Slocum and Hot Lead

by Jake Logan

  Slocum began dragging the ropes around his wrists against a rough-edged rock, but the surface abraded his skin more than the ropes. He felt his hands turning damp from blood flowing from cuts and scrapes.

  “This way. I got a few dislodged rocks.”

  Slocum knew his time was almost up. Then a hand clamped around his mouth to keep him from crying out. It was a hand he recognized instantly and he shook his head, getting his mouth away from those slender fingers.

  “Get me out of the ropes,” he ordered Claudia. “Two of Neale’s men are almost on top of us.”

  “I know,” she said. “Wait a minute.”

  “We don’t have that much time.” He felt her sawing away at the ropes, and then his hands came free. He rubbed away the blood and shook his hands to get circulation back in them.

  “Here, take this,” she said, thrusting a knife into his hands.

  “Where’d you get this?”

  “Found it after I got washed away from the cabin. It must have been inside and got caught up in the water.”

  Slocum motioned for her to be quiet, started to push her down, and then reconsidered. He left Claudia where she was, in plain sight of anyone coming up the slope. Moving as fast as he could on his bare feet over the sharp rocks, he got out of sight just in time.

  “Well, lookee here. And where’d you come from, little lady?”

  The outlaw was overconfident and too engrossed in staring at Claudia and the way her clothing had been ripped as she was washed down the side of the mountain. Slocum regretted that this pleasant sight was the last thing the outlaw saw before being sent to hell with a quick slash of the knife across his throat. Before the man’s dead body hit the ground, Slocum was yanking his pistol from its holster. He swung, fanned off three quick shots, and sent the second outlaw after the first.

  “Grab that one’s six-gun,” Slocum barked to Claudia. He didn’t wait to see if the woman obeyed. He was hobbling back downhill to have it out with Neale. But when Slocum reached the spot where he had left his boots, he saw nothing of the road agent. Slocum dropped to the ground, picked out fragments of rock and spines from his feet, then pulled on his boots. He felt better for that, but wished he could find Neale.

  “Wh-where is he?” Claudia gasped out. She waved the second outlaw’s six-shooter around so much that Slocum reached out and took it from her. She looked relieved.

  “He left his men. Don’t know if he expects to come back or whether they were to meet up with him later.” He grinned as a thought came to him. “Their horses. They left them around somewhere. Let’s find them before the rest of the gang is breathing down our necks.”

  Slocum got to his feet and walked gingerly. He imagined the wounds leaking blood and filling his boots, but he ignored the pain as he hunted for the horses. It took him only a few minutes to find where they had been tethered.

  “I’ll be glad to get back in the saddle,” he said.

  “Where do we go now, John?”

  “Somewhere we can hole up for a while. I don’t want to stay out in plain sight much longer. Neale might have heard the shots.”

  “He’ll think his men were doing the shooting.”

  “And then he’ll wonder why they haven’t reported back,” Slocum finished for her. “We need to hide out for a spell.” He rubbed his belly as it growled. “I need food too. It’s been a while.” Taking the canteen from its leather thong, he downed a goodly amount of water, wiped his lips, and felt better. Food in his belly would go even further toward making him feel like whipping his weight in wildcats. Or having it out with Neale.

  “I . . . I see something yonder,” Claudia said. “It might be a cave, but it’s not too high up on the mountain.”

  “Better and better,” Slocum said, seeing the spot she indicated. “We can put the horses inside with us.”

  They rode into the cave and found it more than large enough for both the horses and themselves. Slocum pulled off the saddles and handed the saddlebags set to Claudia.

  “Fix us something to eat. No fire. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  “Where are you going?” She looked frightened.

  “To cover our trail. Don’t worry so.” He kissed her, then found it necessary to pry her loose as she clung to him. Slocum left her behind, hoping she would do as he asked and get some food ready. It took him more than a half hour to properly destroy the hoofprints in the wet ground, but judicious use of rocks to cover part of the trail and a creosote bush dragged repeatedly over the prints made it almost impossible to find where they had ridden.

  When he got back, he found two cans of beans open and waiting. Claudia huddled against one wall, legs drawn up and her arms circling her knees.

  “I didn’t think you’d ever be back.”

  “What? And leave such a scrumptious meal?” His joke fell on deaf ears. He picked up both cans and handed one to her. She shook her head, but he insisted. She took the can and stared into the mass of beans.

  “Looks awful.”

  “Eat. We need to keep up our strength.”

  “For what?” She scooped out a few beans and impishly smeared them on Slocum’s face. He licked them off, then did the same to her—but lower. The beans dripped down into the deep crevice between her breasts. She started to wipe the beans away, but Slocum caught her wrist.

  “I’ll do it,” he said. He moved his face down lower, and then pressed his lips against the woman’s exposed chest. Claudia sighed heavily, sending her bosoms up and down. Slocum began licking up the sauce. One bean slid lower and vanished. Slocum followed it down, his tongue flashing out repeatedly.

  “Oh, John,” she sighed. She pushed away the flimsy cloth covering her right breast. Slocum pounced on it and sucked in the hard nub at the top. He tongued and sucked and then bit gently. Claudia gasped as he did so, her chest arching up to cram more of that succulent mound into his mouth.

  He moved to the other breast, using his tongue to push away the cloth rather than having Claudia do it for him. He nuzzled and burrowed and when he was finished with it, worked his way even lower. The blouse, although torn, began to resist his advance.

  Working his hand up under her skirt, he felt how her thigh quivered with anticipation. He pushed the unwanted cloth out of the way as he inched ever upward until he reached the furred nest between her thighs. One finger slipped wetly into her and began wiggling about.

  “John, oh, I . . . I love the feel. But I want more.”

  He ignored her and kept licking at her chest. Using his other hand, he opened her blouse and let it hang open. This let him kiss his way lower to her belly button. His tongue drove down like a drill into the deep depression, then slipped out and circled around before moving lower. He reached a mountain of bunched-up skirt.

  Slocum added a finger within her heated core and started stroking in and out. It felt as if all of Claudia’s bones had turned to water. She sagged down onto the cave floor, stretching her arms high above her head and arching her hips upward so Slocum would have even better access to her most intimate regions. He took full advantage of this, moving so that his upper body was firmly between her thighs. His face only inches from the fragrant tangle nestled between her legs, Slocum took a moment to look up. Claudia’s face was framed delightfully by her breasts.

  Then he dived down, applying his mouth to the sweet pink gash while he kept his fingers moving within her. She let out a cry of pure delight, lifted her behind off the floor, and ground herself into his face. Slocum lapped and licked and stroked until Claudia was thrashing about in the throes of utter passion.

  The passion mounted as he continued his oral assault, and then she let out a cry that echoed through the cave and must have been heard all the way to Las Vegas. Slocum never let up his tonguing and fingering until she sagged weakly to the floor. Then he abandoned his post and moved up her body until he loomed over her. He ran his hands under her ass and lifted until she pressed her crotch into his.

  “Feel anything there?”
he asked.

  “Oh, yes, yes,” she said, “but it’s all hidden. Imprisoned.”

  “Free me,” he ordered.

  She reached between them and fumbled open his fly one button at a time. When he sprang out, her nimble fingers circled him and guided the purpled arrowhead directly to the spot where they both wanted it delivered. He hesitated a moment, then plunged forward, sure of himself and that they were both hungering for this. The heat of friction as he stroked against her inner walls ignited his lust to the point where he could not stop.

  Slocum began thrusting hard, deep, fast. Claudia’s legs spread wider apart as she took him; then she began kicking her feet out hard, constricting the tightness already surrounding his manhood. It felt as if he had thrust himself into a fleshy, warm, moist vise. When she began tensing and relaxing her strong inner muscles, Slocum was unable to continue with the measured strokes he had wanted.

  He went wild, hips flying like a shuttlecock, driving inward as he tried to split her in half with his fleshy sword. Claudia’s ankles locked behind him and kept him firmly in place. Slocum’s powerful thrusts lifted her entirely from the floor, and then the world swung in a wild kaleidoscope around him. He felt the hot torrent building within, and then it surged outward in utter release.

  He was dimly aware of Claudia’s cries as new passion seized her in its ultimate grip. Then they sank down together, spent.

  “Oh, John,” she whispered hotly in his ear. “What would it be like if we were ever able to make love in a bed?”

  “This is just fine,” he said. But her comment sent his mind tumbling in different directions. He was owed the money. The gold was his by right of being arrested twice, being shot at, being washed down a mountain, and traipsing around the countryside and finding nothing but woe.

  With the gold from the payroll robbery, he could get the finest hotel room in Denver so he and Claudia could spend as much time on that feather mattress as either could tolerate. He was owed that money. And he would get it.

  “You seemed sort of distant for a moment, John. What were you thinking?”

  “About you and how you’d look in a fine new dress, parading up and down around Larimer Square in Denver.”

  “The gold,” she said. “You were thinking of the gold.”

  Slocum didn’t answer because he didn’t want to lie.

  Claudia giggled like a schoolgirl. “I was thinking the same thing.”

  “What happened to you and Goggins when the water washed us apart?”

  Slocum felt her tense and try to pull away. He held her close and she finally relented, laying her head on his shoulder.

  “What an awful man. He tried to kill me.”

  “What?”

  “I think he did, at least. I was tumbling all about, rolling down the side of the mountain, and got tangled up. That’s how I tore my blouse.” She displayed her tattered blouse, but all Slocum saw was the bare breast.

  “What did Goggins do?”

  “We were both pretty waterlogged, but I swear he tried to hit me with a rock. He picked up a stone as big as his fist and tried to smash it into my head. He slipped on the wet ground and then fell beside me. The look in his eyes as he glared at me was so . . . evil.”

  “You couldn’t be mistaken?”

  “I don’t see how. I was tangled up, but managed to grab for him when a new wall of water crashed down on us. I don’t know how I thought I could save him—or why. I felt his fingers slip through mine. It was so wet. And then the water hit us like a hammer blow.”

  “He was washed away?”

  “I never saw what happened to him. I sputtered and fought to get free, but my tangled clothing saved me from being washed farther downhill. I lost some skin—”

  “Not anywhere that mattered,” Slocum said, his hand resting warmly on her breast. She snuggled a little closer.

  “And a lot of fabric,” Claudia went on. “By the time I was able to free myself, the worst of the flood was over. It was still raining heavily, but I wasn’t in any kind of danger of being swept away then.”

  “Where’d you go? I tried to find you at the shack, but there wasn’t any trace.”

  “You did? I never thought of going back there. As a rendezvous? Anyway, I set out at an angle to the slope and eventually came to the canyon floor. The arroyo down the middle of the canyon was overflowing and I simply found a tree that seemed sturdy, sat down, and hugged it until the rain stopped. Even then I was afraid to move until I heard someone coming.”

  “Wilmer?”

  “Why, yes, how’d you know?”

  “He double-crossed me. Marshal Hanks came along and Wilmer saw an easy way to make a quick hundred dollars. He turned me over to the marshal.”

  “But you’re not—he could have—oh!” Claudia was outraged when she realized what Slocum had told her. “It’s a good thing I didn’t reveal my hiding place then. I thought I heard horsemen. It turned out to be Neale and two of his men.”

  “Did you see them gun down the marshal?”

  “I went back up the mountain, hiding the best I could. I heard gunfire, but that only made me run faster. Then I . . . I saw you and those horrid outlaws and the rest you know.”

  Slocum held Claudia closely for a while, thinking about what they could do to find the gold. Goggins trying to kill Claudia made no sense unless he knew where the gold was hidden—or thought he did. If he had uncovered the hiding place, he would have been long gone by now. Slocum pushed that matter aside. He would settle accounts with Goggins when their paths crossed again.

  Right now he had to figure out how to locate the stolen payroll.

  His attention was pulled away from such mental pursuits by more physical demands of a willing, wanton woman. Somehow, Slocum didn’t mind at all. For the moment.

  18

  “What do we do, John? I . . . I can’t seem to get things straight in my head.” Claudia wiped at tears leaking from her eyes. Behind the violet was a map of bloodshot veins.

  “I’m not giving up on getting the gold. Right now, I think I—we—deserve it for all our trouble.”

  “We’ve looked everywhere. Even if we get the painting back, what would it matter? The painting has given up all the information we can squeeze out of it. Hasn’t it?”

  “There might be something under the paint,” Slocum suggested. He rubbed his hand against his shirt, remembering how the blue had rubbed off easily after all this time. The painting had been completed months ago and then sent to Claudia. The paint shouldn’t come off as easily as it did.

  “Why wouldn’t Papa have told me? Or given a hint?”

  “No reason,” Slocum said glumly. “The one clue to all this I don’t understand is Goggins’ name scratched into the wall of that mineshaft. What was it supposed to mean?”

  “Maybe we didn’t look far enough,” Claudia said. “The walls had all kinds of marks on them, but we only looked at the word.”

  “You might have something there,” Slocum said, “but I don’t know what it is.” He scowled as he tried to remember what they had done when they’d found the name on the rock wall. He had lit matches and peered closely. Claudia might be right that they had missed something more, maybe higher or lower on the wall. But what could it be? Goggins had obviously not known where the payroll was hidden, or he would have been long gone and living high on the hog far away from Fort Union and the cavalry hunting for their gold.

  “Goggins is probably still alive and hunting for the gold,” Slocum said. “I reckon Wilmer is too. We know Neale is, and has been for some time. The marshal is dead, and several of Neale’s gang have joined him in hell.”

  “And my sister,” Claudia said, crying openly now.

  Slocum didn’t add that her father was probably pushing up daisies somewhere as well.

  “Your pa and Goggins were connected some way. He wouldn’t have carved the miner’s name in the mine wall otherwise.”

  “Maybe he’s not a miner. He could be something else, someon
e Papa ran into while he was looking for somewhere to hide the gold.”

  “Or Goggins might have been his guide. Your pa was a city man. His daughter fell in with Neale and got herself killed, but not before she gave him the stolen payroll. He hid the money, painted the map, and sent it to you because . . .” Slocum’s words trailed off.

  “Because he knew he was going to die,” Claudia finished for him. “He might have been seriously wounded. By Neale or someone.”

  “By Goggins,” Slocum said, shaking his head in frustration. There were too many questions they hadn’t answered, but he felt they were getting close. How Goggins fit in was the keystone to this arch of treachery since he obviously was not part of the Neale gang.

  “What do we do?”

  “I want to be sure Marshal Hanks is dead,” Slocum said.

  “I doubt he escaped, but he’s the only potential ally we’ve got out here. If he is dead, we’ll know we’re entirely on our own.”

  “That’s for the best anyway,” Claudia said. “He’d want the gold for himself. Or if he decided to go straight, he’d give it back to the Army.” She got a strange look on her face as she dabbed at her tears. Slocum realized this was the first time that Claudia realized she was part of a big robbery. Somehow, because her father had sent her the painting, she had thought of the gold as belonging to her and her alone. By actually saying it, she finally accepted that she was as much an outlaw as Neale—or her sister and father.

  Slocum went to the mouth of the cave and looked out into the twilight. They were rested, had eaten, and no time would be better to explore than nighttime. He motioned for her to bring the horses out.

  “Where do you think he’ll be? The marshal, I mean.”

  “Probably where he fell. Neale doesn’t seem like the burying kind to me.” Even as the words came out of his mouth, Slocum wondered where Claudia’s father had bit the dust.

  “John, oh, John, there!”

  He jerked out of his deep thought and stared through the darkness to see a pair of glowing silver eyes. He drew the six-shooter taken from one of the dead outlaws and fired in a smooth movement. The coyote working at the marshal’s body yelped, more in disappointment at being cheated out of a meal than pain, and slunk into the night. Slocum hit the ground and went to the dead lawman. Most of his belly had been ripped out by predators, but enough of his face remained to identify him. Slocum reached down and pulled his Colt Navy from the man’s belt. The lawman had taken a fancy to it and probably intended to keep it. Slocum worked off the marshal’s gun belt and cinched it down hard at his waist. Leroy Hanks had been thicker in the middle than Slocum, so the gun still rode low and on his right hip. Slocum was unaccustomed to carrying his six-shooter there, but he doubted he would find his holster. Better to have a six-gun at his side than crammed into his belt.