Slocum #395 : Slocum and the Trail to Yellowstone (9781101553640) (3 page)

“I can write my name and read the Book of Moroni, which for a woman is not bad.”

“Someone is coming,” Slocum said and set down his cob of roasted sweet corn.

She agreed with a grim face. “Eat. I will see who it is.”

His curiosity aroused, he followed her to the door, wiping his face on a cloth that served as a napkin. Out of habit, he shifted his .44 in its holster as she opened door and stood back.

Two bearded men with floppy hats sat atop jaded horses in the yard. They were dressed in ragged clothing, and one wore a wolf skin cape over his shoulders. “Hello, Mrs. Duncan. Seed you got company, huh?”

“Yes, I do, Mr. Deushay.”

“We won't keep ya. Just wanted to drop by and see if you needed anything.”

“No, I'm fine. Don't need a thing.”

“He staying long?” Deushay's partner asked, then spit tobacco off to the side of his fidgeting horse. His lower lip and the beard around his mouth were stained with the black traces of the tobacco. Then he hiccupped and nodded.

“I expect he'll stay for a while, Mr. Roberson.”

“Well, don't do nothing I wouldn't do.” Deushay said. “See you, darling.”

His sidekick laughed like Deushay had said something funny, like he knew something Slocum and Jennifer didn't, and the two men galloped away. Jennifer collapsed against the door frame.

“Who are those two galoots?” Slocum asked.

“Two crazy, filthy old men who live up here in the mountains. They come by every so often when they're drunk and scare the life out of me. Talking nasty and spitting tobacco.” She shivered, and Slocum caught her.

He looked down into her face. “Have they ever hurt you?”

“No, but I don't trust them. I sleep inside even in the summertime and bar my doors when I am here alone.”

He looked hard at her. “You ever tell your husband that they scared you?”

“Yes. He said when they come at me to shoot them. I can't hardly shoot a coyote, let alone a person. He doesn't know how bad they are. He's never seen them.”

“Still, you better keep the gun handy. Those two are half—or more—raw animals.”

She nodded with her face pressed against his vest, and he felt some of the tight-muscled tension slip away from her.

“I'm sorry I bothered you with them.” She drew back and then guided him back to their meal. “Eat before your food gets cold.”

She only picked at the food on her plate and shoved the remaining food in the china bowls at him. “Let there be no waste.”

No doubt the two men had struck fear in her heart. Slocum decided that he'd let Red rest a few days and do some work around the place to help her out—and to see if they came back. “When is your man due here?”

“Two, three months. He'll bring me supplies in October before the snows begin, and take the cattle back with him. Then I'll be locked in here until spring.”

“Ever get lonesome?”

“I have a Bible and the Book of Moroni to read. I try to stay busy. I make quilts and clothing. I'll shoot a deer and hang it. An elk is too big. I pray a lot too.”

“You know you haven't eaten enough?”

“Enough for me. I'm fine. I am grateful you were here though.”

“No problem. How many cattle does your husband have up here?”

“Maybe sixty head. It's just summer range. They do good all summer on the rich grass, but I have no way to feed hay to that many. I keep my mare up in the lot and shed her during the bad weather. We share the winter.”

“A few years ago I spent a winter up here, farther north.” He had no intention of telling her it was with a Cheyenne woman. “Wind sure howls.”

“You know the ways of these mountains, then. I'm grateful for every warm day.”

When dark came, she showed him to a bunk and said she hoped he slept well. In the distance, a timber wolf howled somewhere on the mountain, and Slocum decided that ought to make her fidget as bad as her earlier grubby company. His boots and socks off, he wiggled his toes. Maybe he'd get more than a few hours' sleep during the night. His gun belt hung handy to him on the upper bunk post and, finally down to his one-piece underwear, he crawled into the bed and under the covers. It would be cold by daylight in this high elevation, summer or no summer.

He awoke. Not sure why at first, but then he felt the presence of another person in the room. Starlight shone in through a small four-paned window, letting in enough light for him to see Jennifer's form in the doorway.

“You can't sleep?” he asked.

“No.”

“Come get into the bed. We can keep each other awake.”

“No.”

“I won't bite you. Company is better than being alone.”

“Not right.”

“I guess we only answer to each other.” He propped his head up on his elbow. He thought she must be wearing some long cotton gown.

“And to God.”

“I understand, but if you aren't going to sleep, come and I'll hold you. You can get up anytime your conscience bites you.”

She laughed. “It is biting me now for talking to you about it.”

“Oh, the shame of it. Two grown people talking about right and wrong in the dark when no one else knows anything about it.”

“He does. God does.”

“What are you going to do?”

“If you promise me you won't force yourself on me—I'll share your bed.”

“Good enough. I swear—”

“To who?”

He shook his head when she sat on the edge. “Whoever you want me to.”

When at last she lay down beside him, he could feel her shaking and smelled the faint aroma of a woman. “You cold?”

“Cold and scared.”

He curled around her and in minutes he fell back asleep. A few hours later he awoke and could again smell the faint scent of woman. He held her securely in his arms on the narrow bed, and he wondered if she realized the danger lurking between them: his rock-hard erection.

Taking a deep breath, he rolled over and gave her his back. He decided that she wasn't ready for anything more than sleeping yet.
Be patient
, he told himself. He slept some more with her form pressed against his back. That was damn distracting, but he did manage a little more sleep. No need for him to be in a rush.

He half woke when she moved hard against him and threw her arm over his shoulder. A sound from outside made him start and listen. Was someone out there?

She started too and whispered, “You hear something?”

“Stay in bed,” he said softly and slipped out from under the covers. His bare feet were silent on the rough board floor, and his fingers closed on the grips of his .44. The Colt slipped soundlessly out of the leather sheath, and the hammer made a slight sound when Slocum cocked it back.

Someone was coughing not far from the front door when he slipped across the room, dark save for the starlight coming in through the window. He heard some deep breathing, hard soles scrambling on the ground, and then something hard struck the door. Those idiots were trying to ram down her front door.

“Get the hell out of here!” Slocum shouted when they rammed it again.

“That him?” The question sounded gasped out between their hard breathing.

“Hell, yes. Get to the horses.”

“Ow. You dropped it on my foot.” The victim went on moaning.

“Get to running.”

The bar over the door proved jammed despite Slocum's efforts to remove it while holding his gun, so he set down the revolver and strained to push the bar up. He heard the drum of horses' hooves galloping away and swore under his breath. The holding board finally gave way and the door swung open. He grabbed the revolver and shot into the night's darkness, swearing at the intruders' retreat.

Jennifer came to the door, wrapped in a blanket, and touched his arm. “Was it them?”

“Deushay and Roberson? Yes, I think so. They got away. I couldn't get the door open fast enough.” From the doorway, Slocum could see that the heavy post they'd been using to batter the door was lying on the ground where it must have fallen on one of the intruder's feet. No doubt it had hurt—the ram was no small stick.

“They ever do this before?” he asked, herding her back inside.

“They never tried this.” She lit a candle and set it on the table. “Have those two lost their minds?”

“No telling what old hermits like that are thinking.”

She let the blanket slip away and hugged him. “What can I do?”

“Load your pistol, if you must remain here.”

“I can't leave.” She hugged him tighter. He felt her thin body against his. The hard mounds of her small breasts under the flannel gown pressed into him. In a trembling voice, she asked, “Oh, my God, what will I do?”

He released her and rebarred the door. Satisfied that the security was in place, he turned and pulled her up into his arms. As he passed by it, he blew out the candle. “They won't be back tonight.”

“Where are you taking me?” she asked in a small girl's voice.

“Where do you think?”

“Back to bed?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” When he set her down beside the bed, she started taking her gown off over her head inside out. “Help me out of this thing.”

He did and she began to unbutton his underwear like it was nothing at all. With her hands, she pushed the garment off his shoulders. Bending over, they bumped into each other and laughed as she helped him undress. Then she pulled him into the bed on top of her. Reaching around him, she covered them with blankets against the cold air and then lay back down in the narrow berth. He raised himself up and she moved in place under him.

“I'm glad that attack is over.” She squirmed frisky-like underneath him.

He rested in the V between her legs and felt his rising sword grow larger between them. She reached between them to catch his prod, then eased the head of his dick inside her wet gates. “Go easy on me, please.”

“Of course,” he said, braced over her, his swelling probe slowly entering her. The core of his brain was ready to explode and his heart quickened with each second of progress as he pushed deeper inside of her with each small thrust. The entryway was tight and her efforts to meet him grew more furious until, at last, his swollen dick went past her ring of fire. Oh, she was proving to be exciting. He settled in to enjoy his meeting with her internal parts. Whew! She was tight, and excited for him to pound her ass.

Before dawn cracked the sky, Jennifer was up with a candle reflector lamp, making oatmeal and more biscuits in a Dutch oven. Slocum pulled on his pants, then went outside barefoot to vent his bladder. His face washed by the cold air, he hurried back inside. She looked up at him from her cooking in the fireplace and nodded.

“Thanks. I did sleep. I'm grateful.”

“Don't mention it. It was very nice.”

She blushed in the firelight and shook her head. “I'm sorry. I was upset about their—”

“Good.” He went and dressed, buckled on his holster, and rejoined her in the big room. She wore the blue flannel nightdress that he figured she put on over her head and that went down to her ankles. She set a bowl of oatmeal before him, the cereal smelling of vanilla and cinnamon with some brown sugar on it. The enticing aroma as well as her blackberry jam on the biscuits made the saliva flow in his mouth. She silently ate some of the hot cereal from her bowl while he looked at her.

“You mad about last night?” he asked her. “You haven't said much this morning.”

She swept her blond hair back behind her ears. “No, I guess being alone out here I don't talk to myself very often. So with you here, I realized how much I keep my mouth shut.”

“The food is good. I saw the woodpile yesterday. I'll split some more cooking wood for you.”

“That would be generous of you.”

Outside after breakfast, he sharpened the two axes with a whetstone, then went to splitting blocks to make smaller sticks to use for cooking. Pine split easily, but it also burned faster than the hardwoods that did not grow in these mountains. He was swinging the axe as a shot rang out.

The bullet struck his shoulder blade like a sledgehammer, slamming him to the ground, and his shoulder felt like it was on fire. Half-conscious, he could hear two men talking—the hermits, Deushay and Roberson. Slocum lay facedown in the dirt, not daring to move a muscle.

“We got him! We got him!”

Sour sawdust in his nose, Slocum didn't move for his .44. His left shoulder blade felt like it was on fire. The two hermits were right there in the saddles on their fidgety horses, stomping all around.

Where was Jennifer? Did she have her pistol?

“We got him. He ain't moving. Is he dead?” Roberson asked, all excited.

“Shut up. Where is that little bitch at? I want her.” Then Deushay gave a silly laugh like a screech owl—both of them were drunk and crazy.

“Get off my place. . . .” It was Jennifer's voice.
Oh, no,
thought Slocum right before he dropped off a dark cliff into a pain-filled nightmare.

 

How long had he been out? Where they still there? Slocum couldn't hear them laughing like crazy loons anymore. His shoulder still felt like it was on fire. How bad was the wound? He had no idea but the blood drying on his back made the skin tight. His whole upper left side was on fire. Where was Jennifer? Had they raped and murdered her? If they had— damn, it hurt to raise himself up—he'd make them pay for all of this when he found them. He struggled to his feet, light-headed.