by Jake Logan
“You’re good at this detective business,” Slocum said.
“Not that good,” she said, holding back sobs. “I thought you were one of them. You! You’ve done nothing but try to help me, and I thought you were playing me for a fool.”
He put his arm around her and she settled in, her cheek pressing into his chest. He felt a little throbbing where she had stabbed him, but another sensation began to take precedence. Putting his finger under her chin, he lifted her face to his. They stared at one another for a moment, then she closed her eyes. He kissed her slightly parted lips, and all the rest of his hurt went away.
The kiss became more passionate and Elena turned, moved, came over on top of him, never taking her mouth from his. This suited Slocum just fine. She provided a heady thrill after a day filled with nothing but death and danger.
She rocked back and moved so she straddled his lap. Wiggling her hips a little, she made a face.
“Gun belt,” was all she said.
He reached down and disposed of it. Then he worked to unbutton his fly while she watched in fascination. He felt like a snake hypnotizing a bird. When he popped free of the cloth prison around his manhood, she reached down and took him in hand. The warmth of her fingers only added to the heat building in his loins.
“You’re as big as I thought,” she said.
“You took the time to ponder such weighty matters?”
“Of course. It’s part of my analysis. I need to know everything about everyone I meet.”
“So you check out the size of every man?”
“No, not that. I mean—” She began to sputter in confusion. He cut off her protests with another kiss as he pulled her close.
He felt her ample breasts crushing against his chest. They ought to be free so he could kiss and lick them, to fondle them and take them into his mouth, but the wind was whipping up, and it was turning colder. Keeping on as much of their clothing as possible seemed prudent.
He ran his hands down and came up under her skirt. He stroked across her silky thighs and moved to their juncture. She let out a tiny gasp when his finger found her trigger.
“You’re not wearing any undies,” he said.
“Uncomfortable,” she said, kissing down his stubbled cheek to his throat. “And they get in the way. For checking out every man!”
He laughed and then he gasped. With an agile move, she came up on her knees, positioned herself, and then guided him into her liquid core. Surrounded by heat and damp and willing female flesh, Slocum thought he could be happy if he perished then and there. But he quickly discovered how wrong he was. There was more. A great deal more.
She lifted upward just a bit, letting him slide from her clinging center, then she let gravity do its job. She dropped down and took him full-length into her. Muscles massaged his entire length while he was hidden away, and then she rose again, letting him slip out wetly.
He ran his hands across her bare thighs again and around behind her. He grabbed a double handful of straining flesh and began moving her up and down, slow at first and then with greater urgency. Elena gasped and moaned, tossing her head around like a frisky filly as they strove together to build the carnal heat within.
“Oh, John, you make me weak all over.” She turned from side to side, clutching fiercely at him with her strong inner muscles. Slocum almost lost control then. “I want you so!”
He began massaging her rump like twin lumps of dough, pushing and pulling, and then his finger found a spot that caused her to sit upright. Her eyes widened. He waited for her to say something. When she didn’t, he explored more.
And this set her off. Her hips exploded in a frenzy of movement. She rose and fell around him, then began a twisting motion that threatened to burn him to a fleshy nub from the friction. He had to hold her with both arms when she gasped and began to shake all over. Throughout her release he held her and then she settled down, still around him.
“More,” she gasped out. “I want more.”
“Greedy bitch,” he said, kissing her.
She made no effort to stop him as he sat upright, then bent forward and rearranged her legs on either side of his body. He was now atop her, her legs wide and ankles locked behind his back. Hips moving, slowly at first and then with greater determination, he drove deep and hard. Her cries became muted and small, then she cried out as he felt her inner muscles clutch fiercely at his hidden length once more. This time he could not deny his own needs. The hotness burning deep within boiled up and spilled out.
Together they moved until there was nothing left in either of them. He looked down into her eyes and Elena gazed up at him for a second before saying, “The ground is getting mighty cold, mister.”
“You wouldn’t put up with cold ground for a bit more of this?” He rotated his hips slightly.
“I would, if you could, but you can’t.”
But he could soon enough. And they did.
7
“Even using you as a pillow all night, I’ve got a kink in my neck.” Elena Warburton stretched delightfully as Slocum watched. The morning sun topped the far rim of the valley and turned her into a vision of loveliness. Then he tried to move and found the same aches and pains she already had.
“I can hardly move,” he said. He stood and straightened his legs, then picked up his gun belt and fastened it around his middle again. He practiced drawing his Colt a few times. His fingers almost refused to curl about the butt, but as he walked around and got the blood flowing, his fingers limbered up and he felt as if he could fight his weight in wildcats.
“Can we fix something hot to eat?” Elena said wistfully.
“There’s jerky in my saddlebags,” he said. “That’s about it. I’ll fetch some water from the stream.” He pointed in the direction of a small creek running nearby. Neither of them had noticed it the night before, nor had there been any reason to since they’d been occupied with other pursuits. He filled his coffeepot with the crisp, cold water and returned. The short trip had given him time to think.
“This was only a rendezvous,” he said. “I doubt the counterfeiters have their operation set up in the valley.”
“Why not?”
“How much equipment do they need for the stamping?”
“Once they have the blank disks with the milling, it might only take a few minutes for each coin. The stamping is an exacting art, though. It requires a skilled counterfeiter or the planchet is ruined. You’d be surprised how quickly someone can detect a fake coin if it isn’t properly stamped.”
Slocum knew how easy it was. A single glance was all it took to know whether he had been given a phony coin. That was why he had been shocked at having the bogus double eagles passed off to him by the boy. The fakes were so good they had to be cut open to expose the base metal innards since a glance—even studying the face—wasn’t good enough to betray their dubious origin.
“That doesn’t tell me why you don’t think the gang is here,” Elena said.
“The dies and anvil are mighty heavy, right?” She nodded agreement and he went on. “They haven’t been in Leadville long enough to haul their equipment down that hill, even if they unloaded directly from the train. And if they set up a spot to work, why lug the equipment all the way down the valley when all they need is to be out of sight?”
“They need a forge to melt the gold,” she said. “That wouldn’t have to be much different from a blacksmith’s forge. A kiln would suffice also.”
“They’re somewhere near Leadville,” Slocum said. “They came down here for some other reason.”
“To pass along the planchets without being seen?”
Slocum paused, then said, “There’s that, but who would spy on them passing around lead slugs? I suspect the boss wanted the lead slugs brought here out of town so he could kill whoever brought them.”
“A double-cross?”
“Eliminating some locals on the payroll is my guess. Were the Eakin brothers local or had they come to town recently?”r />
“Why, I thought they were part of the gang.”
“They might have been useful for hauling the milled slugs, and the boy was certainly good at exchanging the fakes for real coins.” Slocum touched his vest pocket where the legitimate twenty-dollar gold pieces still rode. “Getting rid of the local hired hands might mean they’re ready to move on.”
“They don’t stay anywhere long, but I thought I could catch them here,” Elena said. “I left my partner back in Denver and came here on the train, thinking I’d see someone I knew from a wanted poster.” She shook her head in defeat.
“We can explore deeper into the valley, but I’ll lay you a real double eagle for a fake one that they took the planchets and went back to Leadville. This shootout will have spooked them so much they might already be on the road to somewhere else. Central City, maybe, or Cripple Creek.”
“So? North or south?” Elena pursed her lips as she thought. “They could be anywhere, but I have this gut feeling they haven’t left. Something big is on tap here, and they aren’t leaving until they finish whatever they came here to do.”
“You said you work for the Pinkerton Detective Agency. Do you carry a badge?”
“What? Oh, no,” she said, smiling. “Part of the agency went into the Secret Service. I’m with the part not working directly for the government or Department of the Treasury.”
“So you could collect a reward?”
She looked hard at him, then nodded.
“You have risked your life, John, and certainly have saved mine. There must be a reward you can receive, if you chose to apply for one. When we get back to Leadville, I’ll send a telegram to the home office in Chicago and see.”
“How much?” His question irked her, but he didn’t much care. He’d had been shot at—and she had stabbed him—so there ought to be a few dollars coming his way to pay for his pain and suffering, not to mention the counterfeiters he’d left dead along his trail.
“It will be adequate, sir,” she said stiffly. She turned and smoothed her skirts. Not looking at him, she asked, “Should we ride down the valley to be sure they aren’t working their nefarious trade here, or do you wish to return immediately to Leadville?”
“I’m a decent tracker. Let me see where the varmints rode off to after the shootout.”
“Very well. Should I accompany you?”
Slocum doubted they would run into the gang. He shrugged.
“Very well, then. I shall accompany you.”
“You’re a good enough shot if we run into trouble, you can shoot it out with them and save us both,” Slocum said. He tried to josh her into a better mood but asking for a reward had soured her disposition as surely as milk left out in the summer sun.
In silence, Slocum saddled his mare and stepped up, waiting for her. Elena took her sweet time and then rode past him without so much as a glance in his direction. A snap of the reins got his horse trotting, but he cut sharply southward, across the wide-open grassy area, while she doggedly rode straight for the center of the valley. Slocum looked hard at the ground, alert for any hoofprint or sign that riders had come this way. He found the main road down the center of the valley and crisscrossed it for a quarter mile before stopping and taking a gander at the land all around.
Elena rode up.
“Well, what did you find?”
“Nothing. Nobody’s come this way in a day or more, at least not since the last rain. The only tracks I see are from marmots and an occasional coyote.”
“What does that mean?”
“I was right,” he said, trying to keep his tone neutral. Elena was a bit touchy yet. “The counterfeiters took their milled slugs and went back to town.”
“So they had someone deliver the planchets, killed them, then hauled them back into town? That seems a bit of a stretch to me. Why not just deliver the milled disks to Leadville and not go through this charade of coming out here?” She made a sweeping theatrical gesture to show her disdain.
“Been thinking about that and there’s only one real answer, other than wanting to get rid of surplus gang members. Something spooked them. Something kept them from taking the planchets off the train in town.” He stared straight at her.
“Are you saying I am responsible for them coming out here?”
“Makes sense. They might not have known you were with the Pinkertons, but if they thought some detective had come from Denver, they’d be more cautious.”
“This is a mining town and there are plenty of gold coins in circulation, but not that many to make a big-time operation profitable.”
Slocum had no answer to that, but it made sense to him that gossip about a Pinkerton Detective Agency operative arriving in Leadville would have scared the gang. Elena had mentioned having a partner. The gang might have thought a man had been sent and would never expect the detective to be a woman.
“They might not have been able to figure out who the detective was,” Slocum said.
“You’re saying that you don’t believe a woman can be a detective?”
“I’m saying that the gang might not. Or maybe they got bad information from whoever is their lookout in Denver.”
“It might be interesting to find out if any newcomer to town was gunned down,” Elena said, her brow furrowed in deep thought. “Let’s return to town immediately.”
Slocum had no argument over that. Before they reached the narrow trail winding up the side of the valley to the rim where the railroad tracks ran on into Leadville, he saw fresh tracks. From the way the mud was left after the horses had come this way, he guessed at a half-dozen riders. He started to point out the hoofprints in the mud, but Elena already began the long climb up, ignoring him entirely. Getting the cold shoulder didn’t bother him unduly since it gave him a chance to work through all the pieces.
No matter how he turned over the facts and looked at them from different angles, it always came down to one thing: Something about Leadville made this a target too valuable for the gang to pass up.
They reached the top of the road a little after noon, and Elena barely acknowledged his presence when she said, “I’ll send a telegram.” She put her heels to her horse’s flanks and galloped off, leaving him behind to follow at a more sedate pace. By the time he reached the bustling mining town, it was almost sundown and the shifts in the mines were changing. Miners poured down the main street, hunting for a watering hole that wouldn’t throw them out if they didn’t have money for more than a single beer.
He found the telegraph office and dismounted. His body ached, and he needed a drink to cut the trail dust on his lips and the pain in his side. But he wanted to talk to the telegrapher first.
The man looked up from his telegraph key as Slocum entered.
“Be right with you, mister.” The telegrapher finished his message, pushed back his green eyeshade, and picked up a stub of a pencil, ready to write. “Who you wantin’ to send your message to?”
“I was looking for a young lady who would have sent a message about an hour back.” Slocum described Elena. From the man’s reaction, he remembered her. He would have been dead and buried not to have remembered such a lovely woman in a rough-and-tumble mining town like Leadville.
“Can’t say much ’bout her. I got rules. Company rules about divulgin’ such information.”
“She sent a telegram to Denver,” Slocum said. He watched the man’s reaction and wondered if the telegrapher played poker. The twenty-dollar gold coins in Slocum’s pocket would double or more if he got into a game with this man. Every emotion flowed over his face as if he were the greatest thespian in the world. The difference was one of intent. An actor wanted to convey his emotions to an audience. This man thought he was hiding everything.
“Was it about the big shipment coming into town soon?”
“What big shipment?”
Slocum almost laughed aloud.
“You know which one,” Slocum said. “The big one. On the train.”
“You make it sound like
bullion. It’s coins. Lots of . . .” The telegrapher bit his lip and looked worried at what he’d just revealed. “Look, mister, you obviously know all about the shipment coming up in a couple days from Denver. Don’t go spreadin’ that around. The train company is mighty anxious about it, as is.”
“A lot of traffic?” Slocum made a gesture as if he worked the telegraph key. The man nodded. “Reckon it’s got the marshal all het up, what with the train coming in tomorrow.”
“Day after,” the telegrapher said. He put his finger to his lips, cautioning Slocum about telling anyone.
“The lady,” Slocum said. “Did she say where she was headed? Back to the hotel?”
“Can’t say,” the telegrapher said. He turned as his bug began clicking. Spinning around, he dropped into his chair, wet the tip of the pencil, and started copying the message as it came in. Slocum stepped away and silently went out into the evening with its chilly wind whipping off the higher elevations. The air might chill his bones but he felt mighty warm inside having found what he needed to know.
There was a big shipment of gold coins coming into town in two days. He sauntered down to the train station, checked the posted schedule, and saw that only one train was slated to come in on that day—around noon. What he did with this information was something of a poser. The marshal would be willing to throw him in the calaboose at the slightest hint that Slocum was interested in the gold coming in on the train after the death of Ernie Eakin.
Slocum stopped in front of a saloon and took a deep whiff of the smoke and beer fumes billowing outward. His mouth watered for a taste of whiskey, but he kept walking toward the hotel.
His long stride shortened, and he stopped when he saw Elena standing just inside the lobby talking with Marshal Atkinson. He wasn’t sure what to do. Then it was too late for him to simply fade into the night. Both the woman and the lawman spotted him at the same time.
“Wait!” Elena said as he shifted, ready to go.
The marshal’s hand went to his six-shooter, and Slocum saw his escape cut off by two deputies.