Slocum's Four Brides

by Jake Logan

  When Kennard made a grab for Betty, Slocum moved around the canvas sheet. The woman’s eyes went wide as she recoiled from Kennard. She had been fighting him off, but something about the way she reacted now alerted the mountain man that trouble had found him. Again.

  Kennard shoved Betty away and rolled back, fumbling for a pistol. Slocum pounced on him like a hunting mountain lion. He brought the knife down with all his strength into the middle of the man’s chest. Slocum thought he had hit a rib from the way the shock went all the way up into his shoulder. Then he realized Kennard carried something in an inner pocket that had deflected the blade away from his vile heart.

  “John, John!” Betty’s outcry confused Kennard for a valuable instant. He looked back at her as she grabbed for the pistol in his hand.

  Slocum yanked the knife back, found a new spot, and then drove the blade downward with what little strength remained in his body. Again he felt resistance. Then the resistance disappeared and he drove the knife entirely into the mountain man’s chest.

  “Sumbidge,” Kennard grated out. “You done kilt me.”

  It was not apparent to Slocum that was what had happened. Kennard was still fighting. For a few more seconds. He reared up like a bear and grappled with Slocum. They tumbled out into the snowstorm, and then Kennard lay motionless atop Slocum.

  “Don’t shoot, don’t shoot,” Slocum called to Betty. The sight of the woman, naked to the waist, shivering in the cold, and holding a six-shooter with both hands, was alternately provocative and frightening. She could not hope to hit anything she aimed at with her hands shaking so badly.

  Slocum heaved Kennard away and lay for a moment, gasping for breath. A new weight pinned him down. It was Betty. She fell on him, her mouth kissing his hungrily.

  “Gotta get under cover. Freeze,” Slocum got out.

  “It’s all right now, John. It’ll be all right. The bastard is dead! You killed him.”

  “Yeah, I did,” Slocum said. He sat up and stared at the body already disappearing under a thin white blanket of snow. “I want to see something.” On hands and knees he went to Kennard and ripped open the man’s coat. He kept working down, layer after layer, until he came to the pocket directly over the man’s heart. He pulled out a small Bible.

  “It didn’t save him,” Betty said. She clung to Slocum. The snow was landing on her shoulders and exposed breasts, melting from her body heat, and then refreezing almost instantly.

  “Might save us,” Slocum said, putting the blood-stained Bible into his coat pocket. He put his arm around Betty and guided her back to the lean-tos. He saw right away they would never be able to weather the growing storm here.

  “Get dressed. We’ve got to get back to the shack.”

  “There’s no way you can make it, John. You’re white as a sheet.”

  “Feel half past dead, too,” Slocum said, recognizing truth in the woman’s words. “Caves. Back where he tried to throw me over.”

  “Uphill from there? Where we found the crevice?”

  “Yes, there,” Slocum said. He gathered what he could of Kennard’s belongings. The mountain man had wasted no time picking through his former partner’s equipment and adding it to his own. Slocum slung the rucksack holding it all over his shoulder. He staggered under the weight.

  “What of the tarps?”

  “Leave ’em,” Slocum said. As much as he would have liked to have the heavy canvas sheets, it would take too long to free them from their supporting poles.

  “Like hell,” Betty said. She forced her way through the snow to Kennard’s body and pulled the knife from the man’s chest. She wasted no time slashing at the canvas, cutting it loose from where it had been carefully bound to a pair of sturdy limbs. She rolled it up, tucked the knife under her coat, and grabbed Slocum’s arm. “Move,” she ordered.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said. Slocum gathered strength as they returned to the rocky face of the mountain, but he still depended on Betty to steady him at times.

  They found a cave, its mouth dark and narrow. This suited Slocum because he was in no condition to fight a grizzly bear for space in its lair. Whatever might be in the cave already—fox or even wolf—would be more easily evicted. He stopped in the mouth and took a deep whiff. Nothing but biting cold air cut into his nostrils. He forced his way into the cave and sank down a few feet inside.

  “Here,” Betty said, unrolling the tarp the mountain men had used in their lean-tos. She dropped a blanket down and quickly lay beside Slocum.

  “Fire, need a fire.”

  “How do we hope to start it in this wind?”

  Slocum silently held up the Bible. They hurriedly scrounged enough wood for a decent fire that would see them through the night. It took three books from the Bible before Slocum had a roaring fire that lit the interior of the cave.

  “Satisfied?” Betty demanded.

  “Not yet,” he said, pulling her close. They sank down to the tarp, then worked the blanket around themselves. He felt the hammering of her heart as she crushed close to him, sharing body heat. Slocum listened to the whistle of the wind outside as the blizzard raged, but the sound of Betty’s breathing slowing until she fell into a deep sleep soothed him more. Soon enough, he followed her into sleep.

  Slocum awoke to utter silence. The world was cold and quiet. He poked his head up a little and saw that the mouth of the cave was half filled with snow and beyond, the world was beautiful and cold. At least a foot of snow had fallen during the night.

  As he moved, so did Betty. She murmured softly and snuggled closer. He sank back. There was nowhere to go until they shoveled the snow out of the cave mouth, and it was mighty relaxing lying alongside such a lovely woman. The brunette started moving her hand, and Slocum was less relaxed and more aroused. She slid her hand under his shirt and stroked across his chest. He winced a little, but she kept stroking, her fingers twirling up little spires of his chest hair. And then she slipped down lower, under his belt, down to his crotch.

  He was suddenly not relaxed at all.

  Slocum wondered if Betty was still asleep and dreaming of being in bed with her husband. Then she put that notion to rest.

  “You’ve got something I want, John,” she said. Her fingers circled his erection and began squeezing gently, rhythmically, getting the feel of his hardness.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I am,” she said in her acid way. She softened her tone a little and said, “It’s only right, me giving you a reward for risking your life like you did to save me.”

  “You don’t have to,” he said.

  “Of course not. I want to. And you want me to,” she said. Her fingers tensed around his fleshy stalk until he was downright uncomfortable. She moved around, keeping him in hand, and unbuttoned his jeans so she could drag out his hardened length. Before he could say a word about how good that felt, she showed him what pleasure could be like. Her lips closed on the tip of his cock, then began tonguing and licking and softly kissing.

  Pulses of fire radiated down into his loins. Slocum was hardly aware of lifting his hips off the cold rock floor and trying to shove himself deeper into that loving mouth. She took a couple inches and then backed off. She cradled him with her tongue and began bobbing her head up and down. The warmth, the sucking, the way she used her lips and teeth and tongue all excited him more and more.

  He felt like a young buck with his first woman.

  “I . . . I don’t know how long I can hang on,” he said. “That mouth of yours is mighty educated.”

  “Do tell,” she said, letting him pop free so she could look up into his eyes. Her brown eyes were pools of lust that mirrored his own. “What you gonna do about it?”

  Slocum smiled, reached down, and drew her up so she lay across him. His ribs hurt, and he didn’t have a muscle that failed to protest. Then all that faded away as their mouths met in a fierce kiss. He ran his hands down Betty’s sides and cupped her ass, pulling her down into him. He felt his hard shaft crush
ed down by her weight, but he was in the right place—only separated by the woman’s skirt.

  “Here,” she said, putting her knees on either side of his hips and rising up enough so she could unbutton her blouse. Her luscious breasts came tumbling out. The nipples were already hard. Whether it was from the cold or anticipation of what was to come, Slocum neither knew nor cared. He reared up and took her right breast in his mouth, laving it with his tongue and then lightly nipping at it. Betty moaned softly and thrust her chest forward so he could take more of that tempting treat into his mouth.

  He did. More and more of the soft, succulent flesh entered his mouth until he pressed down the hard nub with his tongue and gently chewed all around. Then he suddenly abandoned it and raced to the other, giving it identical treatment. If he had wondered whether it was the cold or himself that caused such rigidity in her nipples, this answered the question. He felt the throb of her heart accelerate as he pressed her nipple down farther and farther. The gasps and moans coming from her convinced him she was as excited as he was.

  “Get those skirts out of the way,” Slocum said. He reached down and grabbed a handful of cloth on either side of her hips and began pulling upward. Betty had to help. She wiggled and finally got the skirt bunched up around her waist, leaving her exposed.

  “Mighty cold out there,” she said. “Why don’t you get inside where it’s nice and warm?”

  She lifted her hips, positioned Slocum under her, and then sank down, taking him balls deep into her molten core.

  It was Slocum’s turn to gasp.

  “Hurting you?” she asked, barely able to speak.

  “Not warm in there, hot. Damned hot. And wet.” He ran his hands around and grabbed a double handful of her buttocks. Squeezing and kneading, he pulled and pushed and then began guiding her in the rhythm he desired most.

  She rose to the point where only the plum tip of his cock remained within her trembling nether lips, then sank down slowly. Every inch was delightful torture for Slocum. The heat spread throughout his groin, his belly, his body. Knowing that she was not going to stop, he reached up and grabbed her breasts. He squeezed and kneaded and rotated them as she began moving faster.

  “Oh, John, it . . . it’s better than I thought,” Betty cried out. Her eyes were closed and her head was tipped back, letting her long brown hair fall down her back. Then she began bucking and thrashing around, hips rotating and inner muscles clutching fiercely at Slocum’s buried length.

  Betty let out a cry that was part gasp and part animal howl. Slocum felt the hot tide rising within him, and when she clutched down on him like a mine shaft collapsing, there was no holding back. He jetted his seed into her molten center.

  “Oh,” she said, sinking down. She gave a couple quick inner squeezes, but Slocum was melting within her like an icicle in the spring sun. Betty smiled and then repositioned herself, still atop him. Her naked breasts pressed into his chest, and he felt her hot breath against his cheek.

  “So good,” she said. “Like I knew it would be.”

  “I can do better,” Slocum said. “Right now, I’m all bunged up.”

  “Is that what you call it?” She laughed softly and began running her tongue around his ear. She said hotly, “I want more bunging.”

  Slocum surprised himself and responded to her with admirable speed. They spent the rest of the day in the cave, until it became too cold and Slocum had to go find firewood. The early evening showed a clear sky free of storm clouds in any direction. They would have to get back to the shack and the other three women in the morning.

  But they had the night together.

  8

  “There,” Slocum said with some satisfaction as he pushed the last of the frozen snow from the cave mouth. He squinted as the glare off the snow blinded him. He sucked in a deep breath and winced. His ribs were still sore from the pounding he had taken, and most every muscle in his body ached, too. But he felt nice and warm at the crotch because of Betty’s careful ministrations. He had liked her looks from when he had first set eyes on her, but he had not realized she was as talented as she was. She would make some miner a mighty fine wife.

  And the man she had married in Utah was a damned fool for choosing any of his other wives over her.

  “Mighty cold,” Betty said. She shivered, although she had a blanket pulled around her shoulders. “Can we walk in that snow?”

  “Don’t think it will be a big problem if we go slow. It looks wet enough to crush down a few inches and then support our weight. You just follow in my footsteps.”

  “I’ll follow you anywhere, John.”

  This gave him pause. He didn’t want the brunette getting attached to him. He had rescued her from the two mountain men, but he was not husband material. Not like she wanted.

  “Was it that bad?” he asked. “In Utah?”

  The chattering of her teeth stopped as she clamped her jaws together angrily.

  “It was awful. No matter what I did, I was never good enough.”

  “I find that mighty hard to believe,” Slocum said, smiling.

  She had to laugh, too. “He told me the others were better in bed. They were better cooks. They were better house-keepers. They tended the children better.”

  “It was his way of keeping you in line,” Slocum said.

  “When I figured that out for myself, I left. I found that Tabitha and Wilhelmina were also less than satisfied with sharing their husbands. That’s when we lit out and became outlaws.”

  This took Slocum aback for a moment, then he had to nod. By church law, the women would be criminals. They had broken their matrimonial vows, but Slocum hardly counted that as being a real felony. Getting them into Colorado was a chore he found himself liking more and more, men like Grubstake and Kennard notwithstanding. Then he remembered the other man he had come across on the highway—the one wielding the shotgun.

  Someone had murdered him, and Slocum didn’t know who it might have been.

  “You know the other women pretty well, then?”

  “Not really. We found ourselves fugitives for the same reason.”

  “Just Tabitha and Wilhelmina? What about Sarah June?”

  “She joined up just as we made our deal with Preen to get us to a mining camp in Colorado.”

  “So you really didn’t know one another until you decided to light out?”

  “That’s right. Why are you asking, John?”

  “No reason,” he said, but the dead man back on the trail bothered him. He understood Grubstake and Kennard. He was similar to them in too many ways, but the other man? Why had he followed? None of the women seemed to have recognized him. So why was he killed? And who pulled the trigger? For all that, Slocum had not found the gun that killed him.

  “When can we get back to the others? I want to push on.”

  Slocum looked at Betty and wondered what she really meant. There was a wistfulness in her tone that told him she wanted to stay here—with him.

  “It won’t take us long to get back. An hour or two at the outside,” Slocum said, wondering if he was being too optimistic. He was still hurting all over, but once he got moving and warmed up his cold muscles, the trip would go faster. Betty could keep up without much effort since he would be carrying the pack he had taken from the mountain men’s camp. They had eaten some of the grub in it, what hadn’t been too maggot-infested. Neither Kennard nor Grubstake had been too fussy about what they ate.

  “Let’s get moving, then,” Betty said. This time her words were as brittle as the beauty outside the cave. She had expected him to say something else.

  “Got my duty to the others,” Slocum said, but he got no reply. He tumbled into the snow and the crust broke under his weight. He got to his feet and slung the rucksack. Already he felt the cold working into his boots. Time to move and keep moving.

  He helped Betty from the cave. She still clung to the blanket around her shoulders. Walking with it would be a chore, but Slocum said nothing. Let her figure how b
est to sling it around her shoulders. He had the feeling that if he bossed her too much, she would fly off the handle.

  The glare caused him to squint constantly, but the bright sun put a lie to any more storms. Slocum chose his spots to step as carefully as possible. Most of the time he sank to mid-calf, but he kept on moving, no matter how tiring this was. Betty trailed him, stepping into his footprints. For her the going was easier. She still complained.

  “Don’t take such big strides,” she called. “I can hardly jump from one to the next.”

  “Strike out on your own, then,” Slocum said. They were not making as good a progress as he had hoped. It took more than an hour for them to cross the meadow and cut into the woods. Once there, the going was easier. Most of the snow still clung to the limbs above them. Betty complained even more now, though, of being tired and wanting to rest.

  “We can rest with a fire warming us when we get to the shack,” he told her.

  “I can’t go on much longer. I’m thirsty and I’m hungry and my feet feel like they’re frozen through and through.”

  “Then we should speed up,” Slocum said. “The sooner we reach the shack—”

  “The sooner we get to eat and push on through the pass. Is there any chance we can make it, John? Really? The road would be all snowed over and icy. If the wagon slid off the road when we were near one of those long drops . . .”

  “Then we’d die,” Slocum said, not mincing words. He wanted to get back to the others, not because spending time on the trail with Betty was so onerous but because he had to think of the trouble the trio could get into. They were not experienced enough to survive long without his help.

  “You don’t have to be so rude about it.”

  “Dead’s dead,” he said. Slocum stopped for a moment and got his bearings. The Twin Buttes were crystal clear in the bright Colorado air and gave him a precise location he remembered well.