by Jake Logan
“He minds his own business.”
He turned to look at her as the flaxen blond-headed woman stepped out of a riding skirt, showing her snowy legs in the sunlight. She never glanced over at him. Undoing the man’s shirt she wore, she shed it, and he caught sight of her pear-shaped breasts. The sight of them made his stomach roil.
Then he heard hoofbeats. Several riders were coming. He rushed to his six-gun.
“Nevada can handle them. Come with me.”
He scooped up all his things, and she bent over to gather her clothes and boots. Her shapely derriere looked like ice cream.
“The cellar,” she whispered as the horses drew closer. In the lead, she rushed to the steps and unbarred the door.
In seconds, they were in the dark cellar’s cool interior. Slocum put his ear to the door to listen. Was it some of Gantry’s bunch? They were reining up, he could hear them.
She pressed, then squirmed her silky flat stomach against his bare butt, and then embedded her nipples in his back. Her small palm ran over his hips, and then she discovered his privates with her fingers. It was hard for him to pay attention.
“Harte here?” It was Gantry’s voice.
He couldn’t hear Nevada’s reply, but his dick was fast responding to her strokes.
“Where did he go?” Gantry asked.
“Business—”
“I’m looking for an escaped prisoner.”
The reply was inaudible, but her hot breath on his shoulders was loud enough. His heart was going faster.
“Tell Harte I want to see him right away when he gets back. Let’s go, boys. I’ve got another place south of here we need to check.”
They were going to the hideout where Phelps had taken Bob. Cora slipped around in front of him, stood on her toes, and kissed him. With a new grip on his tool in the cellar’s darkness, she laughed. “That Gantry is dumb. I told my brother he was stupid. I think he believes me now.”
She twisted around and bent over with her butt pressed against him and his pole. “We can do it here.”
He closed his eyes and let her guide his erection into her cunt. That posse might be on their way to Haney and Smoothers. She lined it up and he pushed it into her. His calloused hands gripped the smooth skin that covered her slender hips to steady her.
He was enjoying every minute of their coupling, though a bed would have been a better place to enjoy her. Borrow a fresh horse—oh, her walls were contracting on his sore dick. He punched her harder. No way he could beat them back to the B7 without a fast one, but he needed to be there to help them. Her low moans of pleasure grew louder and she slapped his leg for more—faster.
Then he felt the end coming and jammed himself hard against her butt. When he came hard, she nearly fainted, and he held her up until she regained her bearings.
He turned her around, kissed her on the temple, and squeezed her. As much as he hated to leave her wonderful ass, he needed to get back to the drill rig. At least the other two women were safe in Harte’s care, so he could stop worrying about them.
Chapter 11
Nevada caught him a big thoroughbred to use. The man was his same noncommittal self, and soon left them alone. Cora followed Slocum around as he saddled the horse, and slapped her heavy cord skirt with a quirt all the time while telling him about everything in her life. A lost husband whose body was never found. Her only child killed in a buggy wreck. She even opened two buttons on her shirt to show him the knot on her collarbone from that accident.
When his saddle was on the high-spirited gelding, he cinched down, dropped the stirrup, and then kissed her good-bye.
“Don’t forget where I’m at,” she whispered before releasing him.
“I won’t. Tell Harte what Gantry is up to. I’ll come by and check on him in a few days. I sure hope he convinces the governor to act. Over at the Bakker place, they’re getting tired of keeping Gantry’s men prisoners.”
“I will, and do come back—please?”
“Things are going fast. We’ll have to see.”
She threw him a kiss, and he left holding the bay’s head up because the horse acted ready to pitch a fit. The bay was iron-jawed and hard to contain. Finally, Slocum was convinced he needed some of the edge ridden off him, and let him go. And the big horse flew in no time to Marie’s store.
He dismounted, adjusted the crotch in his pants, and hitched the restless bay horse to her rack. Some airtight tomatoes would furnish him nourishment on the trail and cut the dust out of his throat.
“The fine sheriff was here asking about you,” she said from the doorway, and stepped back to let him inside.
“What else is new? He came by Harte’s, but I was unavailable. Him and his posse rode on south. Give me four cans of airtight tomatoes.”
“Where you headed now?” She slipped behind the counter and put the tomatoes on the countertop.
“To see how my drillers are doing.”
“Won’t Gantry figure that out and go out there next?”
“Whatever he wants to do. I’m waiting on the governor to take some action. How much are they?”
She smiled and shook her head. “My present to you.”
He slapped down a dollar. “That cover them?”
“More than enough. I owe you twenty cents change.”
“I don’t want you going broke taking care of wandering cowboys. I’ll take a can of peaches if that twenty cents will buy them.”
She put the peaches on the counter, then reached underneath and took out a cloth poke to put them in. “Come back and fill that sack again some time.”
With the poke in his hand, he reached over and kissed her. “I may do that.”
“Damnit, you be careful,” she shouted after him as he hurried to leave.
If he stayed around there another minute or so, he’d have been in bed with her. So he left on the high-headed bay horse. Baldy was a tough mountain horse that could single-foot, but this hot-blooded gelding ate the miles up. He was approaching Roberta’s ranch house right after sundown, and coming down the slope, he saw a light on in the house. And wood smoke was on the wind. His hand went to the .44 on his hip. He shifted it around.
Was someone from the drilling crew using the house? Or was there “company” waiting for him? Checking the bay, he drew up short of the house, ready for anything. A barrel-chested man came to the door. He was bareheaded.
“Been waiting for someone all afternoon. Figured they’d show up soon or later. Rex Rayburn, head brand inspector for the territory. Governor sent me down to check on things.”
“Slocum’s my name. You hear the drill rig?”
“Yeah, earlier, but I thought that was mining machinery. I was going to go check on it in the morning.”
“It’s a long story, and Miss Bakker has been, I understand, back to Prescott to talk to the governor.”
“I want to hear it all. Coffee’s on and I’ve got some grub cooking.”
“Fine. After we eat, we’ll go up to the drill camp and check with them. I have three men being held as prisoners up there until the law changes in Antelope Springs.”
“Lord, what’s the sheriff doing?”
“It’s what he ain’t doing that’s the problem. I took two men in as rustlers, and now they must be his deputies. They got a promotion.”
“Well, all I can do is enforce the brand law.” Using a holder, he put a skillet of fried potatoes, onions, and bacon on the table. “Hope this will fill you some.”
“It looks great. You ever hear of a man named Worthington?” Slocum asked, filling his plate while Rayburn poured their coffee.
The man shook his head.
“He came in here a few years ago. Trying to buy out all the good places. He’s tried his damnedest to halt the well drilling, and I think he’s behind the sheriff’s attempts to stop us.”
“Why’s that?”
“I think there’s artesian water underneath this country.”
Rayburn whistled. “Oh, I see what you m
ean.”
“Her dad set up some acres below where they could catch some water and make a small winter grain crop. But artesian water would make over a hundred acres here irrigable. Then there’d be more places in the area that could strike water and so on.”
“I see. It’s maybe worth two bucks an acre dry, but with free water it could be worth a hundred.”
Slocum nodded, busy eating the tasty food.
After the meal, they rode up to the drill camp. Dan was armed with his rifle when he met them.
“Things going okay?” Slocum asked him. “Oh, this is the head brand inspector. Rex Rayburn, that’s Dan.”
The two shook hands. Then Smoothers and Haney joined them and after introductions, they all went on up to the campfire. Slocum told them about Gantry and his posse. He ended with, “I expect him to come here in the near future and check on his deputies.”
“No word from the governor?” Smoothers asked.
Slocum shook his head. “Harte took Bob and Gloria to see the governor after Rex left Prescott. I think he’ll send help when he hears the entire story.”
“He was upset about the branding-law problems that she wrote him about,” Rex said. “That’s why he sent me down here.”
“But you can’t arrest the sheriff,” Smoothers said.
“No, but a U.S. marshal or one of his deputies can.”
Smoothers agreed. “He ain’t sent one so far.”
Rex shrugged. “You can’t tell. He may be on his way.”
Smoothers called for a drink, and they passed around a bottle of good whiskey.
“Then we need to send someone after supplies. We’ll be eating jackrabbits next,” he said.
Slocum nodded. They would need something with this many to feed. “Maybe Dan could go and I’ll stay here and help guard after I show Rex some of the worked-over brands.”
“He better go to Barlowville. He goes to the county seat, it might draw attention,” Smoothers said.
Slocum agreed, and went for his bedroll. Haney trailed along with him. “You don’t know if she—I mean Miss Bakker—is all right?”
“No, but Harte is a tough enough guy, they won’t get her from him.”
Haney dropped his head in defeat. “Bet he’s my competition, too.”
“Aw, Haney, you can’t tell. How’s the drilling coming?”
“We hit a trickle of water, but it isn’t anything.”
“How deep are you now?”
“Eighty feet.”
“Where is the artesian water? How deep?”
“A hundred fifty maybe.”
“Why, you’re halfway.”
“Wish I was that optimistic about her and getting the water.”
“I bet they work out.” Slocum unfurled his bedroll. “I’ll get some sleep, and in the morning I’ll show Rex some of those cattle they worked over, and then I’ll spell you on the drill rig.”
“You can drill?”
“I have.”
At sunup, he and Rex finished the breakfast of the Chinaman, who grumbled the whole time. “Me soonee runnee outee food.”
“Don’t worry, Dan’s going after some,” Slocum said to him between bites.
“He don’t go soon, all me have is rocks to cook.”
Slocum agreed. “He’s leaving this morning.”
“Hell, I’d like some rock stew,” Smoothers said, and laughed.
The Chinaman waved a spoon to threaten him. “I feed you rock stew.”
Seated on their butts in leg irons, the prisoners appeared a little grubbier than when they’d surrendered. Slocum looked them over, and he never missed the hard look that Phelps gave him.
“They’ve been digging a new ditch from the drill site to the tank,” Smoothers said. “They needed something to do. Might as well get ready for prison work, huh?”
Slocum grinned and agreed.
“How’re we paying for these supplies?” Smoothers asked him under his breath.
“How much do we need?”
“Fifty bucks should do it.”
Slocum dug it out and counted it out to Smoothers. “That be enough?”
“I can make up the rest,” Smoothers said, and headed over to give it to Dan, who was hitching the team.
Slocum and Rex rode out shortly after Dan left. Haney’s drill was pounding the ground when Slocum stepped in the saddle. They rode west, and in a short while spooked some cattle. Uncertain about roping on the big horse, Slocum drove a two-year-old out of the brush, and in two jumps the bay was on his heels. The toss was easy, and Slocum dallied off when he turned the bay sideways. Rex rode in and snared the hocks. When the steer was stretched and down, Slocum ran over and tied three legs on the bawling animal.
Rex examined the brand, holding his hat and scratching his hair. “I can see the run-over marking from here. Them two will see some hot times in Yuma.”
“Not in this county.”
“They will when I get through. Special judge. Special prosecutor. What else?”
“How we holding them in the sheriff’s jail?”
“Gantry’ll either hold them or be in contempt.”
“But they implicated Worthington.”
“Good, he can stand trial, too.”
“It gets more complicated. They say Gantry is Worthington’s man anyway.”
“Things are going to be interesting, ain’t they?”
They took the lariats off the steer’s head and heels. Slocum undid the tie-down rope and slapped the animal with it on the rump as he got up.
They started back to camp with Slocum promising to show Rex many more altered brands.
“No need. I saw what they’re doing. Come roundup time this fall, I’ll have three of my toughest men right here to inspect every one in question.”
“Can’t ask for more than that.” Slocum reached out and shook the man’s hand.
“A trip to town, and I’ll wire the governor and tell him what I found here.”
“I’d be concerned that they might have the telegraph man in their pocket,” Slocum said.
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Bob mailed the letter out of Barlowville since she was worried about collusion.”
Rex nodded. “You might be right. I can handle it. I’m going back up there.”
“Good. Maybe Bob and them did some good.” Slocum frowned as he rode into camp. Something looked out of place.
“Where are the prisoners?” Rex asked, looking around.
“Let’s ride over to the drill rig. Maybe we can find them.”
A nauseating pain struck Slocum in the gut—like a mule’d kicked him in the belly. Something was bad wrong. He sure hoped the others were all right. He booted the big horse through camp.
Chapter 12
Smoothers had been shot. The Chinese man was so upset between crying and rushing around frantically, Slocum could hardly get the story out of him. The three prisoners had made a break for it and gotten a gun. Haney and Zeke had gone after them. That worried Slocum more than anything else—those two were certainly not manhunters, and might become cannon fodder.
Smoothers was in some pain. But his shoulder wound looked superficial. He was reclining on a bedroll beside the drill rig. “Damn, I guess you were right. Phelps was planning all the time how to get the jump on us.”
“We need the slug out of you,” Slocum said, concerned about the man’s wound.
“Get it out.”
“I’m more butcher than doctor.”
“I trust you.”
“I’ll help,” Rex said.
“I’ll get it out, but I want that Chinaman to take you over to a woman’s place by the Harte ranch. Her name is Marie Goddard and she owns a store.”
“What in the hell for?”
“She can get you back on your feet.”
“What the hell for? Lo can get me back on my feet.”
“Quit arguing, you’re going. Now raise up and I’ll get that shirt off you.”
“I stil
l don’t—”
“You will. Trust me, Smoothers, you will. Lo, find him some whiskey. He’ll need it.”
“What can I do?” Rex asked.
“I’ll need some clean bandages. Maybe ride down to the house and find something we can use.”
Rex nodded and was gone in a shot.
“Phelps jumped Zeke,” Smoothers said. His face was wet with beads of sweat and the pain was evident in his eyes. “And caught him off guard. Zeke had an old .30-caliber black-powder, and Phelps shot me with it. If he’d used the .44/40, I wouldn’t be here. He must have had the keys all the time ’cause he unlocked all of the cuffs and they headed out. Dan was already gone for supplies and Haney was busy drilling.”
Lo was back with the whiskey and blabbering like a wild man. “No let him die. You fix him, huh? You mend him.”
“I’ll try.”
“No. No. You fix him good.”
Slocum wanted a sock to stuff down Lo’s throat to shut him up. Satisfied to see Smoothers swigging whiskey out of the bottle, he opened his jackknife and squatted by the fire. Rex shouldn’t be too long getting back with something for bandages. He wanted it on hand when he went in after the bullet. He glanced at the faraway hills—Phelps and the others had run north. Maybe Phelps figured his time in the county was over.
“Lo!” Smoothers shouted at the Celestial. “Go wash the dishes and shut up.”
Slocum nodded in agreement. Haney and Zeke would be no match for those three, especially Phelps. When Slocum got through doctoring Smoothers, he better go check on Haney and Zeke—things were sure getting into a real mess.
Where was Roberta and Harte? A million things were going on. Gantry might show up next unless he got word about Phelps. Working the jackknife blade over a whetstone, he heard more than one horse coming. He rose and could see three riders. One was Rex, so the other two—Roberta was with him. Good.
He smiled at the sight of her piling off the horse and running to his outstretched arms.
Out of breath, she stopped and frowned at Smoothers, sitting up and drinking whiskey. “What happened to him?”
“He’ll be better when I dig the bullet out. How are you?” He hugged her tight.
“Fine. Fine. Oh, that’s U.S. Marshal Hodge Williams. The governor sent him.”