Slocum's Four Brides

by Jake Logan

  “Your friend must be fortunate knowing a man like you. Going into debt with a jackal like Jenks is a serious matter. That you have not hightailed it shows your desire to be an honest borrower and to repay. I like that, too.” Preen’s face unscrewed and his eyes went wider. “My God, man, was that fight over your debt to Jenks?”

  “Seemed that way,” Slocum said.

  “Jenks will not stop at sending a single man after you. He employs dozens of hired killers.” Preen studied Slocum a bit more, then hastily added, “Not that you cannot take care of yourself. That’s why I sought your employment.” Preen backed off. “I am sorry to have taken your time, Mr. Slocum.”

  “Because I owe Jenks, you’re not willing to hire me?”

  “I have no dealings with owlhoots like Jenks. My business is legitimate. Entirely.”

  “I like the idea of having to take your cargo to Colorado,” Slocum said. “That’s where my friend went.”

  “I . . . well, that would seem to be a decent resolution to your problem,” Preen said.

  “If I paid Jenks the fifty dollars you’re willing to give me for this chore, I wouldn’t have anything left for supplies. Where in Colorado do I have to deliver your goods? Denver?”

  “No, no, not so far. A mining camp on the other side of Douglas Pass. And I would provide a wagon, team, and all provisions. I could hardly have you skimping on provisions.”

  “I’d have to leave soon,” Slocum said. He glanced up at the distant Wasatch Mountains and the storm wreathing the highest peaks. “Winter’s on its way. An early snow might close the passes.”

  “That is why I am, uh, somewhat in need of retaining an employee as quickly as possible.”

  “In desperate need,” Slocum corrected. Try as he might, Preen could not hide the look on his face that confirmed this. “I’ve been in Salt Lake City for a spell. There are any number of others looking for work. I can’t believe I’m the only one you can hire.”

  “This is a very religious town,” Preen said. “What you would be protecting along the route is not very popular with the local townspeople. Quite the contrary, in fact.”

  Slocum nodded in understanding. It seemed to him much of the commerce in Salt Lake City was conducted as if through a blockade. Black market goods were easily found as the town fathers looked the other way, but if Preen had cargo of sufficient value going into a Colorado mining camp, it might be hard finding anyone in Salt Lake City willing to escort it.

  “I want the fifty dollars up front,” Slocum said.

  Preen hesitated.

  “You have my word. I’ll see your cargo to wherever you want it delivered, but you have to pay me now.”

  “Deal!” Preen shoved out his hand again. This time Slocum shook. Preen fumbled in his pocket and found fifty dollars in scrip, handing it to Slocum as if he were giving up an arm and a leg.

  Slocum tucked the money into his vest pocket.

  “When do I leave?”

  “The stable on the eastern side of town—Smith and Sons?”

  “I know it,” Slocum said. It wasn’t too far from where he had stabled his own horse.

  “Tomorrow at dawn. I’ll have the wagon loaded and ready to roll.” Preen licked his thin lips nervously and added, “You will be there?”

  “I shook on it. You have my word.” Sincerity rang in his words like a gold coin dropped on a bar, but Preen was still upset.

  “You intend to pay Jenks, don’t you?”

  Slocum nodded.

  “That’s what worries me. You might have agreed, but Jenks obviously has other ideas.”

  “Let me worry about Jenks,” Slocum said. “He’ll get his due.”

  Preen glanced at Slocum’s holstered six-shooter, then nervously bobbed his head and rushed off.

  “Wait!” Slocum called after him, but the mousy man had rounded the corner of a building and was gone. He had wanted to ask what the cargo was. Slocum shrugged it off. He had a bigger problem to deal with right now.

  A problem named Jenks.

  2

  Jenks was a king seated on his throne. The three-story brick building might as well have been a castle with battlements. As Slocum walked past slowly, he saw riflemen posted in the upper windows. Anyone trying to get in the front door without Jenks’s permission would be ventilated fast. He kept walking, turned the corner, then went to a store across the street.

  “What’s that building over there?” Slocum asked the shopkeeper. The older man wiped dirt from his hands onto an already filthy apron as he shook his head.

  “Somewhere you don’t want to go. That there’s Lucas Jenks’s place. He fancies himself a banker, but he finances most every illegal thing going on in Salt Lake City.”

  “Do tell,” Slocum said. He picked over the fruit displayed outside the store, found himself an apple without too many worms, and paid a nickel for it. He chomped down on the juicy fruit as he walked back past Jenks’s headquarters. By the time he had finished his apple, he had spotted the weakness and how to get inside.

  As workmen unloaded a wagon behind the building, Slocum grabbed a heavy gray canvas apron and slung it around his waist to hide his six-shooter. He hoisted a crate to his shoulder and staggered under the weight. Not only was the box heavier than he expected, his ribs were paining him from the beating he had received. Slocum sucked in a breath and held it, since doing anything else was too painful. He maneuvered himself around stacked boxes and into the storeroom of Jenks’s headquarters, dropped the crate on a pile, then lit out when he saw stairs leading upward.

  “Hey, where the hell you goin’?” called the foreman of the workmen unloading the wagon.

  “Be right back,” Slocum said. “He sent word he wanted to see me.”

  “You poor son of a bitch,” the foreman said, shaking his head. He returned to his chores, thinking Slocum was in for trouble, when it was the other way around. Jenks had no idea how big a bite he had chewed off sending the giant of a mountain man to whomp up on Slocum.

  A man slept in a chair, rocked back so only the two back legs of the chair were on the floor. His hat was pulled down over his eyes to shade his face from the sunlight slanting through the south window. Slocum considered what it meant having an armed, if sleepy, man here to block his retreat. Then he walked softly past, opened the door, and peered inside.

  Jenks sat at a table laden with food, forking in one mouthful after another. He faced another door on the far side of the room. Slocum closed the door softly behind him, reached under his apron, and drew his six-gun.

  The distinctive metallic click as he cocked it caused Jenks to freeze.

  “Who’s there? That you, Roy?”

  “Roy’s got other concerns right about now,” Slocum said, guessing the name of the sleeping guard. “You might say he’s enjoying sweet dreams.”

  “He’ll be taking a dirt nap when I get my hands on him. He—”

  “Shut up,” Slocum said coldly. He laid his six-gun’s barrel against the side of Jenks’s head. “You sent a man to kill me. I don’t like that.”

  “You was behind on payment.”

  “We’re even now,” Slocum said, dropping the greenbacks on the man’s plate. Gravy began soaking into the paper money. Jenks tentatively stuck his fork into it and held up a note.

  “You’re out of your mind, Slocum,” he said. “What do you think? That this will make us square?”

  “I borrowed fifty. That’s fifty. We’re even.”

  “I charge interest. I—”

  “Whatever you paid that dumb galoot I beat up over at Rose’s is your loss. Count it as interest you received from me but misspent.”

  “That don’t make a lick of sense.”

  “Then think on this: If you try to kill me again, it’ll be you out there north of town pushing up daisies in the potter’s field,” Slocum said. “You don’t have enough men in this building or in the entire damn town to stop me before I put a slug into your heart.”

  “Nobody’s that good
a shot.”

  “I’m an exception,” Slocum said, not bothering to appreciate Jenks’s small joke. “You understand? We’re even. You have your money.”

  “That’s what you say. If you could get fifty, you can get me the rest. Another fifty.”

  “You are either the dumbest man I’ve ever seen or the greediest. Either way, you’ll be the deadest before I pay you one more red cent.” Slocum moved the muzzle around and thrust it into Jenks’s ear until he saw sweat beginning to bead on the man’s forehead. For all his braggadocio, Jenks was scared shitless.

  Slocum stepped back, then quickly swung his Colt, laying the barrel alongside Jenks’s skull. The dull thunk told Slocum he had hit Jenks with just the right force. The man collapsed into his plate, moaning. Not wasting any time, Slocum retreated and got through the door and past the sleeping Roy to find the stairs. The foreman had stacked the last of the crates. He looked up in surprise.

  “Didn’t reckon to ever see you again.” The man frowned. “Who the hell are you? I don’t remember hirin’ you.”

  “I quit,” Slocum said, tossing him the canvas apron. He slipped through the door as he heard a commotion upstairs. He stepped out into the bright afternoon sunlight of Salt Lake City, feeling better than he had in ages. All his debts were paid, and all he had to do was drive a supply wagon into Colorado, where he intended going anyhow. It was about time he collected the money he had loaned Lemuel Sanders.

  Just before dawn, Slocum rode slowly to the Smith and Sons Livery. He kept a sharp eye out for anyone Jenks might have sent to put a bullet in his head. How likely that was depended on how many of Jenks’s men had seen their boss humiliated. Slocum hoped that Jenks kept the matter to himself and spent the fifty dollars well. That wasn’t likely to happen, but Slocum was a man of infinite optimism. At times. Mostly he was pragmatic about life and everything it held.

  In spite of having seen about everything, though, Slocum could still be surprised. He drew rein beside Preen’s wagon and saw the cargo, not yet covered with a tarpaulin. Four large chests were already secured there, one with its lid open. It was filled with women’s clothing.

  “This your cargo?” Slocum asked the rodentlike man. Rufus Preen’s eyes darted about as if he had been cornered, then he looked up at Slocum. A tiny smile danced on his lips.

  “It’s all legit. Every bit of it.”

  “I didn’t know there was a lot of smuggling going on in women’s clothes,” Slocum said. He dismounted and checked the rest of the cargo. There was a considerable amount of food for the trail. More than five people could eat. He reckoned most of it was destined for sale to miners hungry for something other than beans and salt pork. But there was a considerable amount of space in the wagon bed where nothing had been stowed. “What’s going in there?”

  “I am, unless I get to sit with you.”

  Slocum turned and saw a short blonde woman with the bluest eyes this side of heaven. She had a button nose and cute dimples. Most of her hair had been tucked away under a sunbonnet, and she wore a sturdy gingham dress that barely came down to the tops of her shoes. Slocum found himself wondering about those ankles, the legs, and what else lay hidden by the thick clothing. Her blouse was well filled, and she took note of how he looked at her by thrusting out her chest just a bit more. She stood with her hip cocked to one side and her balled-up hand resting on it.

  “You must be a passenger,” Slocum said, glancing in Preen’s direction. The man had said nothing about passengers, but the blonde woman explained the chest filled with women’s clothing.

  “That I am. Sarah June Barlow.”

  “Miss Barlow.” Slocum tipped his hat to her. “Get on in and we’ll be off right away.”

  “In a hurry, sir?” Sarah June asked, amused at something Slocum could not figure.

  Slocum wanted to put as much distance between him and Salt Lake City as he could. There had not been any trace of trouble brewing because of his run-in with Jenks, but he felt more comfortable out on the trail. Even the buzzards and coyotes were better companions than Jenks.

  Having Sarah June Barlow as a traveling companion was a bonus, considering he had already given up all the money he had been paid for the trip.

  “Reckon I’m always antsy to be on the trail, ma’am,” Slocum said.

  “Call me Sarah June. Please. And may I call you John?”

  Slocum looked at her, then at Preen, who shrugged.

  “I had to tell them who was driving them to Colorado,” Preen said.

  “Them?”

  Two more women came from inside the livery, fussing and fretting over their trail clothes. One was a strawberry blonde, almost as tall as Slocum and as thin as a rail. The other was a well-endowed brunette who moved with a sashay that made it appear as if her feet didn’t touch the earth. There was a haughtiness about her that put Slocum on guard.

  “That’s Wilhelmina and Betty,” said Sarah June. “Our traveling companions.”

  “Three of them? I want a word with you, Preen.”

  “Uh, Slocum, you won’t be herding three women out there, not at all,” said Preen, nibbling at his lower lip and looking upset at the way Slocum glared.

  “Good,” Slocum said, relief flooding him.

  “Mr. Preen’s right,” Sarah June said brightly. “Tabitha isn’t here yet. There’re four of us.”

  “Four?”

  “They must be delivered quickly, Slocum,” Preen said. “I’ve already taken the money for them and—”

  “Money?” Slocum pinned Preen against the wagon and glared at him. “I don’t traffic in human flesh.” Although a Southern landholder before the war, he and his family had never kept slaves. His fight had been for Georgia and its right to govern itself without meddling from some far distant Yankee capital. The notion that Preen had gulled him into transporting women sold to a brothel or for some other illicit use rankled. He might have taken Preen’s money, but he would not do anything to earn it. How he would return the blood money was something he would worry about later. After he walked away.

  “It’s not like that, Slocum,” Preen blurted. “Not at all.”

  “He’s right, John,” spoke up Sarah June. The saucy blonde moved to stand beside Preen. She even took his hand and held it in her own. This made Preen uncomfortable.

  “So what is it, if you’re not being sold?” Slocum demanded.

  “We’ve wives, pure and simple,” said the brunette, Betty. “That’s all we want to be. Just wives.”

  “Only wives,” corrected the tall blonde. Wilhelmina spoke with a slight accent Slocum could not place. “We do not stay in this place where they have many wives. We want to be only wives.”

  “You’re not Mormons?” Slocum knew a condition of statehood was for the Mormons to give up polygamy, but outside Salt Lake City it was widely practiced. For all he knew, it was a matter of record inside the city, too. Some of the more vocal factions in the church had prevented the statehood vote on account of this one practice, refusing to give up their harems in exchange for the dubious admission to the Union. Slocum doubted Utah would be admitted any time soon because of the furor.

  “We are,” Sarah June said. “We do not want to share our husbands, though. I was the fifth wife.” The bitterness with which she spoke told Slocum there was more to it than she was revealing.

  “We all have this problem,” Betty said. “One husband and no other wives will be fine. That is why we arranged with Mr. Preen to become mail-order brides.”

  “There’s Tabitha now. Tabitha Smith,” Preen said, pointing to distract Slocum.

  Slocum glanced over his shoulder and saw a determined woman walking toward them. She made each step as if it took her a foot higher on an impossibly tall mountain, one she would climb come hell or high water.

  “Is he our driver?” Tabitha frowned at Slocum. “You have all our belongings in the wagon? Good, let’s go.”

  “Hold your horses,” Slocum said. “I’m still conducting business with Preen.�
�

  “Do not be impudent, sir,” Tabitha said. Her thin lips drew back like a wolf baring its fangs. There was a certain similarity between a hungry wolf and the woman, Slocum decided. Streaks of gray ran through her dark hair, although he doubted she could be thirty years old. Her dark eyes fixed on him and again he got the sensation of being prey rather than someone responsible for getting her safely to her betrothed, whoever that might be.

  “How good are you at handling a yoke of oxen?” Slocum asked. Tabitha opened her mouth and then clamped it shut as she considered her arrogant comeback and decided against uttering it.

  “I am not experienced that way,” she said.

  “You might have to be, if you piss me off any more than I already am,” Slocum said. He turned back to Preen. The man was trying to slip away. Slocum leaned into Preen, pinning him to the wagon. “Tell me about what I signed up for. All of it.”

  “I, well, it’s as Miss Sarah June said. They are all hunting for a better life.”

  “With only one husband.”

  “We had one husband. We didn’t like having a dozen co-wives,” Tabitha said.

  “A dozen?” Sarah June sniffed contemptuously. “I was fifth in line and my husband had already added nine more.”

  “Then you were lucky. He never saw you and you could do as you chose,” said Wilhelmina. “I had to—”

  “Ladies, please,” Slocum said. “There’ll be plenty of time to tell your tales. Right now, I want it straight from Preen.” He turned back to the squirming man and let his cold green eyes bore into the man’s soul.

  “They all want out of town, Slocum,” Preen said. “I got them husbands over in Colorado. Miners, mostly. You know how it is. There’re a hundred men for every woman. That makes these fine ladies . . .”

  “Commodities,” Slocum said. “You’re peddling humans like they were prize cattle.”

  “Cattle have no say-so,” Tabitha piped up. “We hired Mr. Preen. He hired you. We’re going willingly.”

  “You said you were all married,” Slocum said. “That means you all have husbands already.” He saw how they exchanged guilty looks. He was right that they were running away from bad marriages—from being part of a harem.