Slocum and Hot Lead

by Jake Logan

  Only then did he work lower. He wasn’t as dexterous opening the buttons holding her skirt, but there was no hurry, in spite of the volcanic feelings mounting within his loins. He knew she enjoyed the slowness, the careful attention to her every bare section of flesh. He tongued and kissed and fondled and finally worked off her skirt.

  She kicked free of the skirt, naked below the waist and with her blouse hanging open. He might have seen a prettier sight in his day, but he couldn’t remember it now. She tossed her skirt behind her onto the cave floor and moved to lie on it. As she moved into position, Slocum stroked over her fine legs and cupped her buttocks, lifting them off the floor. Her legs parted wantonly for him.

  “I want you, John. I want you so much!”

  “What is it about me you want?” he teased.

  “Everything. Everything! And this!” She made a wild grab between his legs and caught his pulsating column. She pulled him straight for her nether lips. When the purpled head of his manhood touched her, she gasped out. And then he elicited another gasp when he poked forward until only the head of his lust-hardened shaft was hidden within.

  “Yes, oh, yes, that. That’s what I want!”

  “No,” he said. “That’ not what you want. This is what you want. What we both need.”

  His hips moved forward in a smooth motion, carrying him to the hilt in her moist tightness. Her legs rose on either side of his body and he lifted her rump again off the floor. For a moment, he hung suspended, time and place vanished. All that mattered was the woman, her nearness, her tightness. He slowly withdrew, only to slip back quickly into her needy core.

  Claudia began to thrash about under him. He gripped her fleshy buttocks and held her in place as he continued to thrust forward quickly and withdraw with taunting slowness. She tossed her head from side to side, eyes closed, biting her lower lip as she moaned in desire.

  When the heat within Slocum’s groin reached the point of burning him, he began to lose control of the steady movements. He began thrusting faster and generating carnal heat that released Claudia’s desires. She cried out in joy, tensed around him, and made him feel as if she were milking him. He grunted, then began to piston back and forth even faster. The heat from her and the strength of the muscles surrounding him robbed him of the last of his control.

  He spilled his white-hot seed in a rush. Then he sank down atop her until their faces were only inches apart.

  “You’re wonderful,” she whispered.

  “You’re no so bad yourself,” he replied.

  “I’m not bad? I thought I was being positively wicked. We’ll have to work on that and see if you can’t make me into a completely wanton woman.”

  He rolled over beside her, and she came into his strong arms. There was a muzzy warmth that settled over him, but he still heard a scraping sound. Slocum sat up and looked around. Nothing.

  Then Claudia got her second wind and moved to convince him to pick up where they had left off.

  14

  “Get dressed,” Slocum said, craning around and not seeing the painting by the mouth of the cave where he had left it. He grabbed for his gun belt and pulled his six-shooter.

  “What’s wrong?” Claudia began buttoning her blouse, leaving her naked below the waist, but Slocum wasn’t distracted right now. He was too busy getting his own jeans on and padding to see if the thief was in view.

  “The painting’s gone,” Slocum said. He fastened the gun belt to his waist and shoved the six-gun into it. He felt disgust at his own weakness and how he had given in to Claudia’s charms. Slocum didn’t regret what he and Claudia had just done, but was furious at himself for giving anyone the chance to sneak so close and make off with the map.

  “Who? Who took it?”

  “I don’t know,” Slocum said, getting into his boots, “but the best way of finding out is to follow the tracks.”

  “I don’t see anything.”

  “I don’t either. Whoever swiped the painting did it sometime back when we were both occupied.”

  “The painting’s gone!” Claudia almost whined. “We have to get it back!”

  “Where’s the paintbrush?”

  “Here—oh, no, John! It’s gone too!”

  “Reckon that limits the folks who might have stolen them,” Slocum said. “Neale might take the painting, but he’d also plug both of us. He’s that kind of man.” Slocum felt a cold anger at this. If Neale had found them, he would have used one bullet to shoot both of them while they were making love. He would have enjoyed the irony.

  “Who?”

  “I partnered up with the bounty hunter.”

  “Wilmer?”

  “None other than,” Slocum said, settling his gun belt. “I saved his worthless life, we threw our lots together, and now he double-crossed me. The lure of gold was too much for him.”

  “But Wilmer? That smelly person back at the Rio Grande gorge?”

  “He knew about the painting and the brush,” Slocum said. “He could have shot us both, but didn’t. That’s the best I can expect from a former partner.” Slocum felt an anger he hadn’t felt in years. Marshal Hanks mistakenly coming for him was one thing, but having someone betray him like this who had called himself partner and had shaken on it—that was about the same as horse stealing.

  “You trusted him? Why?” Claudia stared at him incredulously.

  “I saved his life and thought he owed me some loyalty. I was wrong about him.”

  “What do we do now?” Claudia pressed close, reminding him of the sort of reward she could offer. Right now, Slocum was less interested in sampling flesh and more inclined to spill blood.

  “There’s the way he went. For a mountain man, he didn’t try covering his tracks. Maybe he didn’t think there was any reason.” Even as he said those words, a cold lump formed in Slocum’s belly. “Son of a bitch!” he cried. Tearing out, he slipped and slid down the hillside, tumbled into the arroyo, and ignored Claudia’s cries for him to wait for her. Getting his feet under him, Slocum sprinted to where the horses had been tethered.

  Had been tethered.

  Slocum stood with his arms dangling at his sides when Claudia ran up, out of breath.

  “John,” she gasped out. “What’s wrong, John?”

  “He stole my horse. The lowdown, no-account mangy son of a poxy whore stole my horse.”

  “And the painting.”

  Slocum looked at her sharply. She didn’t understand. Slocum had been betrayed far worse than having the painting stolen out from under his nose. That rankled, but Wilmer had taken his horse. Slocum had called him partner, and Wilmer had betrayed him at every turn.

  “How much did you leave in the cave?”

  “Nothing I can’t leave,” she said, her eyes wide. She had never seen such towering anger before. “We . . . we should get started.”

  “You stay. I’ll find him. It won’t be pretty. You wouldn’t want to see it, what I’ll do to him.”

  “What’s that, John? What will you do?”

  “I’ve learned things from the Apaches, but what I’ll do to Wilmer would make them turn white in fear.”

  He cast around and found the trail leading back to the road above. If Slocum had to make a guess, Wilmer had overheard Claudia say she had hunted for the gold in the three mines and had come up empty-handed. He would likely take the painting to the meadow and try to decipher it back there in comfort, with water and grass for his horse and all the time in the world to decipher the clues locked in the painting’s brush strokes. Wilmer was nothing if not totally sure of his own abilities. The painting would be the perfect proof of it—if he figured out where the Army payroll had been hidden.

  Without looking to see if Claudia came, he trudged up the slope and got to the road. The fresh hoofprints showed where two horses had come. Slocum recognized a nick in one horseshoe as belonging to the horse he had ridden.

  “Wait, John. I can’t keep up.”

  Slocum saw the woman struggling up the slope
carrying supplies from the wrecked buckboard. He relented, went back down the slope, and helped her to the road. The supplies would come in handy if Wilmer led them a long chase. Slocum doubted that would happen since the bounty hunter’s arrogance was such that he would never expect Slocum to come after him because of Claudia.

  Slocum might show the trappings of a Southern gentleman, but when it came down to remaining with a lovely lady or putting an ounce of lead into a horse thief’s hide, the only decision Slocum need make now was how hard to squeeze back on the trigger.

  “You are angry at him, aren’t you? I . . . I haven’t seen this side of you before, John.”

  “Can you carry all that or do you want help? I would prefer to keep my hands free in case I have to fire fast.”

  “I can lug it along just fine, thank you,” she said sharply. Claudia’s lips thinned to a line as she made her displeasure obvious to him. Her irritation was like water on a duck’s back to Slocum. There was only one thing on his mind: revenge.

  Slocum swung back and headed to the meadow that had become a second home to him. When he got his horse back and settled the score with Wilmer, he would ride to the far side of the meadow, find the way through the mountains, and get the hell out of New Mexico.

  “Not so fast, John. I can hardly keep up.”

  Slocum slowed and let her draw even with him. He realized she was giving him good advice, even if it wasn’t exactly what she’d meant. If he bulled his way out of the canyon into the meadowland, he was likely to present a fine target for Wilmer. The bounty hunter hadn’t killed him and Claudia before, but when he saw them on his trail, he wouldn’t hesitate. An even deeper thorn dug into Slocum’s soul. Wilmer was likely to shoot him down and try to claim he was Neale to collect the reward. Not only would Wilmer end up with the gold, he would get the bounty posted by the Army.

  “I don’t know why I’m going with you to that terrible place,” Claudia said. “It has bad memories for me, what with Maggie’s grave being there and all.”

  “How do you suppose she ended up dead?”

  “She must have stolen the gold from Neale and hidden it.”

  “How’d your pa come to do the map then? Were he and Maggie in cahoots?”

  “I . . . I never thought of that. He favored her. A little. A little over me,” Claudia said. “She might have been too hurt to get away, and my pa buried her. Then he hid the gold and sent me the painting.”

  “Why didn’t he just hightail it away with the gold?”

  “Oh, John, you ask too many questions. I like you better when your mouth’s engaged in . . . other ways.” She batted her eyelashes in his direction. The violet light in her eyes blazed hotly, but Slocum wondered which of his questions had stung her most. From the way she acted, it had to do with the way her father and her sister got along.

  Thicker than thieves and blood is thicker than water kept running through Slocum’s mind.

  He jerked straight, hand flying to his six-shooter when he heard gunfire ahead.

  “Stay back. Get up in those rocks and don’t poke your head up until I call you.”

  “I don’t want to leave your side,” Claudia protested.

  More shots were followed by a loud, anguished cry that sapped Claudia’s determination. She dropped the supplies she carried and dashed for rocks above the road. Slocum glanced around, got his bearings, and then cut off the road in the other direction, finding a less exposed route into the meadow. He crouched behind a blackberry bush and waited until the fight revealed where the combatants were.

  It took only seconds for Slocum to see four riders prowling, rifles leveled and ready to fire if they saw anyone. Slocum didn’t doubt they were in Neale’s gang, although he didn’t recall having seen them before.

  All speculation vanished when Neale rode out, pointing, angrily shouting and dispatching the men to different areas in the meadow to cut off escape back into the canyon Slocum had just left. Watching and waiting, Slocum wanted one of those sentries to come close enough so he could plug the outlaw and get a new horse and maybe a rifle. If he wanted to have his revenge on Wilmer, he could use more firepower.

  Rising, moving to put a pine tree between him and the outlaw riding slowly along the edge of the forest, Slocum drew his gun and sneaked a quick look around the trunk. The outlaw spotted him. Before he could yell out a warning to his friends, the road agent made a terrible mistake. He swung his rifle around to get a shot off.

  Slocum shot first. The outlaw grunted, dropped his rifle, and clutched at his horse’s neck as he bent forward. Before Slocum could get a second, killing shot off, the horse bolted and raced away.

  Moving from the safety of the pine tree, he scooped up the rifle. Slocum looked around to see if he had been spotted. There was no way the gunshot would be overlooked—except for the fusillade coming from a hundred yards away that drowned out even the wounded outlaw’s departure.

  Slocum saw Wilmer ducking and dodging, firing his rifle as he made his way into the open. The bounty hunter was on foot and would never make it to cover with three outlaws riding him down. Slocum couldn’t let Neale’s gang kill Wilmer. He wanted to do that himself. Slocum raised the rifle, sighted, squeezed, and fired. One outlaw jerked around as the slug caught him high on the shoulder.

  It wasn’t a killing shot, but forced the man to drop his rifle. Slocum swung about, got a second shot off, and smiled with grim satisfaction when the outlaw tumbled from horseback. He might not be dead, but he wasn’t going to be a factor in the fight.

  Seeing two of his companions wounded, the third turned tail and galloped off, shouting at the top of his lungs for the rest of the gang.

  “Slocum?” Wilmer stumbled and fell to his knees. Slocum began walking toward the bounty hunter, bringing the rifle to his shoulder as he went. His finger drew back on the trigger, but it fell with a metallic click. The magazine had come up empty.

  Reaching for his six-shooter to finish the task, Slocum hesitated. From the woods on the far side of the clearing came a half-dozen outlaws.

  “My God, Slocum, don’t fire on ’em. It’s too far for a pistol.” Wilmer scampered about and grabbed both rifles dropped by the wounded outlaws. Running clumsily, he made a beeline for Slocum. Only the fact that the bounty hunter had two rifles and that Neale had spotted him kept Slocum from gunning Wilmer down.

  “Here, catch,” the bounty hunter said, tossing one rifle to Slocum. “You got a place where we can hold ’em off?”

  “The trees,” Slocum said, indicating the thorny undergrowth where he had hidden earlier.

  “Ain’t much but it’ll have to do. Neale ambushed me.”

  “Fancy that. Bet he stole your horse too. And mine,” Slocum said.

  Wilmer didn’t hear the sarcasm in Slocum’s voice.

  “Yep, he snuck up on me whilst I was eatin’. Got both horses and the painting. That son of a bitch’s got the painting.”

  “He’ll have our lives if we don’t take cover,” Slocum said, involuntarily ducking when a slug passed within inches of his left ear. He brought the rifle Wilmer had given him to his shoulder, aimed, and caused a similar reaction in one outlaw. The rider veered and ran into the outlaw on his left, causing a great confusion that let Slocum and Wilmer find spots behind sturdy tree trunks to make their stand.

  “You’re a peach, Slocum, savin’ me like this. Don’t know how you got here, but it’s in the nick of time.”

  Slocum needed Wilmer if he was to get away from Neale and his gang. Otherwise, he would have put a slug in the bounty hunter’s head then and there. He reminded himself as he began firing that he had to keep one round for Wilmer. If Neale was going to overrun them, Slocum wanted to be the one killing the bounty hunter for betraying him the way he had.

  “The painting’s in his hands now. Damn. Don’t know how I coulda been so careless.”

  “The same thought occurred to me,” Slocum said. He fired with enough accuracy to force away the attack Neale tried to launch. The outlaw
s fell back to a spot out of range for accurate firing. Slocum wasn’t going to expend his ammo on anything but a clean shot.

  “They’ll try to circle us, come at us from two different directions at once. Might even try to sneak around behind us,” Wilmer said, his neck craning about as he studied the forested area and the clearing in front of them. “They got enough men fer that. Must be ten in Neale’s gang. I seen ’im but couldn’t get a shot at ’im.”

  “He caught you flatfooted,” Slocum said. “Admit it. He rode up, and you never knew he was within a mile of your camp.”

  “You don’t know how it was.”

  From Wilmer’s tone, Slocum knew exactly how it was. Wilmer had been gloating over his theft of the painting and horses and hadn’t expected anyone to ride up on him. It had been his bad luck Neale had found him so easily.

  “Where’s the painting?”

  “Back in those trees yonder,” Wilmer said. “Ain’t gonna do no good lookin’, though. I’m sure Neale’s already got it. No idea what he did with it.”

  “You have any more ammo?”

  “Only what’s in the rifles.” Wilmer fired a couple of rounds, then lowered the rifle and looked over at Slocum. “Tell me somethin’, will you?”

  “I still want your scalp for stealing my horse.”

  It was as if Wilmer hadn’t heard him. The bounty hunter asked, “Did that doxy actually search all three of them mines?”

  “She did and she didn’t find a thing.”

  “Do you believe her?”

  “She wouldn’t have been holed up in a cave, trying to figure out something else from the painting, if she’d found the gold. She would have taken it and been long gone.”

  “Yer right ’bout that. She’d have been long gone with the gold,” Wilmer said.

  “Glad you agree.”

  Again Slocum’s sarcasm fell on deaf ears. Wilmer fell back to crouch beside Slocum.

  “We got to get out of here. They’ll be all over us ’fore we know it. We kin—”