Slocum and the Meddler

by Jake Logan

  “Hightower! Where is she?”

  The portly editor looked up from his desk, a small smile on his face.

  “She’s excellent, Slocum, most excellent. She caught several—”

  “Where is Angelina?”

  “What’s wrong?”

  Slocum didn’t have time to answer questions. He needed them answered. He turned to go, but Hightower called after him.

  “She finished copyediting the next edition and said she was going home. I assume that mean to her boardinghouse.”

  Slocum vaulted into the saddle and pushed his tired horse the half mile across town to Señora Gomez’s house. As he neared, he slowed and hunted frantically for any sign that Bozeman had used Angelina to trap him. He didn’t see the bounty hunter’s horse, but the barn door stood open. That wasn’t like either of the Gomezes, though one of the children might have been careless.

  Slocum didn’t think so.

  He dropped from the horse and let the reins dangle. It wouldn’t go far, not when there was a rain barrel beside the house. The gelding went straight for it to drink. Slocum would have stayed to make sure it didn’t drink until it bloated, but he had bigger fish to fry. He slid his six-shooter from his holster and warily advanced on the barn.

  Pressing his back against the wall, he chanced a quick glance inside. In the brief instant he looked, his heart almost exploded. Angelina had been strung up, hands tied above her head and her toes barely touching the floor. The pain would increase every second he left her there. Worse yet, Bozeman had stripped her naked to the waist. Her blouse hung in tatters.

  Rather than barge straight in and probably get himself filled full of lead, Slocum edged around the barn until he came to a dirty window. He used his elbow to clear off a spot in the lower right corner of the pane, then dropped to his knees and pressed his eye to the clean glass. As he had thought, Bozeman waited, pistols drawn, just to the side of where Angelina hung helplessly. Slocum would have died the instant he entered the barn.

  He lifted his pistol to fire, then lowered it as a better idea came to him. Returning to the front of the barn, he avoided the door. Bozeman was sure to fire at the slightest movement. He scooped together a small pile of dried horse dung and stacked dry straw on top. It took him a few seconds to light the pile. It fitfully flickered, then the straw began to burn. In a minute the dung would catch fire. He hurried back to the rear of the barn, found a small door, and opened it slowly to avoid any creaking sound that might betray him.

  By the time he slipped through into the barn, the fire he had set was filling the air with the stench of burning dung. Bozeman left his hiding place and went to the door, cursed, and ducked outside.

  Slocum slid up behind Angelina and clamped his hand over her mouth to keep her from crying out.

  “I’ve got proof Herk killed your husband. A knife exactly like the one used to kill Michael was in his gear,” he said. “Herk planted the knife he used in Barnett’s belongings to frame him.” He let loose of his hold over her mouth. “If you don’t set Bozeman on Herk’s trail, I’ll have to shoot him down. He’s been duped like the rest of us.”

  “Wh-What do you want me to say?”

  “Tell him Hightower has proof Herk is a killer and has a reward on his head for killing Macauley.”

  “He… he killed him, too?”

  “Has to be,” Slocum said in a low voice, doubting Finch had done the deed. Herk had stirred the pot even more by killing Macauley.

  “That horrible man did… this to me!”

  “He’s been lied to. Stop Herk. If you get Bozeman on his trail, I won’t have to kill him. Otherwise, I don’t see any way of stopping a bounty hunter with dollar signs dancing in his eyes.”

  He ducked back as Bozeman returned.

  “So damn hot, fires start all by themselves,” he muttered.

  “You’re after the wrong man,” Angelina said.

  “Now, if you don’t keep your mouth shut, I’ll have to gag you. Don’t want you scaring off Slocum.”

  “Herk!” The name exploded from her lips. She rattled off all Slocum had told her. At first Bozeman didn’t believe her, but from where Slocum watched through two ill-fitting planks in a stall, the bounty hunter looked increasingly curious.

  “So you don’t mind me leavin’ you all trussed up and gagged while I go ask this editor fellow what he’s discovered about Herk?”

  “Of course I do,” Angelina flared. “But if it’s the only way you’ll believe that Herk is a killer and there’s a reward—a big one—on his head, I’ll do it.”

  “How big?”

  “Marshal Wilson in Abilene sets the amount. I don’t know.”

  Again she hit the right note. If she had given Bozeman too much detailed information, he would have been suspicious.

  “This Slocum fella, he don’t have a reward on his head?”

  “He’s a cowboy, nothing more,” she said.

  Bozeman sat and thought a spell, then got up and stuffed a rag into Angelina’s mouth, fastening it in place with a length of rope looped around her head.

  “You better be tellin’ the truth,” he said. Bozeman took one long, last look at Angelina’s naked breasts, then left.

  Slocum waited until he heard a horse galloping off before coming from his hiding place. It seemed fitting to use Herk’s knife to cut her bounds. She fell into his arms, and he lost his balance, tumbling backward into a stall.

  Angelina plucked the gag from her mouth but didn’t get off him.

  “You’re sure that Herk killed Michael? How did that misshapen little—”

  “A lot about him has bothered me from the first. He knew my name when there wasn’t any call for him to, and which leg does he drag behind him?”

  “Why his—” Angelina frowned. “I’ve seen him limping along on both his left and right.”

  “So have I. I don’t think he’s crippled at all. That’s his way of seeming harmless while he spies on people and tells his lies. He drags his right foot more, and that wears down the heel. That ties him to another crime—he was there at the stock pond when Ralston kidnapped you.”

  “Why does he do it?”

  “For the sick pleasure it gives him. He’s in control of other people’s lives and there’s nothing they can do. I saw how he looked when two men were fighting. Bloodshed excites him, especially if he is the cause. It’s an even bigger thrill if nobody knows.”

  “I can think of bigger thrills,” she said, her expression unreadable.

  “What?”

  “The bounty hunter will be on the trail. He won’t come back to free me, will he?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Then I can reward you for saving me. And finding Michael’s killer. And that cowboy’s, Macauley.”

  Slocum started to say this hardly seemed the place, but she kissed him hard on the lips, silencing him. Her breasts pressed down warmly against his chest, then she began moving about, rubbing her nips across him until they were hard enough for him to feel through his shirt.

  “Suckle them,” she said, rising up. He saw the hard tips, engorged with excited blood, pulsing with every rapid beat of her heart. He strained until his lips brushed over the tender morsels. He kissed them, used his tongue to roll the pink beads about, and then sucked hard, getting first one and then the other into his mouth. He gave them his full oral attention even as Angelina worked to free him from his jeans.

  When he popped free, she twisted about and took him in her mouth. He pushed away her skirt and exposed her privates. As she straddled his face, he reared up and thrust his tongue into her depths. A powerful shudder passed through her body and she sagged. For a moment.

  Then she scooted down his body and got to her feet, still facing away from him. She hiked her skirts and spread her legs just enough to give him a view that excited him to the point he almost exploded.

  He came up to his knees and pressed his face between the creamy half-moons of her ass and licked, then stood and gripped her arou
nd the waist. She leaned forward, hands against the top of the stall to brace herself.

  His hips thrust forward, and he bounced off her lust-moist pinkly scalloped lips. She groaned with pleasure, reached back between her legs with one hand, and guided him to the spot where she wanted him most.

  “There?” he asked.

  “There!”

  She let out a shriek as he began moving inward, slowing sinking into her from behind. Tight, tighter than he had ever imagined, hot enough to burn steel, she surrounded him. When he was fully within her, he simply relished the sensation. Then she began rotating her hips. In tiny circles at first and then in bigger movement that stirred him around within her like a spoon in a mixing bowl.

  “Do it hard, John, hard and fast. Do it!”

  He withdrew slowly, making sure she was stretched wide enough for him, then he obeyed his own body rather than her words. But the result was the same. He slammed hard into her, feeling her fleshy cheeks press into the circle of his groin. He began thrusting with as much passion and energy as he could, the friction mounting until he was sure he would melt.

  She cried out in release as he plunged far into her, then he knew he wasn’t far behind. He swelled within her closeness, then let flow the white tide burning its way out of his loins.

  They slammed together, parted, and went back together in a perfect fit, then Angelina sank to her knees.

  “No… no more,” she said. “I’m still on fire inside. Never felt like that before—ever.”

  Slocum rocked back on his heels, then sat heavily. He was drained, exhausted, and agreed completely with her.

  Only one thing would be better. And he would see to that soon enough.

  She came to him again, this time their lovemaking slower after expending so much energy the first time. Only the return of Señor Gomez disturbed them—until they could find a more secluded spot to finish.

  20

  “Smelly fellow, yeah, he was here,” said Josiah Hightower. “He asked funny questions, but I gave him the straight as an arrow information. It seemed to make him mad.”

  “You get the telegram back from Abilene?” Slocum asked.

  “You know that already. I can tell by the look you’re giving me. It was all you said. And a second ’gram to a friend of mine confirmed that Herk is there. Seems Marshal Wilson has his hands full with fights and even another murder.”

  “Herk do it?”

  “I asked the Abilene city editor about that. One cowboy shot another in plain sight of a dozen witnesses. Nobody knows what set it off. The one that did the killing clammed up and isn’t saying a word, other than the dead man deserved it.”

  “Herk found out something damning,” Angelina said, “and used it to blackmail the man who did the shooting. If he speaks up, he’ll reveal the very thing he wants to hide. That’s a terrible crime!”

  “Herk will tell everyone what the secret is, if he can get a lynch mob together because of it. Or something even bloodier. He does like the bloody spectacle,” Slocum said. Why he hadn’t incited a mob to burn down a town was a puzzler for Slocum. Or maybe Herk had done that somewhere else before coming to Abilene. He might enjoy the more personal bloodshed. What went on in his head was a complete mystery to a man like Slocum, who only wanted to be left to himself and chose not to meddle in other people’s affairs as long as they left him alone.

  “You two surely do consort with evil folks.” Hightower shook his head.

  “Did Angelina tell you about this?” Slocum dropped Herk’s knife on the table.

  “Same brand as what killed her husband from what the lady says, but that doesn’t prove a thing,” Hightower said. “Might be a dozen men bought the same kind of knife from a traveling peddler. Or there could have been a deal at the general store. I’ve seen sales like that.” Hightower picked it up and made a face. “Crappy knife. Cheap. No way a merchant would remember who bought this, even if it was bought recently in Abilene.”

  “True, but suspicious,” Slocum said.

  “You need more.”

  Slocum smiled. There might well be nothing more he needed to do since Bozeman had been put on Herk’s ass.

  “I’m riding to Abilene,” he said. He saw Angelina start to speak, then press her lips together thoughtfully. “You don’t have to go,” he said. “Might be best, in fact, if you stayed here out of the gunfire.”

  “You’d shoot down Herk?” Hightower spoke as if it was an accusation rather than a question.

  “Won’t have to,” Slocum said, but he would if it came to that. Herk was a poisonous snake biting people when they least expected it. Too many had died, either by his hand or through the rumors he spread. He had to be stopped, and Slocum wasn’t sure getting him thrown in jail was enough. Herk would find a way to lead the prisoners in a jailbreak and spread his venom even more by playing on their anger.

  “But you would, if you have to?” pressed Hightower.

  “I want to stay, John.” Angelina spoke up, rescuing him from lying to the editor. “Mr. Hightower—”

  “Josiah,” he cut in.

  Angelina nodded in acknowledgment and continued, “Josiah has asked me to work on the Hedison Gazette.”

  “She’s got quite the eye,” he said. From the way Hightower looked at her, he was interested in more than her eyes. Slocum didn’t blame him.

  “I can correct errors and do some fact checking. There’s no reason for… Josiah to take the time to send telegrams and do work like that when he is better employed writing and printing the newspaper.”

  “Don’t see why she can’t do a story or two either,” Hightower said. “From the samples I’ve seen of her writing, she’s as good as any reporter in Texas.”

  “Sounds like it’ll be the leading paper in West Texas before you know it,” Slocum said. He wanted to kiss Angelina good-bye but wasn’t going to, not with Hightower standing so close and giving him a cold, hard look.

  Slocum tipped his hat and left. It was a couple days’ ride to Abilene, and he spent it thinking about Angelina—and finding Herk.

  He felt like a thief in the night sneaking into Abilene, but Slocum wasn’t sure what reception he would get. Herk might have forgotten about him or might have made him a life’s work by spinning more innuendo and outright lies. A cowboy like Finch would buy it if he still believed Slocum had killed his friend over a woman.

  Slocum dropped into a chair outside a saloon so he could listen to some of the talk inside. The night was cold so nobody thought anything about his sitting with his arms wrapped around him and his hat pulled down low over his eyes. He might have been sleeping off a drunk for all anyone knew.

  He tensed when he saw the marshal coming down the street, heading straight for the saloon, but Wilson didn’t give Slocum a second look as he pushed through the swinging doors. The noise inside dropped to where Slocum could hear a pin drop.

  “Where is he? Where’s Bozeman?” Marshal Wilson didn’t sound happy with the bounty hunter.

  “Last I seen, Marshal, him and Finch was across the street. They had their heads together like they was plottin’ something important. You want I should tell him you’re lookin’ for him?”

  Wilson stormed out and went across the street to another saloon. Slocum followed, making certain he didn’t do anything that would alert the marshal that he had picked up a shadow.

  He stood just outside the doors and looked inside to where Wilson had found the men he sought.

  “I don’t want none of this foolishness like you’re sayin’, Finch,” the lawman said.

  “You won’t believe the evidence. This here’s a famous bounty hunter. He don’t make mistakes—like you.”

  “I follow the law, and you ain’t got nuthin’ to pin on Herk. As far as I know, he’s a law-abidin’ citizen.”

  “Over in Hedison, they got proof he killed that Holman fella,” Bozeman said. “They got the knife and everything.”

  “I have the knife, numbskull,” Wilson raged. “Doc matched th
e broke-off tip with the blade found in Barnett’s gear. Damned shame him gettin’ lynched, but he done the crime. I’m as sure of that as I can be of anything these days.”

  “Bozeman here says Herk shot down Macauley. He was my best friend.”

  “Didn’t take you no time a’tall to move in with his widow,” Wilson said.

  “She was grievin’ and needed comfortin’. I’m supplyin’ that for her,” Finch said defensively. “You said it couldn’t have been that Slocum fellow what shot Mac. We been askin’ ’round and Herk was—what’s the term?”

  “Incitin’ to riot,” Bozeman said. “We found the folks he talked to and got them to repeat what he said. He was lyin’ to make Macauley all angry to kill somebody.”

  “And it wasn’t Slocum what shot him. It was Herk.”

  “You ever seen Herk? The little shit’s got a bad leg. He couldn’t shoot Macauley like that and run away as fast as Slocum claimed. It’d take somebody with a damned fine pair of legs to get down those backstairs that fast.”

  “He done it,” Finch insisted.

  “You do the askin’ ’round, Marshal? This here Herk, does he have any warrants out on him?”

  Wilson started to speak, then shook his head.

  “Found a man matchin’ his general description, but that one had two good legs.”

  “Might be he just hurt hisself,” Finch said.

  “Might be you and this mountain of gristle and stupid are makin’ up stories. You jist want ever’thin’ to be all right so you can marry Macauley’s woman without nobody thinkin’ she’s a whore fer gettin’ hitched so quick after Mac died.”

  “Now you listen here, Marshal. You got no call to say that about Martha!”

  The argument started. Slocum looked around for any sign of Herk. This was the kind of potential bloodshed that drew him like a buzzard to carrion out in the desert. When he didn’t see him, he looked down the street expecting to see a fast-moving shadow. Slocum didn’t see any such thing, but he did see the light on in the window of the newspaper office.

  He went down the street and cautiously peered inside. Herk sat at a table sliding lead slugs onto a strip. Slocum wondered what lies were being concocted for yet another set of bogus newspaper clippings. He looked down the street and saw Marshal Wilson dragging Finch out of the saloon by his collar. Bozeman followed, protesting the arrest.