished in his fortitude in the least. His thickness still filled her and she seemed perfectly content to keep it that way. His worries about Deke were still in his mind, however, and soon he heard himself saying, “What about . . .”

  “Deke?” This time she beat him to the finish line.

  “Yeah, he’s a big fella. Too big, in my weakened state, not to mention our present situation, to pick a fight with.”

  “Don’t worry so much. You think I’d doctor you with so much attention if he was around?”

  “What’s he up to?”

  “Oh, they’re gone off to . . . Oh no, you don’t.”

  Slocum swore he heard a smile in her voice. Opening his eyes, however, was not a possibility. She was gently massaging his face now, mostly with her thumbs, and smoothing him from the nose outward and upward. And it felt fantastic.

  Soon, he began working her waist around i
n little circles, matching the technique she was now using on his chest and upper arms. And they were off to the races again. This time Slocum felt like he could contribute a bit more to the process. And it all worked out just fine. At least that’s what he remembered as he lay there, sleep slowly overtaking his confused body and mind.

  6

  A few days later—Slocum tried his best to figure out just how many had passed, but his strength, though gaining each day, was building back up from that of a mewling kitten—and with no warning, Deke strode up to the camp. Slocum was sitting on a chair outside the cave’s entrance, recovering from the latest round of working over that Julep had given him. He was getting savvy to her techniques, though, and knew that she’d strike when he was most vulnerable, just after he’d put in a bit of exercise.

  She’d not allowed him any weapons, said they would only hurt him, though how, she didn’t elaborate on. She also couldn’t tell him if they’d found any of his own weapons, save for his boot knife, which she had, only with great reluctance, given back to him. A show of good faith on her part, after he told her in no uncertain terms that he did not appreciate being held prisoner.

  She’d protested, said that wasn’t the case at all, but then would avoid the topic of how to leave, where the entrance and exit to the canyon were located, and above all, she rebuffed his repeated attempts to find out where Deke and the others—that much he’d gotten out of her, there were other men with him—had gone.

  And then, after a few days, Deke strode on up the southward path that Slocum had been slowly trailing, gaining distance down along it day after day. The two men exchanged wordless glances, sizing each other up and down. Finally, Deke broke the silence with a wide grin accompanied with a quick rip of laughter, and then clapped Slocum on his less-sore shoulder. Slocum hoped Deke wasn’t just playing him for a fool and that he knew what Slocum and Julep had been up to. Telling Deke he hadn’t much say in the matter wouldn’t carry much weight.

  He wasn’t letting on to Julep just how recovered he really felt, but it was substantially more than he let on to her. He felt that keeping her in the dark as much as possible might prove beneficial somehow, though just how he had no idea.

  One by one a number of people—young, old, children, and above all, he noticed mostly men, other than old women—began to show up around the campfire. The afternoon had begun to wane, and Deke and Slocum had exchanged a long, boring line of pleasantries. Slocum had eventually just come out and asked the big man what he had been doing, couching it in an offer of help as soon as he healed up enough.

  “We’ll see, Slocum. We’ll just see. For the time being, I’d like for you to meet a few of the folks we have settled here in the canyon.”

  “Okay, Deke. And since you insist on being so cagey about what it is you do here, I’ll go ahead and tell you something about myself. I’m sure it’s close to the same thing you can’t bring yourself to tell me about you.” Slocum eyed the rows of people, young, old, men and women ringing the blazing, snapping campfire, their faces already expectant as they leaned forward. They want to hear what I have to say, thought Slocum. I’ll bet they figure it’s going to be something great. Well, I’ll give it to them.

  But before he could speak, Deke gestured toward him with his big bear face. “You’re a wanted man. I bet that’s it, ain’t it.”

  The big man’s correct guess shocked Slocum for a moment. All he could do was stare back. Finally his eyebrows rose and he chuckled. “Well, yeah, I guess that’s about what I was going to say.”

  Deke held up a ham of a hand. “We none of us wanna hear just what it is you done, nor why you done it. But it does make sense.”

  “How’s that?” said Slocum.

  “You being here and all. If I was a man who believed in such things as fate, I’d say you were destined to drop down here like you done.”

  “But you’re not,” said Slocum.

  “Not what?”

  “A man who believes in that sort of thing.”

  “No sir.” Deke rasped a hand under his nose as if he had the sniffles.

  “I do.” The voice came from Julep. She stood and scuffed a boot toward the fire, dislodging a couple of rocks.

  “What about me? Don’t I have a say in the matter?” said Slocum. “And what are you so all-fired cagey about anyway?” Slocum figured he’d come right out with it, and addressed everyone. “I’ve had about enough of this hemming and hawing. It was fine when I was still under your care, but now that I’m healed up, you won’t even help me find my way out of here.”

  “You don’t mind my saying it, but you’re still in no fit shape to travel. Just how long you think you can survive up there, Slocum?” said Deke.

  “I don’t know . . . yet,” said Slocum. “But I aim to find out.”

  “Nah, no you ain’t neither.” Deke shook his head. “’Cause I ain’t about to let you.”

  “You know, Deke, a whole lot of men have tried to best me over the years, but it hasn’t much happened yet.”

  Deke fixed Slocum with a hard gaze. Suddenly a scream sounded from far off, down the little green valley. Deke’s eyes perked up. “Oh no! It happened again. We got to go—come on!”

  Slocum followed Deke along the west edge of the camp’s center fire pit, and others hurried by them, a few ambled along after. As he worked to keep up, Slocum relished the work he was putting his sore limbs through. Any muscles he might have had back when this deadly adventure had begun were now slack shadows of themselves. All the more reason for him to really exert himself. His shot leg throbbed, but a quick glance down at his bandages told him the wound hadn’t opened. He’d have to thank Julep again for doctoring him so thoroughly.

  The path was beaten down trail that wound along the stream’s edge, around boulders, through a couple of marshy spots, and finally they rounded a copse of stout pines. Close by the west edge of the canyon wall a cluster of men stood with their backs to them, tight-packed but fidgety. They looked to Slocum as if no matter how many times they experienced whatever it was they were staring at, it still scared them plenty. As he walked closer, he could see they stood less like men than children; some of them held hands to their mouths.

  “Let me through, lemme through!” The big man elbowed his way into the midst of the crowd all staring at a downed man. Then Deke, too, drew up short and gasped. “That’s Henry! What happened?” Deke looked up the path, then back down again. Then he looked straight up the canyon side to their right.

  Deke bent down near the old man, his big hand checking for signs of life, but even before he shook his head slowly from side to side, affirming what he found, Slocum knew the old man was dead. When a man had seen as much death as John Slocum, one could tell if a man was still among the living just by looking.

  Henry was dead; that much was plain to see. His head had been bashed by a rock that had come from on high. The old man lay flat to the ground, his head flopped to one side as if he were in mid-snore, his toothless mouth sagged open. Seeing his puckered mouth pooled with glistening blood and chaw juice reminded Slocum for the briefest of seconds of so many of the battlefield wounds he’d seen back in the war.

  Old Henry would never slice a hunk of chewing tobacco off his greasy old knob ever again. He’d never wink or tell a bawdy joke or swig liquor from the bottle or rock back on his heels as if he and he alone were the possessor of vast stores of infinite wisdom. And he truly was a wise man—for who wasn’t, really, in this life? thought Slocum. We all are as wise as we say we are, living up to our potentials as much or as little as we dare to in our day’s, week’s, month’s, year’s, and lifetime’s worth of living.

  What happened to Henry was something Slocum very much wanted to hear explained. It looked to him as if Deke had assumed it had been something from above that struck the old man.

  “You see that?” said Deke. “Them savages are up against forces they have no
idea about. They will all die by my hand or I ain’t a Southern man, born and bred.”

  “You ain’t going to do anything of the sort, and you know it,” Julep said, not taking her eyes from Henry’s still body.

  Slocum hadn’t seen her come up behind them.

  Deke turned to look at her. “Julep, you shouldn’t be here. This ain’t nothing for a woman to have to see.”

  “I’ve seen worse. Remember Slocum when we found him? Now that was a man who looked about done for.”

  “Aww, knock off the chatter. My old friend’s laying here with his head bashed in and you should show some damn respect.”

  The crowd fell silent, Slocum with them. The old man, Henry, might have been a pain in the ass, but he was likable, too. And a damn sight smarter than most of the men in the encampment. To end up with your head split open from a fallen rock, after having lived all those years, just didn’t seem fair. Here was another act that proved to Slocum that life was anything but fair, and far from kind. It also told the loner that it wasn’t any old rock that had mysteriously fallen from the tall canyon walls and miraculously hit the old man on the head.

  As if reading his thoughts, Deke said, “The foul Apaches did this.”

  “How can you be sure?” said Slocum.

  “Don’t mistake my kindness so far for anything but Southern hospitality. Now that you are about healed up, I expect you to pull your share of the load around here.”

  “And what, exactly, is the load we’re all pulling?”

  Deke regarded him a moment, then pushed by him on the trail, grim anger clouding his features. “Follow me, Slocum,” he said in a low voice. Louder, over his shoulder, he shouted, “Marsden, Pickle, and Jimbo, you keep a watch up above, see they don’t pick off anyone else. Tyson and MaryBean, you all help Julep fetch Henry back to camp.” He looked at Slocum. “Come on.”