Slocum's Great Race

by Jake Logan

  Slocum gripped his pistol and waited for an Indian to poke his head out over the edge of the ravine. He reacted instinctively, firing before he realized he even had a target, and felt a moment of bitter satisfaction as his bullet hit the brave smack in the center of the forehead. The Indian tumbled to the bottom of the gully, but he was replaced in a flash by two more warriors.

  “Find a way out of here. Not back down the ravine, but up the side. Go on, hunt for it!”

  “But that’d put us up on the banks with them,” Zoe said.

  That was exactly what Slocum sought. If half the Sioux mounted their attack from each side, he would put a significant barrier between him and the half on the far side of the ravine. He heard Zoe ride off, hunting. Firing three times, he drove the Sioux back under cover, but felt them closing in on him.

  “Hurry up!” he called.

  “Here, John, I have a place.”

  He wheeled his horse around, and hesitated when he saw six men galloping toward him from down the ravine. Slocum worked his horse into the narrow gap Zoe had found and let the horse pick its way up to the top. As he struggled out onto level ground, he heard a bugle sounding commands.

  “The cavalry,” he called to Zoe. “They’re attacking the Indians.”

  “We’re saved!”

  He wondered about that, but he said nothing as he pointed northward toward the town.

  “John, who was that in the ravine? Not the Indians, the others?”

  “I don’t know.” Slocum knew he lied. He had caught a glimpse of one rider and knew it had to be the Calhoun gang. The man with the white streak through the middle of his coal black hair had lost his hat as he galloped down on them. If the henchman had been there, Slocum reckoned the boss was also riding in the pack.

  “It must be Calhoun. They left Jubilee Junction and were the reason I came to warn you.”

  “Could have been,” he said. “Look out!”

  Slocum got his feet secured in his stirrups, then launched himself. His arms circled the woman’s trim body and carried her out of the saddle. He smashed belly down across her saddle, and then she slipped from his arms and crashed to the ground as her horse raced on. Slocum twisted hard to keep from being trampled.

  He had reacted instinctively again—and it had saved Zoe’s life. Arrows whistled through the air and a few rifle slugs ripped along with them. He and Zoe had blundered into another tight knot of Sioux.

  Still on his belly, Slocum brought his six-shooter around and squeezed off a shot. Pain ripped through his body, but the recoil of the Colt Navy in his hand felt good. He knew he had hit his target. Another round also found an exposed chest. Then the fusillade died down, and the remaining Indians slipped away.

  “You ran them off,” Zoe said, getting to her feet. She took a few shaky steps, and then collapsed beside him. “I should stay down, shouldn’t I? I wasn’t thinking—not thinking.”

  “Come on,” Slocum said, grabbing her by the wrist and jerking her back to her feet. “We’ve got to get out of here.” He knew his accuracy hadn’t frightened off the Indians. The sound of approaching soldiers had. Staying around to explain what had happened was the obvious thing to do, but Slocum had wanted to avoid the cavalry earlier because of wanted posters chasing him through the West. The soldiers who found him wouldn’t know his face, but they might insist on taking him back to their post.

  He had gotten himself out of a tight fix, and saw no reason to stick his neck in a noose when there wasn’t any call to do so.

  “The soldiers can protect us,” Zoe said.

  “And your story is in Benedict,” Slocum replied, knowing that was the goad that would keep her moving away from the Indians, Calhoun, and the cavalry. A play of emotions crossed her face like a moving cyclorama, and then she nodded and smiled brightly.

  “You’re right, John. We ought to press on. There’s a new clue in that town.”

  “Other racers might have gotten there already,” he said.

  “You don’t believe that. I’m quite a good judge of character and what people mean when they speak. Why don’t you think that anyone is ahead of us?”

  “The colonel sent the racers in three separate directions, more to keep them apart than to confuse the situation,” Slocum said. “He will have the racers come back together sooner or later. Otherwise, he would have scattered his messages all over the countryside. Granted, he might have done that, but this is more efficient.”

  “But the point is that you don’t believe anyone is ahead of us.”

  “Calhoun and his boys are as close to being on the same trail as anyone. Do you think they’d leave any messages they found intact?”

  “They’d destroy them,” Zoe said, thinking on the matter. “Or they might counterfeit a new clue to send the poor wights coming after them on a wild goose chase.”

  Slocum nodded, letting her come to her own conclusions. He saw no reason to tell Zoe how he had played that game just a little. A noisy splat on the brim of his hat caused him to look up in time to catch another cold raindrop in the eye. He jerked, blinked, and worked to get the water clear so he could see again.

  “Are you all right, John?”

  “Neither of us will be if we don’t get to town soon,” he said. The rain fell harder. Within minutes, he knew they couldn’t continue, but had to find a place to ride out the storm. Doing that would be hard on the prairie. He saw few trees, and there wasn’t time to make a decent lean-to.

  “There’re trees,” Zoe said. “I saw them ahead. Or I think I did. The rain’s coming down so hard now, it’s difficult to say what I actually saw.”

  Slocum rode by instinct and found the trio of trees, flagged by the incessant winds and providing scant cover for them. Worse, in the storm, one of the trees might be struck by lightning. Being under it would fry them both good.

  “I can lash down my slicker,” he said, “and get us a little cover.”

  “Why bother? Just pull it up over you. The wind’s not going to take kindly to anyone putting up what amounts to a sailcloth.”

  Slocum saw the truth in the woman’s words. The wind whipped along the ground and then urged upward. If he tied down his slicker to a pair of tree limbs, this crazy wind would rip away the yellow raincoat and carry it away.

  “It’ll be hard enough for the horse,” he said.

  “We’d better get down,” Zoe said with growing nervousness. She looked up at the heavy clouds filled with lightning bolts. So far, the lightning had arced from one cloud to the other in the sky, but the ferocity of the building storm promised to bring the electricity down to the ground.

  Slocum dismounted and led the horses to a spot where they were partially protected from the wind but not the rain. They protested, but he was too wet and exhausted to much care. By the time he got the saddles off and made sure the horses were properly hobbled, Zoe had built a small mound on the lee side of the largest tree.

  “It’s not much,” she said when she saw his frown, “but it’ll keep the water from puddling around us.”

  Slocum scratched a deep trough at the base of her small hill and nodded.

  “Wouldn’t have thought of that,” he said about the mound.

  “I suppose you would have cowered under the raincoat and endured the elements.”

  “Something like that,” Slocum said. He wiped rain from his forehead and swung around, sat, and held out the slicker for her. It was going to be a mighty wet night.

  She crowded close, pulled the slicker around both their shoulders, leaving the edges flapping freely on either side.

  “That lets in the wind. You’re going to get cold,” Slocum said.

  She looked at him. Her eyes sparkled and a tiny smile curled the corners of her lips as she said, “Not if we stay close. Very, very close.” Her hand slipped to his thigh and then worked tantalizingly to his crotch. Gentle squeezing got him hard. Looking at her with clothing plastered to her trim body by the rain had put ideas into his head, but he had never thought
anything would come of them.

  Now he wasn’t so sure.

  “I want to thank you, John.” She moved closer, so he felt her hot breath against his cheek. She kissed him tentatively.

  “What do you have to thank me for?”

  “You saved my life back there. Indians. Calhoun. I would have been shot and raped or scalped or who knows what.”

  “If you hadn’t ridden out to warn me about the Indians and Calhoun and his gang, you wouldn’t have been in any danger.” As the words left his lips, he knew that criticizing her behavior wasn’t the right thing to do, but he realized then nothing could break the mood short of them being hit by lightning. Zoe pressed closer and nibbled on his ear.

  Then she whispered, “Then we owe each other. And I’m collecting.”

  Her hand became more insistent, and she pressed so close to him he felt her breast mashing against his chest. As they kissed more passionately, the nipple hardened and threatened to poke a hole through him. Slocum couldn’t think of a better way of dying.

  She fumbled to open his fly. The brass buttons were slippery, and she worked at it to free his erection. He turned his own attention to opening her blouse. The pearl buttons popped free of the lace frogs holding them until he exposed her breasts. He caught his breath at the sight. Perfectly formed, apple-sized, they were firm and quivering from the cold, wet wind blowing across their naked beauty. Or was there something more causing the ripples of gooseflesh and the hard pink buttons of her nipples? He thought so.

  He gasped as she finally got his hardness free and clutched it fiercely.

  “You like that?” Her tongue snaked into his ear and then circled the rim, sending tingles throughout his body.

  “As much as I’m sure you’ll like this.” He bent and buried his face between those firm mounds and began kissing and licking. He worked up one slope, tended the hard nub-bin there, then spiraled down and around and up the other to similarly tease. He caught the hard button between his teeth and pulled gently, then sucked and licked and tongued.

  He groaned as she gripped down even harder on him. Slocum felt as if he had been thrust into a closing vise.

  “Not so hard,” he said from his position at her chest. He sighed as she released her death grip, allowing him to move lower. It took some skilled work with his lips and tongue to further unfasten her clothing. Her skirt came free. She lifted up and tried to work out of it, but it clung with damp tenacity to her legs until Slocum helped.

  Slowly, ever so slowly, he pulled her skirt down and peeled the cloth from her flesh to expose her bloomers. The undergarment was similarly plastered to every contour of Zoe’s body.

  Slocum licked and kissed and worked his way up the inside of her thigh. She groaned constantly now as he came closer to the dark triangle between her legs that was barely visible through the cloth. New dampness was added to that of the storm, this coming from within.

  He stroked over her hidden nether lips and began massaging in the same tempo she used on his hardness. Soon enough, they were both moaning with pleasure, but Slocum stopped to reposition his body.

  “More,” he said. “I want more.”

  “Oh, John, yes! I do also!” Zoe lay back and supported herself on her elbows in the mud. The mound of dirt she had built up was being packed down by their bodies and the rain was washing away the perimeter. Neither noticed.

  She lifted her knees and spread them to wantonly invite him to continue. Slocum tugged a little at her bloomers, and finally tore a hole where it would do the most good. She started to protest; then no words came from her mouth. She leaned back, cried out in joy, and lifted her knees even higher as he slipped into her.

  He bent and returned to kissing and suckling at her breasts as he slipped back and forth with slow, deliberate movement. The way she tightened around his hidden length began to sap his stamina. He found himself thrusting harder, deeper, moving faster, until he duplicated the motion of the pistons on a steam locomotive. He clung to her as he continued to move with greater speed and urgency. Her fingernails raked his back and spurred him on. Every thrust lifted her off the ground and allowed her to grind down into him. Locked together, striving together, they found the proper frequency and cried out, their animal desires rivaling the howling wind.

  He sank down atop her. She relaxed, her legs going to either side of his body. In his ear, she whispered, “It wasn’t like I thought it would be.”

  “What?” He forced himself up on stiff arms to stare at her. The sweet smile and bright eyes told him she was toying with him.

  “It was better,” she said, confirming what he suspected. “It was the best.”

  “Out in the rain, in the dirt?”

  “Those don’t matter. You do.” She laughed and grabbed for his limp organ and stroked over it. “That did!”

  He had to laugh with her. He wanted to lie atop her for the rest of the night, but knew that wouldn’t be comfortable for either of them. He scooted around, reshaped the small hill to insure some small amount of drainage, then pulled the slicker around both of them. Zoe’s arms circled his body and held him close, her cheek pressed against his chest.

  “Your heart’s running away with itself,” she said.

  “I’ll calm down,” he assured her.

  “I hope not. At least, not too soon.” She began stroking over him again. It rained most of the night amid vicious lightning, but they were oblivious to it, lost in their own world, until the dawn thrust pink fingers through the heavy clouds and promised a better, drier day.

  14

  “I want to go live in the desert,” Harry Ibbotson said. “It’s dry there. I’m soaked through and through.” To illustrate his point, he shook himself like a dog and sent water sailing in all directions.

  “Stop that,” Molly snapped. “You’re acting like a child. Again.”

  “I’m wet and cold and there’s no way in hell we can know this here town’s the one we want.”

  “There’s no point getting back on the train. We could never catch it, and it’s probably all the way to Denver by now. Jubilee Junction is exhausted as a source of information. What else do you suggest, if you’re suddenly an all-fired genius?” She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. She was as wet and cold as he was, but she didn’t see fit to complain. All she wanted was a place to dry her clothes, a restaurant for a hot meal, and a bed to sleep the entire night.

  And the next clue in the race. She had gold keys burning a hole in her pocket and wanted to find the treasure chest. The money loomed larger with every step her horse had taken. There had to be some good reason to inflict such misery on herself, and if it wasn’t a pile of gold coins, she’d know the reason.

  “This looks like a jerkwater town,” Harry said. “Or it would be if there was a train that came through. It’s off the main line, and they didn’t even see fit to run a spur line out here.”

  “From Jubilee Junction, there were only three possible destinations. I see no reason to trouble the officers and soldiers at Camp Larrup. Continuing due west avails us little since we are so far from that road.”

  “The ghost town,” Harry muttered. “We coulda stayed there. It would have been drier than riding through the damned rain.” He shook himself again, once more spraying water everywhere. This time, a passing cowboy stopped and glared at him.

  “You’re gettin’ me wet, partner,” the cowboy said.

  Molly saw what her brother didn’t. The cowboy rested his hand on the side of his holster, ready to draw his smoke wagon and let it roll.

  “Go f—”

  “Go find a drink on us for your trouble,” Molly cut in. She fumbled in her purse for a silver dollar. She handed it to the cowboy in such a way that he had to take his hand away from his six-shooter. He glared at Harry, took the silver cartwheel from Molly, and then touched the brim of his hat before walking away.

  “Why’d you give him hard coin like that?” Harry started after the cowboy, but Molly grabbed his arm and swung him
around so hard he crashed into the wall of a pharmacy.

  “You listen up,” she said, gritting her teeth and trying not to lose her temper. “We don’t want trouble. We don’t go out of our way to get into fights we can’t win.”

  “I coulda taken him. He looked like a pansy!”

  “He would have chewed you up, spat you out, and then pissed on the pieces,” she said. Harry’s eyes went wide at such language.

  “You’re turning coarse, sister,” he said. “Your language isn’t what it used to be.”

  “I want the colonel’s gold, and I’m going to get it, with or without your help.”

  “You tryin’ to cut me out?”

  “If I wanted to do that, I’d’ve let the kidnappers keep you.”

  “You paid that gunman five hundred dollars to rescue me. Fat lot of good that was. You let him steal the money.”

  “You’re free of those road agents,” she said, fighting down her rising ire. The thought crossed her mind that her dear brother was becoming more of a hindrance than an asset. If he stood between her and the gold, he might become her dear late, lamented brother.

  “If I hadn’t got tossed off the train, I’d never have been caught by them.”

  “Your gambling is—” Molly stopped when she realized the crowd they were attracting with their bickering. She smiled, but it was sour. It turned even more sour when a man with a bulging belly and a six-pointed star pinned on his vest waddled over.

  “Ma’am, any trouble here?”

  “Oh, no, Marshal,” she said, turning sweet. “My brother and I were trying to figure out what to do next.”

  “Take your argument off the street’s a good idea,” he said, glancing toward Harry, sizing him up for the amount of trouble he was likely to cause. Molly didn’t like the way the lawman dismissed Harry with that single glance. He was too good a judge of character, knowing who to address and who to ignore.

  “We’re part of Colonel Turner’s race,” she said.

  “That damn thing,” the lawman grumbled. “More trouble than it’s worth.”

  “There is supposed to be a message for the racers so we can hurry on to another location.” Molly put it as straight as she could so the marshal would tell her what she needed to know and get them out of his town fast. The man’s expression showed she had struck the right chord.