Slocum's Four Brides

by Jake Logan

  “Our marriages are illegal under the law of the United States,” Betty said. “Utah is a territory of the United States, so that means polygamy ought to be illegal. We were forced into our marriages against our wills.”

  “That makes our marriages shams,” Sarah June went on, picking up the argument where Betty stopped. “We were never legally married, so that means we were never married, right?”

  “I was married in the tabernacle,” Wilhelmina said. “From Sweden I came and I was only a third wife. Thomas preferred his second wife to all his others.” Tears welled in the willowy blonde’s eyes, but the set to her chin showed how determined she was to leave Salt Lake City and her multiple-wife marriage.

  “They have a valid point, Slocum,” Preen said. “If they were forced into marriage and their husbands already had wives, that means their husbands were bigamists and were breaking the law.”

  “Polygamists,” Tabitha said. “Not bigamists.”

  “Yes, yes,” Preen rushed on. “You can see that all is legal. They want a single husband, a man to marry under the laws of Colorado. Colorado is in the United States of America. Their betrotheds won’t be allowed to take more than one spouse.”

  “Us,” Wilhelmina said, wiping away her tears.

  “You’re not being forced into this?” Slocum asked. He looked from one woman to the next and saw the iron determination in them. He doubted anyone could ever force Tabitha to do anything against her will and wondered how she had ever agreed to a plural marriage, religion or not. In her case, he suspected that having her run away would be a boon to her husband. It might promote more harmony among the remaining wives.

  “They won’t even notice we’re gone,” Sarah June assured him. “We mean nothing to them. We want husbands who want only us. Individually.”

  Slocum could understand that with Sarah June. She was by far the prettiest of the four. But the others were far from ugly, even thin Wilhelmina and the snippy Tabitha. Betty had the appearance of a rich man’s wife doing something that was distasteful, but which she was determined to do no matter how much argument she received.

  “They’re all going of their free wills, Slocum,” Preen said. “They’re going to a better life.”

  “In a mining town?” Slocum snorted in disbelief.

  “There’s more to life than one’s surroundings, sir,” Tabitha said. “Having a man who dotes on only you is more important than material goods.”

  “And who knows?” piped up Sarah June. “Our new husbands might strike it rich.”

  All four of the women nodded at this. Slocum knew they were fooling themselves on that score. Most miners led dirty, dangerous lives and never saw more glitter in their dirt than what it took to eke out a subsistence living. But that did not take away from the women’s basic reason for leaving Utah.

  “Let’s roll,” Slocum said. He shot a cold look at Preen, then fastened his horse’s reins to the rear of the wagon. Swinging into the driver’s seat, he was not surprised to find Sarah June already there. The other three made nests for themselves in the rear of the wagon, spreading blankets to sit on.

  “It gets dusty up here, ma’am,” Slocum said.

  “I am sure it does, John,” she answered, “and I thought I asked you to call me Sarah June. I hardly feel old enough to be called ma’am.”

  “You’re a married woman,” Slocum said.

  “Not yet.” Sarah June turned from him and stared straight ahead. The ice in her voice told Slocum he had touched that sore spot again. He might have gotten the same reaction from any of the women. Shrugging it off, he took the reins and snapped them to get the oxen pulling. He would have preferred mules, but the powerful oxen were still a good choice for dragging the heavily laden wagon up the steep mountain slopes and through Baxter Pass.

  “Send a telegram when you ladies get married to your betrotheds,” Preen shouted after them. Slocum noted that not one of the women bothered to even wave good-bye to him.

  Slocum fell into the rhythm of the wagon rolling up and down on the rocky road as he headed eastward. By midday the women were more relaxed and were chattering among themselves. Slocum was excluded from their gossip but hardly noticed. Driving was a chore requiring constant attention to the road and the oxen.

  Somewhere around noon he began to worry that someone was on their trail.

  “Time to eat,” Slocum said, pulling the wagon over to a copse of aspens.

  “Is there time for a proper meal?” Tabitha asked. “I am starved.”

  Slocum hesitated, then said, “Take your time. I need to scout some.”

  He dropped to the ground, looked up, and saw Sarah June waiting for him to help her. His hands went around her slender waist. He lifted and she was light as a feather. He deposited her on the ground. She looked up at him with her bright blue eyes, and a smile danced on her lips.

  “Want help scouting?” she asked.

  This startled him; his mind was already a mile back down the trail.

  “Reckon I can do my job.”

  “But it might be more enjoyable with someone helping,” Sarah June said, her meaning quite clear. He wondered if being fifth wife made her horny or if this was just her nature.

  “Fix me something special for lunch,” he said.

  “Oh, I will, John,” she said. Her hand brushed across his as she turned. Slocum felt the electric touch and wondered at any man who would pass up such a woman. Or decide to keep a baker’s dozen of others.

  He mounted his horse and turned back to the road. The four women bustled about, each doing just the right thing to keep out of the others’ way. He suspected this was a skill learned by sharing cooking chores with a legion of other women.

  “Will you be long, Mr. Slocum?” Betty called.

  “Not more than a half hour,” he said. He rode to the spot where he had driven off the road and considered hiding the wagon tracks, then decided it was useless. There were no branching roads on the way to the pass through the Rockies. Whoever trailed them knew where they were.

  He started back in the direction they had just traveled when Betty called out, “Mr. Slocum, you’re scouting in the wrong direction. We’re headed that a’way.” She pointed toward the mountains ahead.

  “Just making sure, ma’am,” Slocum said. He trotted off before she had time to ask what it was he was checking. As soon as he was out of sight of the wagon, he cut off the road and threaded his way through juniper and pine, keeping hidden from anyone on their trail.

  He had gone only a mile when he spotted the man. Whoever he might be, he was no casual traveler heading in the same direction by accident. He carried a shotgun in the crook of his left arm and was intent on the road, hunting for assurance that the wagon had indeed rolled this way.

  Slocum waited for him to pass, then got behind him to find out what the man’s business might be.

  3

  The man must have had eyes in the back of his head, because the instant Slocum swung around, the man ducked low in the saddle and put his spurs to his horse. The animal let out a loud snort and shot forward.

  “Hey, wait!” Slocum called. He had wondered about the rider; now he was worried. Whatever brought the man out onto the trail had to mean woe for Slocum.

  Slocum galloped after the rider, only to slow when the man twisted about and discharged the shotgun. The pellets went wide, missing Slocum by a country mile. If he rode closer, though, he stood the chance of catching enough lead to hurt. Drawing his six-shooter, Slocum leveled it and fired once. At this range, he had little hope of hitting the rider. And he didn’t. All he succeeded in doing was adding some speed to the man’s departure.

  Following at a greater distance, Slocum wanted to find out what was going on. But a turn in the road gave the man he pursued the chance to disappear. The road straightened and worked uphill, giving Slocum a good view for almost a quarter mile. The empty road mocked him. He looked around for any hint that he had ridden into an ambush.

  Not seeing the ri
der, Slocum dismounted and looked at the road. He found the twin ruts cut by his wagon and the distinctive oxen hoofprints. His own passage back on horseback further complicated the tracks, but one set from a shod horse ran off the road. It took Slocum only a few seconds to sight along the trail and see that the mysterious rider had made a beeline for a stand of juniper trees.

  He could call to the man and maybe draw fire again. Or he could ignore him. Slocum knew that there was a slim chance that the man was simply traveling in the same direction. There was only one trail into Colorado unless a man wanted to pioneer a new route. To get to the other side of the mountains, though, required going through Baxter Pass.

  That made the pass into a funnel for anyone on the western side of the mountains. If Slocum didn’t deal with the man now, he would have to later.

  Approaching the trees on foot, six-gun in hand, Slocum listened hard for any warning. He slipped through the trees and into the heavy undergrowth and finally came to a meadow. The tracks showed that the rider had kept moving and had probably circled to get back onto the road farther east. Slocum slammed his six-shooter into his holster, mounted, and rode back to the road. He trotted along, heading back to where he had left the four women. A smile came to his lips. His luck had certainly changed for the better. Getting free of Jenks on his own terms had been a chore, but escorting the four lovely ladies to their future husbands in Colorado was unexpected lagniappe. Slocum wasn’t sure about all four of them being married and at the same time not married, but the way Sarah June eyed him made it easy to forget such legal niceties. It got mighty lonely out on the trail.

  Hell, for all that, Slocum had found Salt Lake City to be a mighty lonely place. The Mormons might marry and have a dozen wives, but they kept a tight rein on their town. The few saloons were all hidden away, and he was not sure there was a whore in the entire territory.

  Slocum had to laugh ruefully at that. The way things were in Utah, why be a whore when it was easy enough to marry into an extended family?

  A gunshot echoed back down the trail. Slocum jerked out of his thoughts and cocked his head to one side, listening for other sounds. None came to him.

  He put his heels to his horse and galloped uphill back to the wagon and the four women. His horse was lathered, and he was approaching the edge of his own endurance. In comparison to the women, however, he was in good shape.

  “What happened?” Slocum hit the ground and ran a few steps toward Wilhelmina. The woman’s hair shone in the bright sunlight to the point where it was almost as washed out and white as her face. The pale blonde stared at him, her hand over her mouth. She stuttered and then let go with a string of words that he took to be Swedish. Slocum didn’t understand a thing of what she said.

  “In the woods, across the road,” Betty said, scowling at Wilhelmina and her incoherence. “Gunfire.”

  “I heard one shot. Were there others?” Slocum tried to remember what the echo had sounded like. The rider had carried a shotgun. He was certain the report had been caused by a handgun.

  “Just one shot,” Betty said. She looked distraught but was fighting to keep her panic down.

  “Where are the others? Sarah June and Tabitha?”

  “We were all in the woods looking for fresh food. I heard the shot and ran back.”

  “What of her?” Slocum jerked his thumb over his shoulder at Wilhelmina, who still muttered in Swedish.

  “She came out of the woods a few seconds after I got here.”

  Slocum looked at the ground. He could not tell what direction Wilhelmina had come from. The tracks were too confused from the women wandering about.

  “Do you know where Sarah June and Tabitha went?”

  Betty shook her head. He saw that he would not get anything coherent from Wilhelmina. It was as if the women had never heard a gunshot before. Slocum drew his six-shooter and headed across the road since Betty had claimed the shot came from that direction.

  Movement ahead caused Slocum to stop and aim. He lowered his six-gun when Sarah June came from the woods, struggling to hold a skirt laden with blackberries.

  “What happened?” Slocum demanded.

  “I don’t know. The shot was close. Is everyone all right?” Sarah June’s cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright with fear. She clung to the edge of her skirt, trying to hold in the berries she had collected. She dropped more than she kept as she swayed from side to side, trying to point Slocum in the right direction.

  “Get on back to the wagon,” Slocum said. “Get under it and don’t stick your head out. Was Tabitha with you?”

  “I didn’t see her.”

  Slocum brushed past her. For a moment he felt the woman’s heat, then he plunged into the forest, leaving Sarah June to fend for herself. The cool dark woods engulfed him and muffled sounds. Slocum slowed, then halted. He turned slowly, straining to hear or see movement. A rabbit flushed from a bramble bush nearby, causing Slocum to almost trigger a shot. He came out of his crouch and worked deeper into the woods.

  The snap of a twig breaking alerted Slocum of someone close by. He found a game trail and knelt beside it. When he saw Tabitha on the path, he rose and called to her.

  “Oh!” she cried, putting her hand to her breast. “You startled me. What’s going on?”

  “Betty and Wilhelmina said they heard a gunshot,” Slocum said.

  “I did, too, but I couldn’t tell where it came from.”

  “What’s wrong with your hand?”

  “I . . . I burned it. I’m not too good at cooking and accidently touched the coffeepot.”

  Slocum peered at the woman’s burned hand. At least it might have been a burn. Or it could have been caused by not holding tightly enough on to the butt of a six-shooter when she fired it. Checkered grips could tear up an inexperienced gunman’s hand.

  Gunman—or gun woman.

  “Did you hear anything else besides the gunshot?” Slocum’s mind raced. The man with the shotgun had been possessed of a guilty conscience to hightail it off the way he had. Or maybe he had a mission that didn’t include Slocum. Four women had left their husbands back in Salt Lake City. Devout Mormons might take it poorly and want their wives back badly enough to kill.

  Tabitha shook her head.

  “Can you find the wagon? Stay with the other women while I scout a bit more,” Slocum said. Tabitha stared at him when he made no move to holster his six-shooter.

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Stay out of my line of fire,” Slocum said harshly. Tabitha recoiled, as if he had struck her. Without a word, she stepped off the game trail, circled him, and then ran off. He thought she was crying. Slocum had no time to coddle the woman.

  Following the game trail a bit farther, Slocum heard a horse softly whinnying. He homed in on it and found the horse tethered to a low-hanging oak tree limb. Not ten feet away he saw a pair of boots poking out from under a blackberry bush. Advancing cautiously, Slocum worked his way around to a spot where he could see the man’s face.

  He didn’t recognize him, but the shotgun beside him looked familiar. Slocum frowned. The report that had echoed down the road hadn’t been the bull-throated roar of a shotgun, it had been a pistol. Slocum worked through the thorn bushes, kicked the shotgun away, and only then rolled the man over. A single bullet had caught the man in the middle of his forehead. Slocum had seen men shot this way before. They died fast, usually before they could collapse to the ground.

  Slocum searched through the man’s pockets and found a small wad of greenbacks. He tucked the six dollar bills into his own pocket. The money wouldn’t do the man any good in this world. Under the body, pressed into the dirt, Slocum found a quarter of a silver dollar. It had been sawed jaggedly and a hole drilled through it, as if once strung on a leather strap. The man had nothing in any of his other vest pockets. Slocum pocketed the quarter hunk of dollar. The silver was worth something, even if the coin had been destroyed. Other than the money, there was nothing to identify the man.

/>   Sitting back on his haunches, Slocum studied the man and his clothing. From the cut of his clothing, the man was not likely to be from Salt Lake City. More likely he was a miner, judging by the canvas britches and the heavy cotton shirt. Slocum picked up the shotgun, broke open the action, and looked inside. One shell had been fired. He snorted. He knew who had been on the receiving end of that barrel. The second barrel still carried an unspent shell.

  He poked a little around the hole in the man’s forehead but could not decide what caliber bullet had made the hole. There was no exit wound, so he had either been shot with a small-caliber round close up or with a heavier bullet from some distance. Slocum hefted the shotgun. No reason to let it rust in the forest. He circled the body, hunting for any trace of the killer.

  The ground was so overgrown that he couldn’t find anything but a few broken twigs. He plucked blackberries from the bush and ate them as he prowled about, but he soon tired of the chore. There was no point in figuring out who had shot the man since he had no idea who the man even was.

  “Somebody saved me the trouble,” Slocum finally decided. Then he found himself faced with a dilemma. He heaved a sigh, then trudged back to the wagon, where the four women huddled underneath.

  “John, John!” cried Sarah June. She scrambled out and ran to him. “Are you all right?”

  “No reason not to be,” he said, wondering what had gotten into her. If there had been gunfire, the question might have carried some meaning. He dropped the shotgun into the back of the wagon, then grabbed a small shovel Preen had seen fit to pack. “I’ve got a body to bury.”

  “A body? Who?” Sarah June asked.

  “Don’t rightly know and don’t much care.” He looked at her closely. “You see anyone out in the woods? Someone who might have killed him?”

  Sarah June shook her head.

  “How about you ladies? Any of you see a gent nosing about?”

  “Not carrying a shotgun,” Tabitha said.

  “The dead man was armed with the scatter gun,” Slocum said. “Whoever killed him used a pistol. He never had a chance to use that.” He tapped the shotgun barrel with the edge of the shovel blade. The sound rang out like a church bell pealing a death knell. The women flinched. Betty had been at the wagon when he rode up, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t the one who had dispatched the dead man. Wilhelmina was upset, and there was no telling where she had been. Her upset might be from squeezing a trigger and seeing a man die. Both Tabitha and Sarah June had been on the proper side of the road, but too much time had passed between the gunshot and when Slocum arrived for that to mean much.