by Jake Logan
“Did you look?”
“Not really. Trust me, I am not cut out for being the rancher’s wife.”
He lay back down, then turned on his side to look at her and tease her nearest nipple. She smiled. “You don’t understand.”
“I understand well. There’s not enough activity to keep you here.”
“Right, I am not your sit-at-home-and-knit little woman.”
He reached over and pulled her closer to kiss. Damn, what a woman.
19
At dawn the next morning, Slocum used her husband’s expensive fly rod and caught several nice cutthroat trout. With only an unbuttoned shirt on, he waded out to reach the fish and, whipping the weighted line out, he had another strike. The hook set, he began reeling in his fourth keeper.
Lea came down in a flannel gown. “Isn’t that water cold?”
“Not bad when you’re busy catching fish.”
She laughed and hugged herself. “You want them fixed for breakfast?”
“I figured they’d be good enough.”
“Ah, trout for breakfast coming up, but you must clean them for me.”
“You’ve never done that?” he asked, backing out of the water to land his fish on the shore. He laughed. “I bet this is the most expensive rod and reel I’ve ever used too.”
“No doubt. Nothing but the best for my husband.”
“How’s he going to take the news?”
“My leaving him? Badly. He does not like to lose.”
“I don’t blame him. I’d sure hate to lose you.”
“Maybe if he’d excited me even one time I might stay.
But he never will. I am just another trophy, and each session, he is in such a hurry to simply have it over.”
“Can’t help you.” Bent over, he used his sharp jackknife to cut the fishes’ throats and make an incision from the anal port upward. Then, from the cut below the throat, he pulled guts and gills out. He proceeded to wash the first one out and then quickly repeated it on the others and laid them on the grass.
“Take their heads off, please. I don’t want any eyes looking at me.”
“Yes, ma’am.” And he did it.
They quickly kissed, then he strung the fish on a small limb for her to carry. She thanked him and he wound up the line. Behind her, he came back up the hill. He’d seen four mule deer watering at the lake’s edge earlier. Paradise of a place. Whew, she made the topping on the cake. He drew in the cool, piney smelling air—absolutely heaven.
Three days later they parted. She never mentioned not seeing him again. But he figured she didn’t want to cross that bridge, and he rode the salty acting roan out the gate behind her. Then he dismounted to close it. She rushed back and kissed him.
“I wish I’d never met you. Your spear in my heart hurts me so.”
“Likewise, you can be sure,” he said and let her go.
The ride back Cheyenne seemed twice as long as his ride out there. When he dismounted at the livery, Sam rushed out with a message. “Where have you been? I’ve got two notes for you that say this guy Rensler is in Douglas.”
“Good news. I better catch a train.”
Sam looked at his pocket watch. “You can catch the nineten. We’ll put your horse up. Ride him down to the depot and take your saddle with you. You may need it up there.”
Slocum agreed as he read the two messages from his informants.
Rensler is staying in the Rosebud Hotel in Douglas and gambling every day in the Crown Saloon. Need help, me and the boys will back you. Jake Helm.
Your man is in the Rosebud, room 212. My man says he gambles every day across the street. John Doolin.
Nice of them. Sam sent a boy along to bring back the roan horse. Slocum dismounted and unsaddled him at the depot and tipped the lad. Then he went inside and bought a northbound ticket for Douglas.
“You’re plumb lucky. This ticket will get you all the way. They finished the tracks two days ago. You used to have to ride a mud wagon the last few miles to get there.”
“Good,” Slocum said, then went to sit on one of the pews in the lobby.
Ten hours or so away from his goal. He could hope that Rensler was still there. The man would not expect for anyone to find him, gambling across the street from the Rosebud Hotel. There should be no problem finding him, at any rate. Maybe the town law would help him. The federal warrant paid two hundred dollars for Rensler’s capture. Most small town lawmen didn’t make that much in six months. But the railroad being there might make the law high priced because all such boomtowns turned overnight into a circus of gunfighters, tinhorn gamblers, pickpockets, fugitives, and rowdy whores. He’d been there and seen the swift changes turn a town the way a blue northern could turn into a blizzard’s blast in ten minutes.
During the night he slept on the bench seat by himself. Disturbed by the clack of the expansion joints, he drifted in and out of sleep. There was no way he could truly get any rest.
The sun came up the next day, and bleary-eyed, he got off at a train stopover and bought some hot coffee and Danishes. The coffee tasted like soap and the Danishes were three days old. A pleasant Dutch girl stopped him. “Sir, I’ve got some real pastry in my things on the train.”
“Good,” he said, and handed the rest of his purchases to a rumple-suited man who looked penniless. “Here, I have more.”
“Huh, oh, thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” he said and followed the Dutch girl in the blue bonnet back on board the train.
She motioned for him to sit across from her. “My name is Greta. I am so glad to meet’cha.”
“Mine’s Slocum. Glad to meet you as well.”
“I saw you eating those dried up things and I say to myself, ‘I can help that cowboy. I’ve got much fresher things than he bought.’ I am sorry you were out the money for them.”
“No problem, but I appreciate your concern for me. Where are you going, Greta?”
She swallowed hard. “I am going to help my aunt in Douglas at her bakery.”
“Where do you come from?”
“Oh, I was born in Holland, but I have been over here eighteen months.”
“You speak English very well.”
“Good, I want to become an American so much.”
The pastry she fed him was apple something. And she was right: It and the cinnamon melted in his mouth. He wiped his mouth and thanked her. “And you should do very well in this business up here.”
With a pleased smile, she nodded. “I hope so. What will you do up here?”
“Oh, I have some business to handle.”
“Well, I shall hope it goes very well for you. Do you have a wife?”
“No, ma’am.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Well, that is the way it is.”
“I am so sorry. I did not wish to pry.”
“No problem. Tell me about Holland.”
“Oh, it is a lovely country, but I love Wyoming.”
“Good, many women can’t stand it.” He thought of Lea and her distress with the country.
Their conversation went on for miles. Greta proved to be a very darling young woman, and he had no doubts she would soon find herself a man of her own in the wilds of this land.
Then they arrived in Douglas and the conductor said, “All off.”
He leaned over and kissed his Dutch companion on the cheek. “You will blow them over up here.” Shocked, she held the tips of her fingers to the place on her cheek like it was a burning spot.
“I’m sorry. I had to kiss you for being so nice to me.”
“Oh, it was nothing.”
He rose to get off the train. “And have fun becoming an American. We need more people like you.”
The saddle on his shoulder, he left the train. Douglas was a sleepy little town on a large river for the west, the North Platte. The place would soon bustle with the railroad’s arrival. He decided to walk the few blocks to the two-story building marked Rosebud Hot
el.
“Have any rooms?” he asked the clerk and then swung down his saddle.
Definitely not a plush place, he waited as the man searched his register. “Oh, yes, I have one. Second floor back.”
“How much?”
“Seven-fifty.”
“That is outrageous,” he said to the man.
“It is what we get for a room. We only have one to rent.”
Slocum dug the money out of his pocket and paid the clerk for two nights. No telling how long this would take. After his night ride on the train with so little sleep, he decided to take a few hours’ shut-eye. He’d need all his wits about him to take on Rensler. The man might even have some of his associates with him.
He awoke later than he had planned, washed his face in the bowl, brushed his hair down, and then checked the chambers of his .45. With it holstered, he was ready. He went downstairs and crossed the street to the Crown Saloon. Not over half full, still the room was hazed in tobacco smoke. He stepped to the bar and ordered a beer. The mustached man brought him back one for a dime. That price would soon soar as well.
Then he saw a familiar hat on the back of a man’s head. The man who sat across the room at the card game was Ralph Rensler. So busy playing cards he hadn’t noticed Slocum’s arrival.
Slocum watched his man having a sharp-spoken argument with another player. Everyone saw the situation was getting out of hand, and they fled the table. One player who tried to get up turned over his chair. In haste, he crawled away on the nasty sawdust floor. The two men faced each other across the table.
Slocum knew it was only a moment or two until Rensler saw him as well. He drew his own weapon. “Both of you men raise your hands. Now!”
Rensler’s eyes flew open, but he could see the gun ready in Slocum’s hand. He shoved his own hands higher. The other man turned with his arms in the air and blinked at Slocum’s gun.
“This man is wanted for the murder of two of my employees in the Indian Territory. Stand aside,” he told the other man.
“All right, marshal,” the other man agreed. “But he’s a lying cheat.”
“I can’t help that. Rensler, walk this way. One misstep and you’re dead.”
“You can’t arrest me. You’re no marshal.”
“You can die in your boots. I think I’d like that.” Everyone was parted so his shot would be clear. “Now you decide.”
“Don’t shoot. But you can’t hold me.”
“We’ll see. Judge Parker won’t extend you any bond.”
“I’ve got lawyers—”
He was close enough that Slocum reached for Rensler’s handgun in his holster. He saw Rensler move and he slammed him over the head with the barrel of his gun. The blow drove Rensler to his knees and he cried out. Slocum managed to disarm him and step back. But Rensler’s jerk and subsequent other moves caused an ace of spades to flutter from his sleeve and show faceup on the floor.
“Lynch the cheating sumbitch!” someone shouted.
An angry roar from the crowd went up and Slocum, who’d holstered his own six-gun, found himself being restrained against the bar by several men. Nothing he could do. Rensler was dragged out the batwing doors screaming, but the rush of men was not to be put aside.
“You going to interfere?” one bearded man who was well over six and a half feet tall demanded of Slocum, pressing him against the bar.
Slocum shook his head at his captors. The three agreed and left. They rushed out the doors to catch the lynch mob.
“You want another beer on the house?” the bartender asked from behind him.
“No.” Slocum shook his head as his efforts drained from him. “Make it a double of good whiskey.”
“Coming up. That was some deal. Did you believe it was going to happen like that?”
Slocum wet his lips and considered the liquor in the glass on the bar. Damn, what a day. “No, I didn’t.”
“Where are you headed next?”
“I’m not certain.” Slocum tossed down the smooth booze and looked around the empty room. Unusual for him not to have a destination. “Maybe I’ll go find some Dutch pastry.”
The barkeep frowned and then shook his head, like his words made no sense. “You want more whiskey?”
“No, thanks.” He pushed the Colt down in his holster and started on his way out the double doors. Under the porch roof, out of the sun’s glare, he looked hard at the strangling figure dancing on the end of the rope. No slow death for Rensler, but he wouldn’t struggle for long. The man responsible for Bronc and Wolf’s death had met his fate on the end of a rope.
He walked two blocks and found the pastry shop. Wonderful smells of things being baked filled the air. The bell rang overhead in the entrance as he stepped inside.
He removed his hat and smiled at the straight-backed woman with her gray hair in a bun. “Good day. Is Greta here?”
“Oh, yes, she is.”
Greta came out in a starched white apron. “Oh, how are you? This is my aunt.”
“Nice to meet you. Would you have supper with me this evening?”
“Oh, I don’t know. We may have more things to bake.”
“Greta, for goodness’ sake, this nice man wants to buy your supper. Of course she will. What time?”
“Six o’clock be all right?”
“Yes,” her aunt said. “She will be ready.”
He touched his hat and looked hard at Greta. “That is all right?”
“Oh, yes. I will be ready. Thank you.” She curtsied for him.
“What was all that shouting and yelling about a few minutes ago?” Greta’s aunt asked.
“Oh, they simply hung a man caught cheating at cards.”
“Wyoming is a very hard place,” she said.
“No, ma’am, it handles its own problems. See you at six.” Then he started to leave.
“Wait, I want you to taste our pastry,” Greta said as if recovered from her silence.
Her aunt agreed and he left their shop carrying a paper sack of pastries and chewing on a cherry-covered sweet roll. It did taste wonderful. To match his sunny Wyoming day.
Watch for
SLOCUM ALONG CORPSE RIVER
391st novel in the exciting SLOCUM series from Jove
Coming in September!
DON’T MISS THESE
ALL-ACTION WESTERN SERIES
FROM THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
THE GUNSMITH by J. R. Roberts
Clint Adams was a legend among lawmen, outlaws, and ladies. They called him . . . the Gunsmith.
LONGARM by Tabor Evans
The popular long-running series about Deputy U.S. Marshal Custis Long—his life, his loves, his fight for justice.
SLOCUM by Jake Logan
Today’s longest-running action Western. John Slocum rides a deadly trail of hot blood and cold steel.
BUSHWHACKERS by B. J. Lanagan
An action-packed series by the creators of Longarm! The rousing adventures of the most brutal gang of cutthroats ever assembled—Quantrill’s Raiders.
DIAMONDBACK by Guy Brewer
Dex Yancey is Diamondback, a Southern gentleman turned con man when his brother cheats him out of the family fortune. Ladies love him. Gamblers hate him. But nobody pulls one over on Dex . . .
WILDGUN by Jack Hanson
The blazing adventures of mountain man Will Barlow—from the creators of Longarm!
TEXAS TRACKER by Tom Calhoun
J.T. Law: the most relentless—and dangerous—manhunter in all Texas. Where sheriffs and posses fail, he’s the best man to bring in the most vicious outlaws—for a price.
-ms-filter: grayscale(100%); filter: grayscale(100%); " class="sharethis-inline-share-buttons">share