by Jake Logan
One place the prospector wouldn’t go was the marshal’s office down a street leading off the far side of the plaza. Slocum eliminated possibilities one by one and came up empty. He went to the dress store, stared at the two dresses in the window, using the plate glass reflection to watch the street behind him. Mistaking another man for the prospector was a possibility, but Slocum doubted that had happened. The best he could hope for was the man not sighting his quarry.
“Can I help you, sir? You seem quite taken by the window mannequins. If you are looking for some companionship, there are other places in town you can go.”
“Sorry, ma’am,” he said, touching the brim of his Stetson to the clerk. “I was sent to pick up a dress.”
“For your wife?”
“For Marlene Burlison. Or her maid, I suppose. Sarah Jane Mulligan.”
“Oh, Miss Burlison! I had expected her days ago. Step inside. I’ll fetch the dresses.”
Slocum felt uneasy inside the shop and even more so when the clerk returned with three large boxes.
“If there is anything more to tailor, have Miss Burlison drop by.”
Slocum touched his coat pocket. He had replaced the dirty, ripped finery provided by Morgan Burlison with more durable clothing from the rail yard crew’s supplies. Not taking even one gold coin from his stash now came back to haunt him.
“I don’t have the money to pay for these.”
“Oh, these are for Miss Burlison. I’ll put them on her bill and send it to her father. I’m sure Mr. Burlison will pay promptly. He has in the past when Miss Burlison lacked funds.”
“Thanks, ma’am,” Slocum said. “It would be a problem to fetch the money since we’re pulling out in a few minutes.”
“Then you must hurry. I do hope Miss Burlison will let me know if these suit her. She is such a good customer and always stops in whenever she is traveling this way.”
Slocum wrestled the large cardboard boxes about, trying to keep his gun hand free and realizing that wasn’t going to happen. He returned to the bookstore just as Sarah Jane came out with a small bundle of books neatly wrapped in brown paper and tied with string.
“Oh, my dresses! I must look at them!”
“On the train. You can show them to Miss Burlison on the train.”
“Why, yes, of course. I hope you were not too embarrassed to be my errand boy, John.”
He barely heard as he steered her back toward the depot.
“All aboard!” Mad Tom waved an oily rag and got an angry stare from a man dressed as a conductor.
The man went directly to the engineer and began arguing with him. From the tone of the argument, it was good-natured on Tom’s part and irritation on the conductor’s.
“He usurped the conductor’s prerogative,” Sarah Jane said.
“Reckon so,” Slocum said, not sure what she meant. “You should get your surp on board and tend to Miss Burlison if we’re pulling out.”
“Why, John, I’m flattered that you noticed I have a lovely ‘surp.’” With a swish of her bustle, she went to the lead car, waggled her ass again just for him, and then vanished inside with the boxes.
Slocum climbed up into the cab. Tom worked his levers and the fireman stoked furiously to build a head of steam in the boiler.
“You git Miss Burlison all settled down?”
“She’s taking a nap,” Slocum said. He hadn’t checked to be sure she was aboard, but Sarah Jane would have let him know if her mistress wasn’t in the Pullman.
Tom looked at him strangely, shrugged, then tugged on the chain to loose an earsplitting whistle. He leaned out to check the cars as the train began moving. He ducked back, gave more steam to the pistons, and the Yuma Bullet rolled from the yard, hit the switches, and rattled onto the tracks, heading into Texas.
“Never thought we’d get this far,” Slocum admitted. He let the air rush past, evaporating the sweat on his face and body. Even the occasional burning cinder didn’t keep him from feeling a sense of accomplishment.
“Been a labor of Hercules,” Tom said. “Reckon you’ll be sad to see it over.”
Slocum thought of the money hidden away and how the train sped southward faster than any horse could gallop. The posses were behind him unless a lawman had telegraphed ahead. That seemed less a possibility with every passing minute.
“I should go back and be certain Miss Burlison is all settled down,” he said.
“You surely do call it by strange names.” Tom laughed, gave another long whistle, and settled down to watch the tracks ahead.
Slocum made his way to the Pullman car, noticing how the Yuma Bullet strained more now because of the extra cars. He opened the door from the platform and ducked inside. Marlene sat on a sofa, needlework in her lap. When she looked over and saw him, her face lit up like the sun coming from behind a cloud.
“How do you like it?”
Slocum had to pull his attention from Marlene to Sarah Jane, who pirouetted about so her skirts flared outward. She wore a red dress with a plunging neckline that any dance hall girl would find daring. With a quick movement, she stopped her spin and faced him. She raised her arms to allow him to fully admire the dress.
“Is that one I brought back for Miss Burlison?”
“Why, uh, yes, it is, John,” Sarah Jane said quickly. “She’s letting me try it on. I think it is positively stunning, don’t you agree?”
Slocum looked at Marlene, who averted her eyes.
“That’s mighty generous of you, Miss Burlison, letting your servant try on your duds.”
Marlene only nodded.
“I will wear this today and pretend I am attending a grand ball hosted by the crowned heads of Europe,” Sarah Jane said, preening in front of the mirror.
Slocum looked past her, out the rear door window. His hand flew to his six-shooter.
“John, what’s wrong?” Marlene looked up at his sudden move.
“I saw someone I knew.”
“The bounty hunter?” Her voice was barely a whisper audible over the rattle of the wheels against the track.
“Don’t expect to see him again,” Slocum said in a voice equally low.
“Whatever are you two whispering about?” Sarah Jane came toward them.
Slocum moved fast and turned around, putting his back to the door to protect her if the prospector opened fire. As quietly as he had spoken to Marlene, he said to Sarah Jane, “The prospector’s here.”
“So he was in Deming? He followed you on the morning train?”
“That looks to be so,” Slocum said. “I’ll see that he doesn’t bother us.”
“Wait.” Sarah Jane clutched his arm. “Can I help?”
Slocum thought about how messy it might be if a gunfight broke out. Walking up to the man and shooting him down didn’t appeal to him, and he doubted the prospector would go quietly with a gun shoved in his ribs. Any man who had come this far and dared so much would fight to the death. Whether he had been part of the gang robbing the bank and had double-crossed his partners or had simply seen the gang bury the loot and sought to steal what had already been stolen didn’t matter. He had shot it out with Slocum and a posse—or maybe the bank robbers. Determination kept him striving to find his lost gold, and only death would stop him.
Offering a split with him wouldn’t work. Finding the gold was an opportunity of a lifetime. Getting half of it would fail to feed the greed driving him.
“Lure him out on the platform between cars. I can take care of him from there.”
“Where will you be?”
Slocum considered the matter and realized this wasn’t a decent plan. He had nowhere to hide. Then it came to him.
“On the roof of the car. You get him out of the passenger car, and I’ll get the drop on him.” Slocum knew that wasn’t the way it had to be. The instant Sarah J
ane charmed him out, he was a dead man. Risking the woman’s life was out of the question.
“Give me a couple minutes, then ask him to join you on the platform,” Slocum said. As he started for the door, Marlene called out to him.
“John, wait. What are you going to do?”
“Be quiet,” snapped Sarah Jane. “This won’t take a moment. You tend to your sewing.”
Slocum hesitated at the door and looked from the seductress in the red satin dress to the blond girl looking more frightened by the instant.
“She’s right, Miss Burlison. We’ll be right back. Both of us.”
He shot Sarah Jane a hard look, then slipped out the door, found the ladder to the roof, and climbed. The Yuma Bullet rocked from side to side as it took a curve in the tracks, forcing him to drop away from the car. He grabbed frantically as he began to lose traction. The train hit another curve, and he lost his balance entirely. Flat on his belly, sliding toward the edge of the car, he grabbed for anything he could hang on to. A piece of flashing saved him, but he cut his hand. The blood turned his grip slippery.
Flailing about, he finally found purchase on the side of the car, scrambled to the roof, and pushed himself flat there. Hanging on for a moment, he settled down, then slid toward the edge of the roof to look down.
“Damn,” he grated out. Sarah Jane already had the prospector out on the platform.
And she had his pants down while she knelt in front of him. The man reached out and put his hands on her head for balance—and this did him in when she lowered her head and threw her shoulder forward into his groin. He yelped, tried to take a step, and got tangled up in his dropped drawers.
He waved his arms around like a windmill and then he fell off the train. The thud as he hit the ground sounded above the clanking wheels. And then the Yuma Bullet highballed on so fast that his moans fell far behind the train.
Sarah Jane stayed on her knees, turned, and looked up over her shoulder. She had a come-hither look on her face and motioned for Slocum to come down and join her.
He wondered if he shouldn’t simply let the rocking motion of the train throw him off after the prospector.
18
Slocum gripped the edge of the roof, used the motion of the train, and flipped over to land heavily on the Pullman’s platform. Sarah Jane remained on her knees, looking up at him.
“You owe me,” she said.
“I would have taken care of him. There was no call for you to push him off the train.”
“I rather enjoyed it. He was so easy to get out here, so eager. He must have thought the S&P offered certain services to its passengers.” She lifted her hand, fingers wiggling in invitation to Slocum.
“Dressed the way you are, I understand why he believed that.”
He reached over, took her hand, and heaved her up. She gave him a sour look as she got her feet under her. She had expected more gallantry on his part. Slocum wondered at how easily she had seduced the prospector and how quick she had been to shove him off the train. For him, getting rid of pursuit was a matter of survival. For her, it was sport, a game, something to amuse her.
“You still owe me,” she said, making her way from the passenger car platform to the Pullman’s.
She came into his arms and used her lush body to press him against the car wall. His cock responded at once, though whether it was reacting to the movement of the train as it swayed to and fro or the way she rubbed against him like a cat stropping up against a chair leg hardly mattered. Her hand went to his crotch and found what stirred there.
“This is what you owe me, and I want to collect right now.”
“Offering him a blow job got you hot?” Slocum didn’t try to keep the sarcasm from his voice.
“Yes,” she said, hissing like a snake.
Her hand worked down the front of his jeans and began popping open the fly buttons.
“Out here? Like this?”
“No, you’re right, John.” She gripped hard on his crotch and the bulge there, opened the door, and called out, “Go to the mail car. Give us a half hour.” She turned her bright eyes up at Slocum, then corrected, “Make that an hour.”
Slocum wasn’t too surprised when Marlene obeyed without question. She pointedly looked away as she passed them, pretending not to see how Slocum was corralled. Barely had she left than Sarah Jane kicked shut the door and swarmed all over Slocum, stripping off his coat and dropping his gun belt to the floor.
“Such terrible clothing. I should have bought you something more suitable in Deming.”
Slocum watched passively as she pulled back his work shirt and cast it aside, then attacked his jeans with a passion, working them down to expose his groin and the erection growing there. She didn’t let him stay out in the air very long. She dived down, her lips circling the tip. She cast a quick look up to see his reaction.
He gasped as she began to apply suction to the very tip of his manhood. His response spurred her on. She took more of him into her mouth, moving down his length inch by inch until he vanished entirely. The rubbery tip bounced off the roof of her mouth and went deeper until she gagged. She backed off and turned her head slightly so the most sensitive parts of his anatomy rubbed against her soft inner cheek. Not content with this, she used her tongue to stroke back and forth on the underside until Slocum felt as if he had turned into a steel bar, unable to get any harder.
“That’s about right,” she said as she let him pop from her mouth. “Now it’s your turn.”
He tried to grab behind her head and get her back to keep giving him the intense arousal with her mouth. She twisted to the side and avoided him, rocking back on her heels. Looking down at her, he saw the swell of her breasts billowing up from the plunging neckline. The deep canyon between caught the light and enticed him to reach down and stroke over the bare flesh. Her hands clamped on top of his to keep them pressed hard into her chest. Her breathing turned to deep gasps.
Through the satiny bodice he felt her nipples hardening. He hadn’t thought it was possible, but this aroused him even more until his shaft ached with need. Every time his heart beat, his cock jumped. She saw this and moved with a liquid grace, standing. The whole time she rose, she made sure his hands never left her breasts.
“Take me, John. I don’t have anything on underneath. Just for you.”
She slid her hands down his arms, across his bare flanks, and cupped his buttocks for a moment before lifting her skirts and hooking her bare leg around his. She pulled closer and rubbed herself against him. Wetness boiled from her heated interior and tickled against his manhood.
Slocum reached down and pushed the skirts even higher before running his fingers along the pink canyon between her legs. He got the response he wanted. She moaned and arched her back to shove herself harder into his probing fingers. One slid into her and wiggled about. This produced a cry of pure carnal delight from her.
“I want more, John. That’s exciting, but this excites me more!” She gripped his fleshy shaft and tugged it toward where his finger slid in and out.
He withdrew his finger, ran his fingernails down her inner thighs, and opened her even more. Then he spun her about. She let out a cry and threw out her arms to catch herself on the back of a plush sofa. With one knee on the cushions, her hindquarters thrust back into the curve of his groin.
Slocum reached around, caught her waist, and drew her back slowly. He sank into her from behind, gradually, thrillingly. She tossed her head like a frisky colt when he finally penetrated her fully.
“Oh, John, you’re huge. You fill me up!”
He remained motionless inside her, reveling in the heat and tightness and how the train’s motion caused them to rock about without expending any effort. The vibration coming up through the Pullman from the wheels gave an added sensation lacking before. He almost lost control when she reached back between her legs and c
aught at his hairy sac to give it a squeeze.
He got the idea. Pulling away until only the plum-colored tip of his manhood remained within her, he let the train taking a gradual curve sway his body. He sank back into her, the motion matching that of the train.
She put her head down on the back of the sofa and opened even wider for him. Slocum reached up her body and caught a dangling tit, squeezing down on it. He groaned at the reaction. Her female sheath tightened all around his buried rod. Rather than tense up, Slocum abandoned himself to the train’s rolling movement to enter and leave. Vibration and the motion, her tight wetness, the moans of joy from her bow-shaped lips, it all worked on him.
He hung suspended for what seemed only an instant before feeling the white-hot tide rising within him. His balls tightened even more as she stroked over them. He tried to let the train set the pace, but his own desires pushed past any chance for control. He began moving with long, hard thrusts that drove the woman insane with lust. She thrashed about. He held her around the waist, keeping her pulled in deep to the curve of his loins.
Then all chance for rhythm disappeared. He began thrusting with powerful strokes that created friction along his length, and all that mattered was ever deeper penetration. He exploded and spilled his seed and still he kept ramming furiously until he began to melt within her. Finally stepping back when his organ turned limp, he looked at the woman, who remained with her ass up in the air, legs spread, and inviting even more, to no avail. Slocum was completely spent.
She realized no more was forthcoming, dropped her skirts, and turned about to sit on the sofa. Her face was flushed. The blush extended down to the tops of her breasts, which rose and fell heavily.
“That settle accounts?” Slocum asked.
“That makes me want more,” she said. “I’ve never been so—” She abruptly cut off what she meant to say. “You owe me a rematch. When you get in shape again.”
Slocum laughed. He had seldom experienced such release. Sleeping for a week to regain his strength was in order.