by Jake Logan
He died halfway there.
Slocum drove his knife blade into the soft earth and pulled it out. A few drops of blood remained. Once more, he shoved it into the cleansing earth and drew it out, satisfied this time. He put his finger to his lips to keep Etta quiet. She held back her convulsive sobs and hugged herself.
Listening hard, Slocum waited for sounds betraying another outlaw. All he heard now were the chirping birds and small animals moving through the undergrowth.
“Let’s go,” he said. “There were only two of them.”
"Y-you let him—you let him capture me!” Etta Kehoe stared in horror at Slocum. “He would have—”
“They’d have raped you. Then he would probably have carved you up like he did your family.”
“How do you know he was the one?”
“I don’t. Does it matter? The entire gang’s responsible for your family dying.”
“You left me to him.”
“I had to keep him busy while I scouted out others. There was only one with my horse, but I had to make sure I wasn’t facing another army of them.” He held out his hand to pull her to her feet. Etta shied away. “Come on. Or this time you’ll be on your own.”
“You killed another one?”
“Slit his throat,” Slocum said. “But that doesn’t make us even, you and me.”
“What?” The woman shook her head as if to clear out cobwebs. “I don’t understand.”
“You saved me from jail. These two I killed because they would have skewered me, too. So I still owe you.”
Etta laughed nervously.
“I don’t really understand the way you think, John.”
“No need. Let’s ride. Did you have a horse?”
“It stepped in a prairie-dog hole and broke its leg not long before I saw you.”
“You put it out of its misery?” Slocum looked at the big six-shooter she had picked up again, wondering if she had done the right thing.
“I did,” she said, “but I didn’t shoot it. The sound might have attracted unwanted attention from them. I used a rock. A b-big rock.”
“Come on,” Slocum said, taking her arm and half-dragging her along. “You need to give me directions to the mines. The ones you told me about before.” He wanted her concentrating on directing them through the woods and into the hillier country to the west, not dwelling on everything that had happened. More bloodshed would be on its way soon enough, but Slocum hoped Etta could get all this out of her mind before it came pouring down on them.
He mounted and pulled her up behind him. The gelding shuddered under the additional weight, but moved stolidly. Slocum did not push the horse, but let the gelding pace itself. Although it was hardly faster than a walk, they made their way through the woods quickly enough and onto a narrow mining road leading into the hills. Slocum spotted several mines, black tailings spewing from the mouths and down the hillside, but decided they were too close to the main road to afford decent cover.
“There,” he said after they had ridden a half hour into the hills. Low mountains loomed in the distance, and these hills were well on their way to achieving that status. Mines had been carved into hard rock farther up the slopes. He brought his horse to a halt as he studied one mine in particular. “That one,” he said after almost a minute.
“Why? Is it special?”
“It will be when we’re hidden away in it,” he said. The horse could not make it up the steep road leading to the mine. He and Etta dismounted so he could lead the gelding up. Once at the abandoned mine, he looked around for signs that anyone had been there recently. He knelt and poked a pile of horse dung. Slocum looked up to see Etta staring intently at him.
“Well?” she said. “Done playing?”
“Somebody’s been here within the past week. No longer.” Slocum dropped the stick he had used to poke the horse flop and drew his six-shooter. “Wait here. If there’s any shooting, get on the horse and hightail it. Don’t stop until you’re in Canada.”
“I won’t leave you,” she said.
He gave her a cold look that only made her more defiant. He had no time to argue with her. He did not suspect anybody had stayed behind, but whoever had looked at the mine had been here recently. That caused him to become wary. Slocum stopped just outside the mine entrance, then turned and looked down the hillside toward the valley bottom and the twin ruts that passed for a road. Weeds had overgrown much of the tracks. Nobody came this way regularly—but someone had come to this very mine.
Slocum whirled about and plunged into the mine shaft. Less than a dozen paces in, the mine turned pitch-black. Dropping to his knees, Slocum pressed his left hand against a steel track on the mine floor to check for vibration. If anyone moved about deeper in the mine, they would betray themselves if they so much as took a step.
Nothing.
Slocum stood, found a shelf with half a dozen miner’s candles, and worked to light one with a lucifer from the tin he carried in his vest pocket. Holding the candle in his left hand and out to the side, he advanced. His keen eyes hunted for any trace that someone had come this far into the mine. Rusted track and a uniform coating of dust told the story. Whoever had been poking around outside had not come into the mine.
Slocum went another twenty feet deeper and found what he had hoped for. A larger chamber had been gnawed from the rock. He ran his fingers over the walls. Whatever the miners had dug for had played out here. The chamber had been dug in all directions hoping to pick up the vein of ore again. That the tunnel ended here told him the mine was played out.
“John? What did you find?” Etta looked both apprehensive and eager when he reappeared outside.
“Come on into the mine. There’s plenty of room for the horse. More than in a stall.”
Etta followed him back into the mine about ten yards. There, Slocum turned his horse around so it could look out into the daylight coming in from the mouth of the mine, and took off both saddle and saddlebags. He left the saddle with the horse and slung the saddlebags over his shoulder.
“It’s mighty dark in here,” Etta said nervously.
“There’s plenty of room, and we’ll be safe.”
“I don’t know, John. Something might be hiding, sneak up, and . . . grab you!”
Slocum let out a yelp when she reached around his waist and pulled him back into her. He felt her soft breasts crushed against his back. And then he felt something more. She ran her hands over his belly and worked lower until she cupped his growing manhood. A gentle squeeze made it mighty uncomfortable in his jeans.
“You know what you’re doing?” he asked.
“If I don’t, I reckon you’ll show me different,” Etta said. Her fingers never stopped massaging him, pressing and pulling. She continued working on him as he dropped his gun belt to the mine floor. About the same time, she yanked and got his pants down around his knees.
He turned and found she had remained on her knees. Etta looked up at him, her grin broad. She reached out and took him, guided his hardness to her lips, and kissed the very tip. She began kissing and licking all over the plum-shaped tip, and then worked down the shaft. Slocum felt his knees getting wobbly. He reached down and laced his fingers through her auburn hair.
Before he knew it, her lips closed around the end and began sucking gently. He pulled at the back of her head, driving himself into her face inch by inch. The soft lips, the hard teeth, her ever-moving tongue, all excited him more and more until he felt as if he was a stick of dynamite about ready to explode.
“Wait,” he said. “No more. Not yet.”
“No more?” She grinned wickedly and kept running her fingers up and down his spit-slickened length.
“My turn—your turn,” he said, dropping to his knees. Her blouse hung open. The last of the buttons had popped free during her fight with the outlaw. He reached out and pressed his palms flat against her breasts, feeling the soft, pliant flesh crush downward. Etta closed her eyes, threw her head back, and moaned softly.
He pushed aside the useless fabric and caught the hard little nubs cresting each breast between thumbs and forefingers. Tweaking hard, twisting from side to side, he felt her heart rate quicken and her breathing become ragged.
She threw her arms around his neck and leaned forward to kiss him hard. He kept fondling her breasts, stroking over the sleek, satiny slopes, tormenting her nipples until they were rock hard.
“I want your mouth on me,” she said, breaking away.
Slocum gently shoved her backward so she lay flat on her back, then gave her what she had asked for. His lips circled around one nip and then the other. He suckled and pressed with his tongue, kissed and breathed hotly on her tender flesh. Etta trembled all over by the time he reached down and ran his hands up under her skirt.
Slowly, thoroughly, he explored the stretch of skin above her knees. Her thighs tensed as he moved from the outside to the inside. Her legs parted for him in wanton invitation.
“You’re ready for me,” he said. It was not a question. His finger had probed upward and found her hot, wet center.
“Yes, yes, John. Take me. Take me. Oh!” She lifted her behind off the floor as she opened for him. He pushed her skirt up around her waist and moved deliberately. He ached, but was not going to rush this. He wanted to savor every instant. He wanted her to share what he felt.
The tip of his erection pressed into her nether lips, then sank an inch inward. He paused, relishing the heat all around the head of his manhood. Then he moved another inch deeper and all resolve vanished in a flash. She tensed her strong inner muscles and clamped down fiercely on him.
He gasped and arched his back, sending himself full length into her tightness. He had intended to make love slowly, taking a long time, enjoying every instant. The sudden pleasure she gave overpowered his intentions.
Slocum began thrusting hard, deep, grinding his hips into hers. For every thrust, she rose to meet him. They melted together and became one, and as one they exploded. Slocum clung to her as she bucked like a wild bronco. For a moment, the world spun out of control around him, and then he sank atop her.
Etta’s arms circled him and held him firmly. Then she released him and squirmed a mite.
“Let me breathe,” she said. “You’re heavy.”
He laughed and rolled away. She flowed like liquid into the circle of his arms. In the darkness of the mine, they lay together, saying nothing for a spell.
“I never expected that,” she said finally.
“Oh? You thought it would be terrible?”
“No, no,” she said, laughing. “I meant I enjoyed it so much more than before. With other men.” She tensed. “That doesn’t bother you, does it?”
“That you’ve been with other men? No. Might be a problem if you have a husband out there who’s good with a six-gun.”
“No husband. Not even a beau. Pa didn’t think any of the men in Sharpesville were good enough for me.”
“But you found some who were?”
“There was one, but he’s dead. The Schuylkill Butchers killed him like they’ve killed so many others.”
“We’ll hole up here a day or two; then I’ll head over to Fort Walker. From what I overheard, they intend to destroy the fort and everyone in it. I don’t know why, though, other than pure cussedness.” Slocum doubted this was the sole answer. Sean O’Malley might be a vicious murderer, but he would not remain in the area if killing was all he intended.
“There’s a railroad coming into Sharpesville. That might have something to do with it,” Etta said. “These mines—the ones around here—are all played out, but with a railroad it might open up prospecting deeper in the mountains. At one time, a considerable amount of gold was taken from these hills.”
“Could be, but O’Malley must have something more in mind. He kept talking about mine owners.”
“The Molly Maguires were always striking the mines back in Pennsylvania,” Etta said. “Those were violent strikes, with both sides losing men from the fights. I doubt any of O’Malley’s gang has any love for mine owners.”
“It could be they were run out of Pennsylvania,” Slocum said. “That would make them bitter enough, but what are they doing here?”
“Killing,” she said in a flat voice.
Slocum pulled her a little closer. She lifted one leg and wrapped it around his thigh. Rocking gently, she rubbed herself like a cat against him, but no cat had ever been so exciting. Slocum felt himself responding, and soon they were making love once more. When they finished, Slocum was so tired he could hardly keep his eyes open.
“Ought to spread out the bedroll. The floor’s dusty and the rocks are cutting into my skin.”
“Into yours?” Etta grumbled as she moved around. “I’ve got stones poking deep into my back.”
“Kiss them and make it well?” Slocum suggested.
“My back’s not the only place where the rocks cut into me,” she said coyly.
“Let me see.”
She rolled over to allow Slocum to stroke her, but he stopped when he heard a rhythmic sound.
“What is that?” Etta had heard it, too.
“Sounds like mining. Someone’s digging.” Slocum sat up, found the candle, and lit it so he could look around the chamber. They were closed off, the only way out back along the shaft where they had entered. He got to his feet, pulled up his pants, and began exploring. Pressing his hand against each wall in turn left him with only one conclusion.
“This way,” he said, pointing to the blank rock wall. “Somebody’s mining not too far away.” The steady reverberation of hammer hitting steel chisel to pry loose ore was too familiar to him to ever confuse with another sound.
“But all the mines are played out,” she said. “There’s no gold left. There wasn’t much to start with, and what was here is all mined.”
Slocum leaned against the wall and let the vibration flow through his body. The gold might be gone, but someone was actively working a mine close to where they hid.
8
“What are we going to do?” Etta Kehoe asked anxiously. She clung to his arm so tightly that he felt her fingernails cut into his flesh.
“I have to find out who’s doing the digging,” Slocum said. He was bone tired, but had no other choice. Better that he find whoever was so eagerly mining than the other way around. “Are you sure these mines don’t have anything worthwhile left in them?”
“I’ve heard a passel of prospectors complain about it. One old miner claimed to have looked in every single mine for pay dirt. He said all he ever got was filthy, and considering how he looked when he thought he was clean, that’s saying something.”
“Stay here,” Slocum said, pulling free of her grip. He drew his six-shooter and started out the tunnel. His gelding snorted in complaint, thinking he wanted to ride again. Slocum patted the horse’s neck as he passed, and got a grateful nicker when he stepped past and went out into the sunlight.
Slocum squinted and looked at the sun. He was surprised to see it was nearing sundown. The day had been filled with both danger and pleasure. The danger lingered, and the pleasure had passed more quickly than he would have liked. Not that he was complaining. Any time with Etta was nice. Hours with her looked to be even better.
He swung about when he heard her coming from the mine shaft.
“Go back,” he said sharply. “There’s no telling who’s out in the hills.”
“I won’t stay there alone,” she said firmly. “It’s dark.”
“Light another candle. There’re plenty.”
She did not answer. She crossed her arms over her chest, holding her tattered blouse together. The set to her mouth told Slocum arguing was not going to get him anywhere. If she did stay while he struck out to find who mined these old claims, she would only follow at a distance and maybe cause more trouble.
“Stay close, but don’t crowd me,” he said.
She reached out, caught hi
s shirt, and pulled him back to give him a quick peck on the cheek.
“You’re a dear.”
Slocum snorted like his gelding had, then surveyed the hillside to find a path through the chaparral and cactus. He stayed low, although he was aware that Etta struggled to keep up and made no effort to present a low profile to anyone on the far side of the valley. More than once, Slocum stopped and pressed his hand into a boulder. The digging stopped and started, as if the miner was checking the ore pulled from the wall for traces of gold. Or maybe he was just growing tired and could not work as hard as he might have earlier in the day.
“Down,” Slocum said as they rounded the hill and saw another mine. Outside the mouth of the mine stood four horses. Near a miner’s shack, a heavy wagon had been partly loaded with black rock.
“What’s going on?” Etta whispered.
“Stay put. I’ll be right back.” Slocum crouched even lower and made his way to the wagon. He plucked out a fist-sized rock and held it up to the rays of the setting sun. Then he rubbed the rock across his shirt. It left a dark streak. Slocum tossed it back into the wagon, and had started to return to Etta when he heard men grunting with effort.
He saw two burly men struggling to move an ore cart from the mine. The heavy iron carts ought to have taken both men to push. Instead, each had a cart of his own. Slocum marveled at the strength required to move such loads. They wrestled their loads downhill toward the wagon.
Slocum saw immediately he was in big trouble. The miners were going to dump their ore into the wagon from a flat area just above the bed. If he tried to run, they would spot him right away. Reacting instinctively, Slocum dived under the wagon just as the first cart was dumped over his head. The wagon groaned under the added weight, and black dust settled down all over him. Slocum tried to edge away, but dared not make any noise that would alert the miners.
The second cart was dumped. When he heard the squeaking wheels slowly fade, he guessed the two men had returned to the mine to dig some more. Peering around the edge of the wagon, he saw nothing above. Moving cautiously until he was sure no one could see him, then running, he returned to slide down beside Etta.