Slocum #395 : Slocum and the Trail to Yellowstone (9781101553640)

by Logan, Jake

  They left Buffalo in a charge and crack of a whip. The coach rocked and threw them together. On the way, it swung on the leather strap suspension and rocked them some more. But soon it was one with the dusty road and smoothed out some.

  “My name is Carley Adams,” the woman said softly to Slocum in a smoky voice.

  “Nice to meet you, ma’am. Slocum’s my name.”

  She unpinned the distracting hat, removed it, and shook her long dark curls out as if she was glad to be free. “I don’t need this hat for the duration of this trip. How far are you going?”

  “Cheyenne.”

  “I’m going there as well. What business are you in, sir?”

  “Livestock dealer.”

  “Where are your offices?”

  “Brownwood, Texas,” he lied to her.

  “Oh, you live way down on the border.”

  He nodded. “You on business or other?”

  “Well.” She stretched her hands out in the long black gloves and then turned to look at him. “I’m coming from my husband’s funeral in Billings.”

  “Oh, so sorry. I apologize for asking.”

  She didn’t look at him, merely shook her head as if to dismiss his concern. “He was hung.”

  Hung?

  “It is very long story and maybe I should take some time to explain the entire matter.”

  “If you choose, ma’am.” He tried to act attentive, wanting to hear her story.

  “Why don’t you call me Carley?”

  “Whatever you like to be called.” He noticed two streaking antelope race off across the rolling grassland. To the west was the outstanding range of the Bighorns. He turned back and met her gaze.

  “Bernard Adams, my late husband, was a banker when I married him in Nebraska. A very sincere banker. He owned a large two-story house and had lost his first wife only a year earlier. We were happily married, and I thought we would live out our lives together. We belonged to the Methodist church, he was a lodge member. Seldom drank, never gambled, and at least as far as I know never frequented”—she lowered her voice to a whisper—“any house of ill repute, though he was very depressed over losing his first wife when I met him.”

  “It sounds like you were the perfect couple.”

  “Oh, we were. My parents had been killed in a train wreck, and I was working in a millinery when we met. The childhood sweetheart I had planned to marry since my teens had been struck dead by lightning. I really had not met another man I liked until one day Bernard came by the shop and asked me to go to church with him. That shows how thoughtful a man he was.” She looked at Slocum with round brown eyes silently asking him what he thought.

  “Oh, yes, sounds very sincere to me.”

  She raised her head up showing some pride, and he decided she possessed a beautiful neck. My, she was a great-looking woman. She had a pert bustline, and the rest of her under all the dress material looked totally inviting.

  “To his shock, Bernard learned that his boss, Tom McInrow, was embezzling money from the bank. Since Bernard only owned a third of the bank, he could hardly fire McInrow. But he went to the bank board members and told them what his boss was doing. They were shocked and hardly believed him, but said they would investigate. He came home a nervous wreck that evening. I mean he didn’t eat, sleep, or anything.” She dropped her chin and shook her head.

  “It was bad. In the morning, the sheriff came to the bank and arrested Bernard, not the president, for embezzling. I got word of his arrest and hired a lawyer friend we knew from church. That was on a Friday. The judge was out of town. So my poor husband sat in jail all weekend. Nothing the lawyer could do. And when they opened the bank on Monday, they discovered that over the weekend McInrow had taken all the money he could out of the vault and run away.

  “The bank board accused Bernard of setting the whole thing up, but they were having a run on the bank and none of them wanted to face the depositors. So they made Bernard the president—a job he never should have taken. Only deputy sheriffs with shotguns could control the angry customers. They had to bar them from busting inside the bank all at once, and only let them in one at a time to talk to my husband.”

  The stagecoach rocked like a teeter-totter and every once in a while whirled up dust that floured the passengers in the coach. Here and there a homesteader’s shack dotted the prairie beside the road. They passed several freight line wagons and long teams of oxen pulling double wagons.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, coughing on the dust. “Just a second and I’ll continue.”

  Her cough at last under control, she nodded. “Of course, we lost our home, and he lost his job. Now, a stain on man’s record like a bank failure marks a bank official as not worthy to manage any other financial institution. So he had no job and could not get one in any Nebraska bank or anywhere.

  “We hired a detective. He located McInrow in Billings. I told Bernard to have the law arrest him up there, and they would bring him back for trial so he could clear his name. But no, the law had no money to go get such suspects. They wanted us to foot the bill for a man to go up there and bring him back. Can you imagine what that would have cost?”

  “Several hundred dollars.”

  “Yes. I kept telling Bernard to go talk to the U.S. marshal and see what he would do. He finally did that, filled out the reports and everything. They said it would take some time, but they’d get him.

  “We were living off our savings in a small apartment. Bernard grew more anxious by the day. He was a completely different person than the man I’d married. Then one day when I was out shopping he left a note that he had gone to Montana himself to arrest McInrow. I was totally shaken. He had no experience in such work.

  “Six weeks later, Bernard sent me letter from the Yellowstone County Jail.” She made a wry head shake and drew in a deep breath that made her breasts rise under the layers of material. “He had found McInrow and they had gotten in a gunfight. In the shooting, a woman of the night was shot and had died, and so had McInrow, who lived a short while to give a statement to an official that my husband was jealous of his affair with the dove and came in shooting.

  “I, of course, rushed to Billings, but no one would listen to me. They were convinced that Bernard had come up there to kill an innocent man over a woman. So they sentenced him to death and they hung him for murder.”

  “What a sad story. What will you do now he’s gone?”

  “Find me a house in Cheyenne and live out my life, I hope.”

  “Good, you still must have savings.”

  “Yes, he provided for me. But I would much rather have had him here with me.”

  “I agree. But that is a sad story. You had to arrange for his burial and all?”

  “Oh, yes. Now tell me your story. You have a family in Brownwood? Wife? Children?”

  “No. I came out of the war and never really took root anywhere.”

  “There are several men like you who I have met over the years. They didn’t know what to do when the war was over. It is a shame, and this country’s loss.”

  “Not so bad. If I had settled down, I’d never have met you.”

  She perked up. “Yes, that is nice. You know, we’re a long ways from Cheyenne. Is there a place to take a break, say, and get a room for one night’s sleep, then continue on?”

  “I’m certain we can, probably in Casper.”

  “Would you mind helping me do that? The trip down from Billings exhausted me so much I stopped and slept there last night.”

  What a shame. They had both slept alone the night before in the same hotel. He intended to do better than that in Casper.

  The two drummers had been asleep since they’d pulled out of Buffalo. The older one woke up, took a snoot full from a pint in a paper bag, capped it, put it back inside his coat pocket, and went back to snoring.

  Slocum and Carley chuckled quietly. Satisfied the drummers were asleep again, she looked up at Slocum and pursed her lips. He kissed her and then winked as he
snuggled down in the seat beside her. They wouldn’t need two hotel room keys in Casper. But it would be late in the night before they reached their destination.

  The driver made stops at stations, took on mail, left some canvas bags, and with fresh horses quickly made off again, his whip cracking the air. The weather was pleasant, but the food available at the stage stops was poor. The outhouses were so bad, Slocum had to hold his breath and use them quickly.

  Some places the steep grades slowed them to a walk. One or two places, Slocum wondered if the driver might have them unload the coach and make them walk a ways just so they could get over the top. But that likelihood partially rested with the horses’ condition. Some teams were fresher than others. No doubt some had been grained more too. Long past midnight, they exchanged their stage tickets and went to the King Hotel in Casper as Mr. and Mrs. Combs. They left his saddle, pads, and war bag with the night clerk, and Slocum carried only Carley’s small valise up to the second-story room.

  The room was stuffy, so he opened the window a few inches. The night had cooled down, and he didn’t want them to freeze in bed later.

  She stood in front of the mirror, which hung over the dresser, and looked at herself glowing in the yellow-orange light of the lamp. “I guess I am still in one piece.”

  Then she turned and rested her bottom on the low dresser. “I must say, I am giddy as a young girl, sir. The only man in my life was Bernard. He was, of course, the only man I ever shared a bed with, or my body for that matter.”

  “I won’t hurt you. Do you want to sleep in your clothes?”

  She bit her lip and took a long time to answer. “No. I’m a grown woman. I feel I have been very brazen with you, sir. You are a very handsome man with, I guessed, an even temper. I have not had a husband—lover—in over three months. Quite honestly, I am on pins and needles because of that. Now that I have poured my heart out, help me undress. This dress is heavy and awkward, but together we can shed it.”

  “Do you want the light out?” he asked as she undid the many small buttons down the front.

  “I don’t think so. I’m trying to steel myself to this entire thing. I hope it relaxes me. I am about shaking right now.”

  He held the dress until she could finally step out of it. There was a hanger on the wall, and he put the dress on it, and then hung it on the nail. When he turned, she stood in her camisole and slip.

  “Are you going to undress?” she asked softly.

  “Yes, I am.” He toed off his boots, took off his gun belt, and hung it on the ladder-back wooden chair. Then he set his hat upside down on the dresser. His vest came off, and he began to unbutton his shirt. She turned her back to him and took her camisole off. When she turned back, he saw the sway of her pear-shaped breasts, exposed with their dark, pointed nipples that made saliva flood his mouth. When his shirt was gone, he undid his pants and shed them.

  She gave a small inhale. He looked up at her with a frown, then smiled. “That’s part of me.”

  With an acceptance nod at his words, she wiggled the slip off, put it aside, and then sat on the bed to unbutton her high-top shoes with a small tool. “I should have done this first. Sorry I am so slow.”

  He got a good view of her shapely legs and tousled her hair playfully. Then another good look at her breasts when she looked up and pulled off the first shoe.

  “You’re a patient man, Slocum. My husband couldn’t wait for me to do all this on our honeymoon. I still had my shoes on the first time.” Her face reddened and she shook her head. “I guess I wasn’t supposed to tell that. It was a wreck. But things improved after that—I don’t know about tonight—”

  “Don’t worry.”

  With her shoes and stockings off at last, she dropped her naked bottom onto the bed and he joined her. With her face turned up toward his, he began to kiss her mouth, and they soon sprawled on the bed facing each other. He tasted her right nipple, and he could feel her shaking under his palm where he was holding her arm. She was real and this was going to be a big adventure. No rush, he had till morning.

  Her long dark lashes squeezed shut, and she returned his kissing, pressing her flesh against him, and his world began to spin. He ran his finger up her seam, and she spread her legs apart. Then he worked on her clit and she grew more excited, kissing him harder. Her hand hesitated, then she grasped his shaft. The feel of her long fingers around it made him more excited.

  Her breath raced in and out; her mouth was open and she was moaning softly as he worked faster and faster on her. She motioned for him to move on top of her. He did and reached under his belly to guide his long, hard erection in her vagina. The way was already wet. She stiffened as the first inches of his cock penetrated her, but the elasticity of her cunt spread more, and he poked himself in her more and more easily until he reached her ring of fire. The opening was half the size of his dick, and he could feel the ring holding him back. But their body fluids inside were slicking up the both of them.

  He pushed gently, and finally with some butt power, his dick went through her resistance and she gasped. “Oh, my, he never went that far—”

  He could feel her shaking all over as he went to work on her, actually trembling as he squeezed the half moons of her butt to probe deeper as he drove his stake to the very bottom. She fainted.

  He revived her slow-like, and she shook her head in disbelief under him. “This is so good. You won’t stop, will you?”

  He kissed her hard and went back to pounding on her ass. What a night this was going to be. She was practically a virgin. He could hardly imagine her husband never getting any deeper than that—that poor man missed half the fun. They went on and on and finally he felt himself ready to come, and then he exploded. Her fingernails dug into his back, and she gave him a final hunch before she collapsed.

  Braced above her, he whispered to tease her, “You ready for some more?”

  She swept the hair from her face and half rose up, checking the dimly lit room around her. “You’re serious?”

  “Serious as I can be.”

  “I’ll try to keep up, but I’m awful dizzy-headed. Whew.” She lay back down, looking up at him in disbelief. “I have been missing a lot. Don’t tell a soul.”

  “I won’t. Ready?”

  She snuggled under him. “Hell, yes.”

  They made love till the sun came up. After they slept in some more, he paid for another night’s lodging and took her to breakfast in a café. She looked weary but beautiful in her flushed state.

  Carley fit all those poses. He wanted a photo made of her to record it, but didn’t know anyone in Casper who did such work. No matter—he wouldn’t have a place to keep it anyway. But she sure needed to be captured that morning on a glass negative.

  Later they lounged naked on the bed, and he absorbed all of her he could. The solid breasts that, when she moved, flowed with her like willow branches in a gentle wind. He was transfixed by her looks and body. It was heady business.

  “Your husband never got that deep?” Slocum asked, looking at the copper ceiling tile.

  “No, but it was exciting with him. I never faulted him, but I didn’t know how deep he could have gone. Well, he wasn’t very large down there either. But he was good to me and very intense when he made love to me.” She put her palm on her forehead. “But when you went through that ring that first time, oh my, the bells and train whistles went off.”

  “You even bled some?”

  She quickly nodded. “A little, but I’m fine.”

  “How did we meet again?” he asked, teasing her as he played with her breast.

  “I got on this stagecoach in Buffalo and sat beside a big handsome man, who I could tell had powers I needed to experience. Wasn’t I lucky?”

  “No, the luck was all mine, honey.”

  “No, dear, it was you who went all the way.”

  They had fun playing honeymooners over and over again. Then in the night they climbed on the south-bound coach and headed for Cheyenne.


  He wondered about Wilma and Houston and how they were making out. She had no doubt seduced him before they’d shared his camp for very long. It made him want to laugh, wondering how deep Houston had got in her—he hoped the man was a good lover. Wilma deserved one.

  Cheyenne came too fast. They spent two more frolicking nights in a fine hotel bed, and then Slocum left her for Denver.

  “Leave your address for me at a saddle maker named Gary Crane on Dray Street here in Cheyenne. If I get a chance to come by and the coast is clear, who knows, I may be back up here come spring. But don’t wait for me. You have your own life.”

  “I’m going to cry when you’re gone. I won’t now. But I’ve been a woman a long time and never knew what all I had missed about this business. Now I’m spoiled. Anything less in a partner would disappoint me.”

  “Don’t cry for me.”

  She snuggled against him. “Oh, yes, I will, and when it is over, maybe I can find another lover nearly as good.”

  “Try hard. I’m a sugar foot.”

  “Yes, you are. Damn you anyhow.” She feinted driving a fist into his muscle-corded belly.

  Hours later he rode out under the stars, feeling empty, and never turned to look back.

  15

  There was knock on the door of his hotel room. Slocum reached for his .44 out of habit. “Who’s there?”

  “Marty Sobell. I’ve got a fresh-off-the-press San Antonio newspaper that you need to read, I think.”

  Slocum pulled on his pants, stuck the pistol in his waistband, and answered the door. He let the short man into the room and looked at the headlines on the paper the man handed him. A U.S. Army unit assigned to guard the Yellowstone Park had arrested two maniac killers inside the park’s boundary. According to Captain Hightower, his men had been chasing these two killers for months. The outlaws were holding the twenty-year-old wife of a murdered homesteader as a hostage. It was alleged that the two had killed her husband and baby. Wyoming authorities said the pair had been marauding isolated landowners and Indian women. The pair—known only by their last names, Deushay and Roberson—were being held in the park jail until the spring thaw. Authorities said record snow in the park was hampering movements up there.