by Jake Logan
“How’s it going?” Slocum asked.
“Fine, we’re already down fifty feet. But I figure there’s some hard rock coming soon.”
“I’m going to see the Chinaman. I ain’t ate in twenty-four hours.”
“Why?”
“Gantry arrested me. The women are gone and I don’t know what’s happening.”
“Women are gone?”
“I can’t figured it out, but Gantry doesn’t have them. Maybe Harte took them. Gantry was hiding at Gloria’s, and cracked me over the head, then tossed me in jail.”
“How did you get out?”
“I jumped the guard.”
“Go eat. I’ll shut down here in a while.”
Slocum nodded and went to find the Chinaman.
“You have any food?” he asked the Celestial, who was busy sewing on something in the firelight.
“Food?”
“I haven’t eaten a thing in a day.”
“Oh. I fixie some.”
“Good.” Slocum dropped to the ground. The prisoners were sleeping across the fire from him.
“What’s happened?” Smoothers said, coming in with his Winchester and setting it down to pour himself some coffee.
Slocum told him about the women being gone and his stint in the jailhouse along with his subsequently breaking out.
“Where are they—the women, I mean?”
“Harte may have taken them to his ranch.”
“How are we going to find out?”
“I guess ride down there.”
“Dan and I could go with you.” Smoothers looked back at the prisoners. “If we didn’t have them—”
“You guys need to be here and look after Haney, too, until I find the women.”
Haney had shut down the drill for the night and now joined them. He dropped his butt on the ground beside them. “We can always drill. I want to go back and help you find them.”
“First, you’re the driller and I’m the looker.”
They all three laughed, and Lo brought Slocum a plate of meat and beans.
“Thanks,” Slocum said, and began to eat. Hardly realizing how famished he was, he chewed his food slowly. The meal and a few hours’ sleep might replenish some of his strength.
“What next?” Smoothers asked.
“I’ll try to find Harte’s ranch and see what he knows about the women. I left them in his care.”
The big man nodded. “So Gantry thinks his man has this place under control?”
“That’s what he told Worthington.” Slocum looked up from his food to grin.
“What about the governor?”
“Right now, we don’t know if he even got her letter. Or if he’ll do anything about it.”
“So what do we need to do?”
“Find those two women. Then I’ll do what I have to with the governor.”
Haney nodded, then shook his head with concern in the firelight. “I sure hope they don’t hurt them. I mean Bob especially.”
“I’ll find them. I’m sure that Worthington does not have them. Him and Gantry talked about their disappearance from Gloria’s place.”
“What if them Mexican slavers have ’em?”
“In two days I’ll know.”
In the light of the crackling fire, Haney made a face. “That’s sure a long time.”
“Well, if I had wings, I could do it faster.”
“No. No. I mean for those women if they’re captives.”
Slocum agreed and finished his food. There were lots of things for him to do, and on top of that the Abbott brothers from Fort Scott, Kansas, were on their way there to pick him up. Might be that he had a week at best. Depended on where they were at when they got the word he was in jail.
His life was on a timed fuse.
Chapter 10
Two hours sleep and Slocum rode out. Harte’s ranch would be the first place to check and it was somewhere south of Antelope Springs. Under the stars, he crossed the higher country studded in junipers, and by daybreak he was at a small crossroads store.
A willowy woman in a blue polka-dot dress came out and pitched a pail of mop water in the dust. She blinked at the sight of him. “You’re out awfully early.”
He dismounted and nodded. Without his hat, he felt naked. “Or I’m up late.”
She wiped her forehead on the back of her hand and appraised him from the small porch. She was tall under the plain blue dress that hugged her fine figure. He guessed her to be thirty years old. Her brown hair was in a bun on the back of her head. Her face looked too sharp to be pretty—high cheekbones under her blue eyes, a sharp nose, and a small mouth.
She looked around as if searching to see if he’d come alone.
“Just me,” he said, loosening the latigos.
“Where’re you headed?”
“Jeff Harte’s ranch. Am I close?”
She nodded, still acting uneasy.
“All I need is something to eat. Is there something wrong?”
She shook her head. “Come in. Come in.”
He followed her inside the dark store, and she bolted the door after them. Then, with her hand on his arm, she guided him toward the rear of the business area.
“You looking for work?”
“No, I’m looking for two missing women.”
She stopped him in the dimly lit aisle, still clutching his arm. “You married?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Good. My name’s Marie Goddard.” She guided him on to the counter. Sunlight slanted inside in streams overhead as she stopped him. Her hands went around his neck and with half-closed eyes she looked up at him. “Food comes second.”
He needed no more hints and kissed her. Her mouth was hungry and she pressed her body to him. Where was her man? Hell, her needs were obviously too great for him to be around.
He felt her breast through the dress and she gasped. Breaking her mouth from his, she tried to recover her breath. “Come on.”
There was a double bed in the shadowy living quarters. She began unbuttoning her dress—she was serious—damn serious. He toed off his boots. When her dress was open to the camisole inside, she removed his vest and then undid his shirt as he took off his gun belt. He hung the .44 on a nearby ladder-back chair and unbuckled his belt, and she pulled off his suspenders.
Her breath came in gulps, and her smile of anticipation had to be kissed as he undid his fly and his pants fell to his knees. Forced to part his mouth from hers, he shed his britches and then swept her up in his arms.
She gave a short shriek of surprise, and then trapped his face to kiss him more. She was taller than he’d even imagined as he stepped to the bed. When she broke away from his mouth, he set her on top of the bed and she unfurled the slip over her head.
In the dim light, he could see the dark pointed nipples on her small breasts. She reached back and undid her hair, which fell below her shoulders. When she threw her head to shake loose her hair, her tits shook also.
He knelt on one knee on the bed as she reclined on her back. When he started to go beside her, she raised her knees and guided him between them.
“Don’t hurt me,” she said softly.
“Never.”
There would be no time for foreplay between them. She wanted him—now.
Between her long slender legs, he reached underneath to nose his half-full erection in her gates. They were moist enough, and he eased his shaft through them and it slid inside to her ring. From his own growing excitement a great surge of blood rushed in, and his erection quickly stiffened. His shaft plunged through her constriction.
She cried out, “Oh, my God . . .” and raised her hips off the mattress to better accept him.
His butt was aching to drive his throbbing dick to her deepest depths, and they soon became entangled in an all-consuming life-and-death battle of his hard dick against her contracting pussy. His back muscles drove him in and out. Her heels beat a tattoo on the back of his calves.
Mouth open, she
moaned aloud, wiggled for more of him, and then wilted when she came. With slow, steady strokes, he revived her, and in minutes she came again.
Her half-opened eyes were glazed. Her mouth was open, sucking air and making sounds of pleasure. With her hair in her face, she clutched his arms and made a hard-pressed effort to have all of him. The final cannon shot rose from his testicles and flew out the skintight head of his dick. They collapsed in each other’s arms.
“How far is the Lone Star Ranch?” he asked, climbing off her.
“You looking for work?” she asked, sweeping the hair back from her face. She braced her arms behind her so her pointed breasts were exposed in the slats of light and shadows in the back room.
“No, I have business with Harte.”
“Shucks,” she said, scooting across the bed to sit on the edge.
“You have a man?”
“Did I act like I had a man?”
He pulled on his pants. “I couldn’t tell.”
“Well, I don’t. He got killed three years ago. They said he broke his neck.”
“They?”
“See, they came and told me about it after they buried him. Said it was too hot—told me they found him on the stage road and buried him there.”
“What broke his neck?”
She shook her head. “They said his horse threw him.”
“Who’s they?”
“That deputy Phelps and another redheaded one.”
“You doubted ’em?”
She put the camisole on over her head. Then she rose and pulled it down with a shake of her hips. “He’s the law, ain’t he?”
“He’s wearing the badge.”
Busy buttoning his shirt, he watched her closely. She wasn’t telling him everything. “He make any advances at you?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Why do you ask?”
He watched her put her arms in the dress. “’Cause he’s hurt other women in the county.”
“What’s one more?”
Even in the shadowy room, he could see the tears in her eyes. He reached out and hugged her. “It’s close to over.”
Her body shook in sobs as his arms held her tight.
“I never cried when Ezra died. I never cried when he came by and used my body—I hated it. A girl should have her choice who she beds and don’t. They don’t have slavery anymore. Do they?”
With his hand, he swept the hair back from her face and looked down at her. “No, they don’t.” Then he smothered her against his chest. “Sorry I made you cry, but I needed to know that.”
“No—no—I’m glad you did. I was so ashamed, I’d never told anyone. Now it’s out and I feel better. Who are you anyway?”
“Just a man passing through. Two women disappeared and I hope that Harte is hiding them.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t even seen one of his hands in days.”
“Marie, I have to get up there and know for sure.”
She caught his arm. “I have some fresh-baked bread and some butter. Before you leave, eat some of that. Plus some prickly-pear jelly. You need to eat something.”
He agreed. How many more women had Phelps raped besides the two he knew about? Lots of unanswered questions about that bastard.
He struck a match for her and lit a lamp. It lighted her dry sink as well as the table and chairs. He sat down on one and pulled on his boots. She sliced off one of several brown-crusted loaves with a sharp knife, and the aroma of sourdough filled the air.
“You must think I run a house of ill repute out here.” She delivered several slices of her bread on a plate along with butter in a bowl. “Knife and jam coming next and, oh, yes, coffee.”
When she returned, he caught her wrist. “No, I don’t think that, but sometimes a person gets so lonely they have to bust out.”
She looked hard at him. “I was that way when you rode up. Something about the look in your eye. I said to myself, ‘Crazy woman, here is a man riding through your life that you need to know better.’ Then I forgot all my good sense.”
“Thanks.” He was busy buttering the first slice.
“No. I owe you. I got that cry behind me—” She set down the two cups of coffee, swept her dress under her, and took a seat across from him. “I needed that over. But it helped. Now, who are the women you’re looking for?”
“Gloria, who runs a café. I guess the only one in town. And Bob Bakker.”
“I know them. Wasn’t her brother found guilty of rustling?”
“A frame-up, I’m afraid.”
“They can break a man’s neck, I guess they can frame another.”
“If I can find out anything about him, I’ll let you know.”
“Oh, I guess it wouldn’t matter. Ezra’s gone.” She held the cup in both hands and shrugged her shoulders.
“It might give you closure.” He was savoring the bread. It sure tasted wonderful after all the soda biscuits he’d eaten of late.
“I know it’s not been long enough, but there is a man you need to meet,” he said.
A suspicious look spread over her face. “Who?”
“A man who owns a sawmill. A big nice guy—a man’s man. He’s been helping me. Abe Smoothers is his name.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know him.”
“You will. He’ll fill that door coming through it.”
“Why would he want me?”
Slocum smiled and held up the butter-and-jelly-smeared slice of bread. “This would convince him.”
Her laughter rang out. “So you’re a matchmaker, too?”
“Naw, but you two would have lots of fun together.”
“When will he come to see me?” She chewed on her lower lip.
“When we get things settled. Maybe a few weeks.”
“That could be a lifetime.” She wrapped her arms around herself and shuddered, then grinned at him like his promise had excited her.
“He’s worth waiting for,” Slocum said.
“You’re sure he’ll come?”
“Yes. I have to go.”
She rushed over and kissed him. “Thanks, Slocum. You’re welcome here any time.”
“I may need a place to rest over again.”
Acting shocked, she led him to the front door. “You be careful. Wait,” she said, and reached inside for a hat. It was a gray felt one. “He won’t need it. You will.”
It fit him and he nodded in gratitude, then headed for his horse. She followed him and, at his horse, he turned to her, set the hat on the back of his head, and kissed her. It wasn’t easy leaving her for Harte’s place.
The ranch lay in the bend of a large wash. Slocum could see the alfalfa plots that showed green. He descended off the mountain into the valley, and headed for the towering cottonwoods that partly concealed the main house, corrals, and outbuildings.
A few stock dogs heralded his arrival, and a cowboy armed with a rifle stepped out of a bunkhouse.
“Morning, the boss man here?”
The cowboy shook his head.
“My name’s Slocum and I came to see if two women were here.”
The cowboy shook his head.
“They been here?”
“Yep.”
“Where did they go?”
“He said you’d be coming. Him and them women went to Prescott to see the governor. Told us to be on the look-out.”
“How long have they been gone?”
“Left day before yesterday. Said it would take a week.”
Slocum nodded. “Did anyone else check on them?”
“Nope, you’re the first.”
“Guess a man could rest here a few hours?”
“Make yourself at home. There’s grain for your horse in that shed.”
“I may take a bath now I know they’re all right.”
“Suit yourself, but it ain’t Saturday night. There’s a sheepherder shower behind here.” He nodded in that direction.
“Good. Anyone else here?”
“The boss l
ady. She’s up at the house, I guess.”
“Fine, I won’t need anything. Do I need to refill the tank?”
“Naw, the windmill will.”
“You the foreman?”
“Yep.”
“I never caught your name.”
“Nevada.”
“Thanks, Nevada.”
“I don’t know what for.” The man walked off with his rifle in the crook of his arm.
Harte’s man certainly wasn’t a blabbermouth. Slocum led Baldy over and watered him at the mill tank. Then he undid the girths and took him to the shed. Inside the shed, he put some white Mexican corn in a canvas feed bag. Outside, he removed the bridle and put the bag on the horse. Then, using a rope from the shed, he hitched Baldy to the rack.
With a bar of soap and a towel from his saddlebags, he walked around to the sheepherder’s shower. Two barrels overhead on a stand contained the water supply, with a pull rope on each to start the flow. The shower was behind the other buildings, and a high board fence around it offered some privacy.
He sat on a bench and took off his boots. Road weary, he undressed slowly. Stretching the tight muscles in his back and legs, he winced in discomfort. Gun and clothing were hung on pegs. With his bare skin exposed to the mid-morning heat, he took the soap and stepped gingerly on the wooden grates. The area smelled of lye soap and the sourness of wash water as he pulled the chain.
The shock of the cold water about stopped his heart. He released the rope and shut off the flow.
“Use the other one, that’s one’s the freshest.” It was a woman’s voice behind him.
He didn’t turn, though he wondered who she was. “You the boss lady?”
“I’m his sister Cora.”
“Harte’s?”
“His wife died three years ago.”
Slocum nodded. “Excuse me. My name’s Slocum. I’m taking a shower.”
“I had the same idea. He told me all about you.”
“That’s good. Suit yourself about the bath. Plenty of room.”
She laughed out loud at him. “Since you don’t care, I’ll take one with you.”
“Fine. It’s your ranch. What about Nevada?”