by Jake Logan
He left the man snoring on the ground, his pockets turned inside out. Slocum crawled back into the wagon, pushing aside the fancy painting cases to reach the bundles of clothing and other belongings stored toward the front. Slocum undid the first bundle and only found painting supplies. He dropped the tubes of paint and brushes to the wagon bed and worried open a box that held Leroq’s gaudy clothing. Bit by bit he went through it, carefully examining every pocket and hunting for seams where the ruby might have been sewn.
As he pried open another box, he heard a muffled gasp. Slocum looked over his shoulder. Marlene Wilkes stood at the rear of the wagon, her hand pressed into her mouth.
She took a step away and shook her head in disbelief.
“You’re nothing but a sneak thief! You’re robbing a man who’s passed out!”
“Marlene, he stole—” Slocum spoke to empty air. The woman had fled into the night. Slocum waited for a hue and cry to go up. When none came, he returned to searching Leroq’s belongings.
The last box contained a mortar and pestle like the ones used in pharmacies. He ran his finger in the bowl. It came away gritty. But nowhere did he find the ruby.
Slocum sat on the back of the wagon, his long legs dangling down. He stared at Leroq peacefully snoring as he slept off his drunkenness. Slocum hadn’t found the ruby and hadn’t gotten anything useful from the artist.
And worst of all, more than the failure to recover the stolen gemstone, Marlene thought he was a sneak thief.
7
Slocum fell asleep worrying about what Marlene might say to Jackson or even Dr. Hayden. Leroq was so soused he had no idea what had happened. For two cents Slocum would have tortured the information from him to find the ruby and get the hell away, but instead, he tossed and turned in his bedroll, and an hour before dawn he came fully awake, six-gun in hand, when a dark shape moved toward where he camped.
“Relax, sir. I wanted to ask you to scout the river ahead and find us a decent ford. My pitiful maps end a mile or two farther.”
Slocum put down the six-shooter, rubbed his eyes, and then realized Hayden wasn’t firing him but giving him orders for the day’s scouting.
“I can get on the trail right away,” he said.
“There’s no need to be in such a hurry. It takes these sleepyheads an hour after sunrise to get moving.”
Slocum had his own reasons for wanting to leave before anyone stirred—before Marlene arose. He enjoyed scouting, and Hayden struck him as a decent sort, intent on his job and focused on nothing else. But that mapping job would be threatened by a sneak thief in camp. All Marlene had to do was tell the expedition leader she had seen Slocum rummaging through Leroq’s belongings.
Slocum might have sought her out and lied, but that was wrong. Telling the truth would get him nowhere either. He didn’t want to seem like a bounty hunter out for reward and nothing more. He frowned as he realized being in her good graces went far beyond having sex with her again. He liked her and the way she conducted herself. Being thought of poorly was a knife wound in the gut.
Was it better that she believed he was a thief or a bounty hunter? Not once did he consider the easy lie that he simply sought something in the artist’s belongings to help Leroq with his hangover. Even pushing the lie a bit farther and saying he wanted to get the artist more whiskey wasn’t right.
He wouldn’t lie. And telling the truth was likely to brand him as surely in her eyes as someone to avoid. He had joined the expedition under false pretenses.
“Don’t mind,” Slocum said, knocking the bugs out of his boots before pulling them on. “The sooner I get you across the river, the sooner you can start mapping.”
“Oh, I’ve already begun that shore. Several of my cartographers have improved on maps of this terrain.”
“You want me to sketch my route?”
“No need. We are better able to do that chore. Your job is to find us the quickest way into the heart of the Yellowstone country.”
“I’ll see what I can find,” Slocum promised. Hayden went off, whistling tunelessly as he prepared for another day of exploration.
Again Slocum felt the pang of not having found this job before he promised Innick to return the stolen ruby. He belonged out in the wilderness, and being at the head of such an expedition promised to give him everything he had been missing as a sawmill worker.
He gathered his gear and saddled up. Not for the first time he considered stopping by the darkroom wagon to speak with Marlene, but words wouldn’t be enough. She had seen what she’d seen—and he couldn’t deny that he would have taken the ruby if he had found it. Convincing her that he would also have dragged Leroq back to Marshal Smith’s jailhouse would take more time than he had.
He had been given a mission. Range ahead and find a ford for the expedition.
Slocum chewed on a strip of buffalo jerky and washed it down with occasional gulps of water from his canteen as he rode from camp. The fires had burned low. A few embers cast orangish light that faded to nothing as the sun poked above the mountains to the east. A final look in the direction of Jackson’s wagon and Slocum was gone from camp.
* * *
“Most excellent work, sir. We can float the wagons across easily. My men are already taking depth readings to put on our map.” Dr. Hayden nodded in appreciation of Slocum’s quick work in finding the proper crossing of the raging river. Spring runoff proved a larger problem than Slocum had expected, swelling the river and turning the current into a millrace. Anything caught unawares in that current would be swept away or smashed to splinters on rocks just under the surface.
“There’s some land ahead I looked over when I crossed earlier,” Slocum said. “The road’s gone, and it might be better to follow the river downstream a ways.”
“We have to push forward here. See yonder pass? If we don’t cross there, we have to go north almost sixty miles before we can cross to the eastern side of the mountains.”
Slocum had ridden a mile or more past the river and had found what Hayden had not mentioned.
“The geysers and sinkholes I’ve heard tell of aren’t only on the far side of the mountains,” Slocum said. “There’s a mud field just out of sight you might want to avoid.”
“You’re saying that it might avail us naught to cross here?” Hayden rubbed his chin whiskers, then said, “I’ll consult with a few of my cartographers. We’ll take a look at the mud flats. Preston and Abel have some experience along the Mississippi with sucking mud and driving wagons through such terrain.”
Hayden went to recruit the two mapmakers, leaving Slocum to alternately look across the raging river and then back to where William Jackson had parked his darkroom wagon. The rear door stood ajar and sounds of glassware clanking told Slocum that Marlene was inside hard at work securing anything that might spill. He took a few hesitant steps in that direction, intent on telling her why he had joined the expedition and devil take the hindmost when she came out.
For a long heartbeat, they stared at each other. His green eyes locked with her brown. The spark he had felt when they had first met flared—then he realized it was all one-sided. Marlene scowled and pointedly turned her back to him to speak with her employer.
Slocum started to go to her and have it out, but Hayden and two men dressed in rugged clothing trotted up. The cartographers weren’t desk-bound bureaucrats. They had the look of men who might have fought to keep wagons rolling along the banks of the Big Muddy.
“I’ve told them of your concerns, Mr. Slocum. Let’s all ride across to investigate.”
Slocum had no choice but to go with Hayden and the other two, leaving Marlene to her confabulation with Jackson. There would be time later. When he returned, she might have cooled off a bit.
Then again, she might have decided to tell Hayden what she had seen the night before. Whichever path she took, it lay beyond Slocum’s power
to change the result. If he made himself useful enough to the expedition, Hayden might overlook the accusation of petty thievery. His best defense lay in finding the ruby and getting Leroq to confess he had taken it back in Otter Creek.
Slocum and the others successfully forded the river and reached the far side.
Preston said, “Can’t imagine what that river’s like elsewhere upstream. That’s one dangerous crossing.”
“Not as bad as the one just south of Hannibal,” Abel said. The two began a lengthy argument over which crossing was more dangerous as they rode behind Slocum and Hayden.
“They are like that all the time,” the expedition leader said with a chuckle. “In spite of such bitter arguments, they are fast friends and their work is superior.”
“Seen that in partners, usually prospectors or miners,” Slocum said. “It’s their way of keeping real arguments at bay.”
“I suppose that is so,” Hayden said. “Tell me about yourself, sir. How did you come to Utah?”
Slocum carefully spun his history, leaving out details such as being wanted for murdering a carpetbagger judge and his henchman back in Georgia. Hayden took in all he said, not so much to learn about another man’s background as to pass the time. He looked around constantly as he rode. Slocum had the feeling Hayden missed no detail of the countryside and would be able to render it all in a map when they stopped to rest.
They reached the edge of the boiling mud flats before Hayden declared a break.
“Well, sir,” he said, pushing his hat back up on his forehead as he studied the ground. “You were not exaggerating when you said this part of the trek would be challenging.”
Slocum didn’t remember using those words. It would be damned hard to drive wagons across the muddy ground where small pits bubbled and boiled constantly.
“Those mud holes are small fumaroles.” Seeing Slocum’s expression, Hayden explained. “Those are vents for underground steam. Not far below our feet water boils and flows about in unseen rivers. Whenever the surface cracks, the steam rises, then condenses a mite and forms the hot mud pits.”
“What do you think of crossing this?” Slocum asked. It was at least two miles to the far side, where rockier ground promised easy driving for the heavy wagons.
“Preston? Abel? Your opinions?”
“There look to be rocky patches where the wagons might roll unhindered,” Preston said. He was everything his partner was not. Tall, rangy, he wore his beard full with small beads strung on the longer strands. His quick eyes darted about, and his large hands never stopped moving, whether to sketch out the terrain or simply to flex into balled fists before relaxing.
“Walking the trail will be safer,” Abel said. He barely came to his partner’s shoulder and looked as immovable as any of the mountain peaks when he stood still. For all his friend’s constant movement, Abel could have been a fixture of nature, permanent and capable of withstanding any wind or storm. “See yonder? The sulfur trail?”
“Game trail,” Slocum said, having already noticed the tracks left in the yellow, powdery debris. “That leads in the right direction, but what’s good for a deer to run might not be large enough for a wagon.”
“Abel is right,” Hayden said after some reflection. “We leave the horses here and proceed on foot. Be sure to mark our path.”
“Preston can mark, I’ll be certain the trail is wide enough, Slocum can scout ahead, and you can bring up the rear.” Abel tucked away his sketch pad and settled down to wait.
Slocum saw the flow of power between stolid Abel and the more outgoing Hayden. He wondered if Hayden would contradict Abel simply to regain the upper hand. It was his place to give out assignments, not Abel’s.
“Let’s get to it,” Hayden said without any sign of irritation at Abel giving the commands.
Slocum bent and pulled a half-buried stick from the soft earth. He knocked off the dirt and leaned on it to test the strength. The wood had weathered well and provided a decent walking stick. Using it to test the ground where it was especially muddy, Slocum set out, making his way slowly.
For all of Preston’s constant movement, he never once urged Slocum to greater speed. Instead, he gathered his rocks and piled them far enough apart to mark a crude road through the mud fields.
Some parts went quickly; others required Slocum to test the ground with his stick, then retreat and find a different, more solid path. After an hour, he came to recognize safe places and those that proved more treacherous. At no time did the others urge him to hurry. He found himself caught up in the trail blazing and enjoying the sense of being part of a team. During the war he had often worked alone as a sniper. The times he had ridden as an officer at the head of a company, the recruits were largely strangers to him and seldom survived more than a week. He had come to regard them as faceless cannon fodder. To get close to any of them, to learn their names, only meant pain when they died in combat.
Riding with Quantrill had been worse. He knew those men because they were so much like him—until their brutality crossed a line where he would not go. So, in the end, even those men had been distant strangers to him.
Working with Hayden and the other two felt easy.
“We’re almost to the edge of the mud flats,” Slocum called back. “From here to the foothills looks solid. You want to mark the rest of the route or go back to start the wagons rolling?”
Hayden looked up at the sun, pursued his lips in thought, then said, “We’ll go back but starting across will have to wait until tomorrow. Getting the wagons on this side of the river might take the remainder of the morning. I don’t want to get caught in the middle of these flats at night and have to camp.”
“Good idea, Doc,” Abel said. He looked to Preston for approval. Whatever signal passed between them wasn’t for Slocum’s eyes, but Preston added his assent.
“Let’s head back,” Hayden said, turning and leading the way across the patch they had spent the day marking.
Slocum brought up the rear now. Preston and Abel walked along the outermost edges of the trail, double-checking their markers. It felt even better being part of a team this thorough. He had scouted for some hunting parties made up of greenhorns who spun good yarns about their prowess. The men on this expedition showed it in their actions and didn’t have to brag about their skills.
Their confidence caused Slocum to mentally drift away, back to Leroq and how Marlene had caught him rifling through the artist’s possessions. He had no reason to explain himself to her. All he had to do was find the stolen ruby and return it to Innick before his daughter’s wedding. But there would be time enough for that.
How did he get back in Marlene’s good graces and why was this so important to him? Those questions bedeviled him and prevented him from seeing Abel stray from their marked roadway.
The man slipped in mud and sat heavily amid a loud splash followed by squishy noises. Preston laughed and then shouted a warning to his partner. Abel had flopped over onto hands and knees and didn’t see how the ground was turning liquid behind him.
“Geyser!”
Slocum ran forward to pull Abel away from the fumarole now boiling furiously. The sudden eruption of hot water, steam, and mud picked him up and tossed him away as if an artillery shell had exploded.
Stunned, Slocum lay on his back staring up at steam clouds swirling above him. His chest burned where hot water and mud had splashed, and the ground quivered under his back.
The hiss of releasing steam was drowned out by Abel’s scream of utter pain.
8
Huge droplets of mud spattered onto Slocum’s face, stinging enough to bring him back to full consciousness. He sat up and wiped the mud from his eyes. For a moment he thought he had gone deaf, then realized the roar in his ears came from the geyser sending steam and hot water fifty feet into the air. Pulling down his Stetson to protect his eyes, he worked h
is way toward the edge of the mud field, where Abel writhed about, moaning.
“Get away from the edge of the hole,” Slocum shouted. His voice sounded hollow in his ears, but Abel heard him. The man reached out.
Slocum grabbed the hand. It slipped away. Both were covered in mud. Slocum surged forward and got hold of Abel’s coat sleeve. With a powerful yank, he pulled the smaller man from danger.
Only now they were both threatened. The geyser sputtered, then roared to an even more powerful plume. Slocum rolled over Abel to shield him from the worst of the boiling rain hammering down on them.
“Can make it. Got to.”
Slocum’s back tingled as the hot water and mud tried to work through his coat, vest, and shirt to find naked flesh. He got his feet under him, then pulled Abel to his feet. The man wobbled but kept moving away from the geyser. With his arm supporting Abel, Slocum guided them through the fog of steam and mud until they burst out onto a rocky patch. Only then did he drop Abel and bend over to catch his breath.
“Where’s Preston?”
Slocum looked up at a frantic Hayden. The man swiped at the mud on Slocum’s face, then moved to repeat the cleaning of Abel’s. Abel weakly pushed the helping hand away and looked up at the expedition leader.
“You can’t find him?”
“When the geyser blew, he was on the other side—the side with you and Slocum.”
Slocum felt the heat from the geyser mounting, but the height of the plume inched back toward the earth. The initial explosion and subsequent steam were fading away. With any luck the geyser would collapse back to the ground in a few minutes. Only Preston might not have a few minutes if he was caught in this torrent.
Pulling his hat down as far as he could and still see, Slocum tugged at his bandanna and fastened it over his nose. The cloth filtered the sulfur-laden air, reminding him he still wasn’t back to his usual alert self. He hadn’t even noticed the rotten egg smell until he blocked it with the bandanna.
“Slocum, wait, don’t!” Hayden’s warning fell on deaf ears. Slocum bowed his shoulders, plowed through the dancing curtain of heat, and burst through to the other side.