Slocum and the Thunderbird

by Jake Logan

  Slocum let out a low whistle of disbelief. To reach the rock, the man had to jump a full twenty feet. Slocum had seen men in his day capable of incredible feats, but nothing like this. And from the likeliest rock to the sandy pit where Dupree had died was another thirty feet. All Slocum had seen on the ground, rocky though it was, had been Alicia’s tracks.

  He dismounted and looked more closely at the boot prints. The toes had dug in deeper than the heels, showing the man had jumped. Slocum looked up slowly and doubted anyone could make it to the nearest rock. He studied the ground almost thirty feet below. The man ought to have landed and broken every bone in his body. The vegetation showed no trace of being disturbed by a body crashing down from a great height.

  A horse neighing farther along the steeply curving trail made Slocum lean out precariously to see the switchback fifty feet above his head. He heard soft sounds, possibly Alicia cursing, then a stone tumbled down past him. Someone was ahead of him on the upper part of the trail, and it was probably the woman.

  He walked his horse around the sharp turn and saw the back half of a horse on the trail a hundred feet ahead. Trudging up the slope, he halted to get a better idea of what he faced. The horse stood half in a cave. Alicia didn’t appear to be on the trail, so she had to be in the cave. Slocum secured his horse’s reins to a rock and edged forward, not wanting to spook the other horse. It remembered him and only pawed a bit at the hard rock cave floor.

  Alicia sat inside, holding her head in her hands and sobbing quietly.

  He slipped past the horse and watched her. It took the woman a few seconds to realize she had company. When her head came up, her eyes flashed open and a tiny gasp escaped her lips.

  “You shouldn’t have left me like that,” Slocum said. “There’s more going on in these canyons than meets the eye.” His thoughts flashed to Dupree dying in such a bloody fashion and the untouched ground around his corpse. He pushed back his Stetson to show the lump where she had clobbered him. “Hurts like hell.”

  “I can’t go back to Wilson’s Creek. I was a slave there and so were—” She bit off the rest of her words.

  “You being used there? By this Mackenzie?”

  She shook her head and slowly said, “I was lucky. He hadn’t got around to me, but he would have.”

  “Your family wasn’t so lucky, were they?”

  She jumped as if he had stuck her.

  “It’s not hard figuring out why you’re so upset. You got away, they didn’t. You want to get somebody to save them.”

  “That’s why I need to fetch the cavalry and wipe out every last one of those outlaws.”

  “And Mackenzie? You want the Army to take him prisoner?” He watched her reaction. He doubted she was a good enough actress to pretend the stark hatred he saw in her eyes. He knew the emotions filling her. “You want to kill him yourself.”

  “I’ll shoot him or cut his throat or strangle him. It doesn’t matter. I want him dead, and I want to do it for what he’s done.”

  “Explaining that might have gone a ways toward me letting you go,” Slocum said.

  Her bow-shaped lip curled into a sneer. She shook her head hard enough to dislodge the grimy brunette strands. Without consciously thinking, she pushed the hair back out of her eyes. The hatred burned even brighter now as she thought on Mackenzie.

  “Don’t lie to me,” she said. “You want to find your partner, the one that rode off to Wilson’s Creek after maybe throwing in with Mackenzie’s men, and you want me to help you. I won’t.”

  Slocum wondered if Rawlins would ride along willingly—or if Mackenzie’s men would allow it. That Alicia had broached the idea meant that more about Wilson’s Creek had to be unearthed before he rode in and got himself killed.

  “Might be we can join forces. I can find my partner and help you get your family out.” He saw the change in her attitude. A touch of doubt replaced the hatred there before. Slocum bent over, put his finger under her chin, and lifted her face upward.

  He kissed her. For a moment, she resisted, then the kiss became mutual. Alicia threw her arms around his neck and pulled him down to sit beside her. They shifted about, and during the preliminary mating dance, Slocum shucked off his cross-draw holster, tossed aside his hat, and added Alicia’s blouse to the pile.

  “Don’t stop,” she said as he ran his finger along her jaw, across her throat with its throbbing vein, and then lower to the deep valley between her breasts.

  She shrugged her shoulders and pulled her torn chemise down, leaving her naked to the waist. For a moment he only stared at the white mounds of succulent flesh. There was a great deal to appreciate. The twin mounds of tit were firm and white, delicately veined with blue. Capping each grew a pink nipple, hardening with her arousal. He pulled her closer, but Alicia reached up and laced her fingers behind his head, moving his face down into the deep, warm canyon.

  He got the idea. His tongue flicked out to tease and torment, then he moved from the valley between to the summit on her left breast. Sucking hard, he drew the nip between his lips and then pressed his tongue down hard, mashing it into the softness of the breast beneath. Alicia gasped and thrust her chest forward in an effort to stuff more into his mouth.

  Slocum used his teeth to rake along the tender sides. Then his tongue soothed. He finally blew gently. The evaporation sent shivers throughout her body. Her body had been tense. Now it melted.

  Slocum followed her backward, his mouth never letting up on the oral assault he gave to every part of her chest. One tit to the other, playing with her nipples, sucking, biting, licking, he did everything until she sobbed with the stark pleasure of it all.

  “More,” she said. “Your mouth is wonderful, John, but I want more.”

  He ran his hands under her skirts and pushed upward, stroking along the insides of her thighs. Every touch sent a new tremor through her body. As he pushed the unwanted cloth out of the way to expose her most intimate regions, she rocked back and lifted her knees on either side of his body.

  But he had other ideas. Rather than slide forward and enter her, he got his shoulder under her knees and lifted her legs high, causing her to wantonly expose herself.

  “You liked my mouth before? How about now?” He thrust his face at the juncture of her thighs and licked the pinkly scalloped sex lips from bottom to top.

  A shriek of pure delight rewarded his efforts. His tongue flashed about, then worked its way between her nether lips into her heated core. He pressed a thumb down on the tiny pink spire rising at the top of her sex lips and diddled it as he strove to shove his tongue as far into her heated core as possible. For a moment, he became blind and deaf. Her strong thighs clamped on either side of his head, holding him in place.

  His efforts never flagged. He moved his left arm around to the small of her back and lifted her hips so he could gain easier access. Tongue flicking about like a snake’s, he soon caused her to arch her back even more and cry out in release. The death-lock of her legs around his head eased.

  As she relaxed, he moved to get up on his knees. He kept his shoulders firmly under her legs as he popped the fly buttons on his jeans and let his manhood rush out.

  Her eyes flickered open as she said, “That was so good. I—aieee!”

  She cried out as he leaned forward, bending her double as he shoved forward. His shaft entered the exact spot where his tongue had been only seconds earlier. It was his turn to gasp as he sank balls deep and felt her tight and hot and damp all around him. For a few seconds, he relished the feel about him, then he pulled back slowly. Inch by inch he withdrew until only the bulbous head of his manhood remained within her.

  Easing up on the pressure he applied to her legs, he looked down at her lovely face. A tiny smile crept to the corners of her mouth. Her eyes opened and stared directly at him, challenging him, demanding more.

  He gave it to her. He bent her back
again and drove even deeper into her gripping center. He began stroking slowly, evenly, entering and retreating at the same pace. She tensed when he was entirely hidden within, squeezing down sensuously on him. This easy motion kept up until friction mounted along his length, goading him to thrust faster. Slocum was dripping in sweat by the time he pistoned fiercely and then lost control.

  She cried out again and clutched at his forearms, her fingernails cutting into his flesh. Neither noticed the tiny wounds as release totally possessed them both.

  Slocum rocked back and surrendered her legs. They lowered to either side of his body, and she reached down to stroke along his shaft as it melted within her and finally slipped free. No amount of coaxing could get him ready again, not this fast. He wished it could be different.

  Never had he seen a woman so lovely. Her cheeks were flushed with a glow that extended all the way down to the tops of her breasts. Her parted lips beckoned, but he couldn’t deliver. Not yet. Soon, but not right now.

  He rolled across her and lay on the rocky ground next to her. She took his hand and placed it on a bare breast.

  “I’ve never come like that before,” she said in a small voice. “You surprised me.”

  “Riding night herd gave me a lot of time to think about what to do with a pretty woman,” he said.

  “You must have been on the range a very long time,” she teased. “Or you have a very active imagination.”

  “There wasn’t any imagining what we just done.” He squeezed down on her breast, her hand atop his.

  “We can be very good together,” she said.

  Slocum had been in the saddle too long without sleep. This lovemaking had taken the rest of the starch out of him. He wanted to stare at her and drink in her loveliness, but his eyelids sagged and eventually betrayed him.

  When he awoke, she was gone again. This time she hadn’t slugged him with a rock. All things considered, he preferred this way for her to sneak away from him.

  7

  Slocum stretched, settled his gun belt, then studied the dirt on the narrow path leading to the canyon rim. Alicia had pressed on to reach the summit. He considered following her again. The dalliance in the shallow cave had not been expected, but it had been worth Slocum’s time and then some. In spite of their going in separate directions, he and Alicia had come together in a most satisfying way. Trying to guess what she had gone through in Wilson’s Creek proved a fool’s game, but Slocum had some idea how men like Mackenzie ran their towns.

  It was never pretty for anyone not on the fastest gun’s side. She had dropped hints enough to make Slocum wary of the man. The word “loco” was tossed around a lot but too often fit exactly. Alicia intended to fetch soldiers and get them to raid Wilson’s Creek. Slocum had to avoid Mackenzie, find Rawhide and the loot, then hightail it out of there.

  Slocum smiled ruefully. All he had to do was avoid a crazy gunman, rescue his partner, find the money from the bank, and then get the hell out before the cavalry rode down on the town. He didn’t know if Marshal Hillstrom had put out the word of the bank robbery, but Slocum couldn’t risk it. Wilson’s Creek had to be a quick visit.

  He smiled a bit more as he told himself that rescuing Alicia’s family wouldn’t be a bad thing either. If he got the chance.

  Walking slowly back down the steep trail leading his horse, he reached the canyon floor, mounted, and rode steadily for the canyon junction. Fog had settled in, making it impossible to see more than a few yards. This cloaked him, but it also made it more likely he would ride up on Mackenzie’s sentries and get caught. Waiting for the fog to lift worried him a mite.

  He had no idea where the cavalry post might be or if the post commander might jump to rescuing Alicia’s family right away. She had a way about her that a lonely officer out on the frontier might want to favor. She might be a day or two reaching the fort, then another few days returning. Slocum reckoned he had forty-eight hours to get Rawhide to spill his guts about what had happened and where the money they’d stolen was and then have a safe margin to get the hell out of town before the cavalry showed up.

  Letting his horse pick its way through the fog took him into a strange world robbed of sound. The mist dampened everything but the clicking of the gelding’s horseshoes on the rocky trail. Slocum wiped at his face occasionally as if he sweat. The seasons were changing, and it ought to be cooler in the canyon, but the rock walls held in the day’s heat and the fog made it sultry.

  A moving phantasm a few feet to his right caused Slocum to go for his six-shooter. He watched as the rider stayed on a steady course, face forward, never giving a hint he had spotted anyone else in the fog. The sound of the passing horse was smothered quickly, once more leaving Slocum isolated in the gray mist. He let his six-shooter drop back into his holster and continued riding. If the other man had left Wilson’s Creek, that meant the town was somewhere ahead, and likely not too far off.

  Another half-hour’s ride brought him to a stretch of canyon with only patches of fog. The sun dropped fast in front of him, almost hidden behind tall peaks. He pressed his horse to the left to hug the canyon wall. If sentries had been posted on the canyon rim, he would be more difficult to see at the base.

  The canyon widened and blossomed into a small meadow with what he took to be Wilson’s Creek smack in the middle. Not a mile on the other side of the town the hills were dotted with tailings from mines. Faint pick and hammer clicks and clanks reached him, even at this distance, giving some credence to part of Alicia’s story. He hadn’t really doubted anything she’d said about the town or the mines, but it made him more comfortable to scout it for himself.

  One odd thing struck him as he surveyed the road leading from the canyon into town. Twin wooden watch towers had been built. He squinted as he made out two men in each tower. At this time of day, riding into the sun, he would be spotted more easily. Worse, they had battlements to crouch behind in case a skirmish broke out. That would be a potent deterrent to a cavalry charge should Alicia return with the troopers the way he had just ridden.

  More defenses than the two towers along the road were scattered around Wilson’s Creek. Other points had been fortified in rocks at the canyon mouth. A dozen men could hold off a small army if they had ammunition enough. If the cavalry attacked, they had to filter through the canyon two or three abreast at the most, making them easy targets. Alicia had to warn any officer of the problem and have the soldiers infiltrate before the main attack.

  Slocum had to assume the cavalry would attack, even though he suspected even Alicia’s charms might not be enough to have an entire company sent out to arrest Mackenzie. The woman had to present overwhelming proof that outlaws were hiding here or that Mackenzie committed crimes and thumbed his nose at the law. Considering the crimes most likely to occur, Marshal Hillstrom might be more interested.

  With only a half-dozen men in the posse, he stood no chance at all of breaching the town’s defenses. He and his deputies would be more unfortunates who were simply swallowed by the Dakota Badlands.

  While he watched, trying to figure out a way of sneaking in, Slocum saw something peculiar. As the sun dipped low and twilight seized the town, the sentries in the towers abandoned their posts. He had already seen two men in each tower; there had actually been four. The eight men trooped along the road back to town, leaving the road undefended.

  Slocum strained to see if sentries elsewhere along the canyon walls became more alert. To his surprise, those in the rocks and a few up on the rim made their way to town also, leaving the town undefended. By the time darkness was complete and only bright stars provided illumination to the land, every last guard had vanished into Wilson’s Creek.

  He waited for the night guards to come out. After an hour when no one did, Slocum mounted and rode slowly into town, keeping well away from the road. The going was rocky until a few hundred yards from the edge of the town, where grassy patches beca
me more common. Rather than riding down the town’s main street, Slocum dismounted again and advanced on foot, cautiously peering around the corners of buildings.

  Wilson’s Creek consisted of ramshackle half-permanent wooden buildings and tents. At the far end of the street, a two-story hotel dominated the town. From within the hotel came raucous laughter. Occasionally armed men emerged and looked around as if hunting for someone, then went back inside. This puzzled Slocum since the saloon in a tent across from his vantage point didn’t seem to be the center of their attention.

  Men didn’t patrol the streets. Everyone remained inside the buildings and tents. After three gunmen came out of the hotel, made their cursory inspection, and went back inside, Slocum acted. He walked steadily across the street, not hurrying but not creeping either. The last thing he wanted was to draw attention to himself by unusual behavior.

  He pushed aside the tent flap and got a blast of cigar smoke in response. A piano at the back of the saloon had seen better days. The piano player sat with a pretty serving girl on his lap, more interested in what she whispered laughingly in his ear than in banging away at the keys. That suited Slocum just fine.

  He went straight to the bar, a long wooden plank dropped across a pair of sawhorses. Whiskey bottles were stacked on the ground behind the barkeep, a man with a walrus mustache and a booming laugh. He worked from one end of the bar and back, pouring shots, now and then drawing a weak-looking beer without foam, and always quick with a reply to his customers’ jibes.

  Slocum didn’t push his way through the crowd along the bar. He touched his pockets and realized he had damned little money. It had been the end of the season, and because he’d assumed the Box M owner would pay him not only his salary but a bonus, he hadn’t conserved his money when it came to spending. The last poker game in the bunkhouse had about cleaned him out.