Slocum #395 : Slocum and the Trail to Yellowstone (9781101553640) (7 page)

Slocum agreed, but eyed the men a little. He kept his wondering to himself about why those two were this deep in the mountains if they were headed back for Texas. It didn't add up.

“You got any whiskey?” Ward asked, rubbing his mouth like he needed some.

“No. There were some breeds hanging around up here asking for some the other day.”

“Guess this being Mormon country it's pretty dry.”

Slocum shrugged. “I guess it may be in short supply on account of that.”

“That Peterson woman we stayed with back up north of here. She was out too,” Ward said.

“Guess you'll have to wait till you get back to civilization to get a good dose,” Slocum said as he took a seat on a kitchen chair with his back to the wall.

They laughed.

“You ever met them outlaws that hide out up here?” Ward asked.

“Who's that?”

“Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.”

Slocum shook his head. Did they think they were bounty hunters enough to capture those two, or were they wanting to join them? He'd heard of rewards as high as ten thousand dollars on each one of them offered by Wells Fargo and the railroad express companies. But he sure wasn't getting mixed up with them. It was good way to end up with his boot toes pointed at the sky.

“Train robbing would sure beat punching cows,” Smith said.

Slocum nodded. “If you survived 'em.”

“Hell, most of them do,” Ward said.

“I've done some crazy things in my life, but never got into that business. Too old to start that now.” Slocum aimed to settle that matter.

“How far is their place?”

“I'm not sure. Don't know them. Don't aim to know them, and they can do whatever they want.”

Ward shook his head. “Guess you never wanted to live better than just being in some old shack like this.”

“It's dry, warm enough, and I'm not looking back all the time for a lawman, railroad dick, or bounty hunter on my back trail. Boys, I'm going to bed. Been a long day.”

Still unclear about what they really were up to, he slipped the .44 into bed with him, making sure they didn't see it. Until he knew more about them, he'd sleep light and keep his gun ready. They put their bedrolls on the floor and grumbled around about how a hotel bed would feel better. Ward blew out the candle and they went to sleep.

Slocum was up before the sun shone, got dressed, and went out in the pristine predawn to empty his bladder. He planned on making some flapjacks for breakfast. There was some of Wilma's apple butter to put on them. Best he could do for the time being to feed his drop-ins.

Back inside, his guests grumbled around and dressed. The skillet on the stand in the fireplace wasn't the easiest to handle when making pancakes, but kneeling next to it, Slocum made it work. Not as good as Wilma could have done, but she was a pro with it. The meal, along with some hot tea, went well, and Slocum's unexpected guests even bragged on it.

“Guess we'll be heading out,” Smith said after breakfast.

Slocum wished them well and wondered when Wilma would get back—probably by evening. It took them a while to saddle up and get loaded.

“How far is the next ranch?” Ward asked, tossing his head toward the south before they left.

“Don't know. Jennifer's place is about five miles south of here, but no one's home there.”

They nodded, thanked him, and rode out. He watched them leave, still wondering whether they were hoping to join the Bighorn outlaws or something else. No business of his, but there was something strange about the two he couldn't put his finger on.

Wilma rode in sometime past noon, shaking her head over the big storm. She had three cloth sacks of supplies she'd bought. And she rushed over for a kiss from Slocum. “Boy, was that a terrible storm.”

“Bad one. You have shelter?”

“Yes, I stayed in a sheepherder's camp with some lawmen looking for a pair they think shot their own boss and took all his money.”

“They give any names?” he asked, helping her pack the purchases.

“Ward and Smith. Why?”

He shook his head in disgust. “They rode out of here this morning.”

“I bet that was interesting. What did they say?”

“That they were sightseeing the country, headed home. Said they'd stayed with a Mormon sister north of here for a few days and were headed to Jennifer's. I told them she was dead.”

“Them three lawmen said they had maybe twelve thousand in currency they stole off their boss.”

“Whew, that's lots of money. They simply killed him?”

She shook her head. “Said no one has found his body, but those two were last seen leading his horse and empty saddle headed south. The horse later showed up at a ranch, but no one's found the body of the man. But he ain't been heard from either. He was some real rich rancher from Texas, and the deputies told me there's Pinkerton men all over Wyoming out looking for them two. There's a large reward on them—dead or alive.”

“I wondered about them, but I had no idea that what they'd done was such a big deal.”

“I guess you'd let them go anyway.”

He nodded. “They had me on edge wondering. I slept last night with my gun.”

“You reckon they're gone?”

“Oh, yes. We won't see them again. They asked me about joining up with Sundance and his bunch. I simply acted dumb.”

She nodded in approval, busy putting items in her crate-shelf cabinets. “I did real good with your money. It went lots further than I thought it would.”

He nodded, looking across the open country south of her cabin. “Good. I wonder where those other two killers went.”

“No telling. You want to look some more for them?” She came and held his arm and pressed herself against him.

“I'd like to have an idea where they went. Those two will kill again if they aren't stopped.”

She agreed and kissed him on the cheek. “I missed you.”

He hugged her against him. “It was sort of empty around here. Those two Texans had me wondering what they were up to or going to do.”

“Should I pack for a search trip?”

He shook his head. “We'll ride around the next few days and see if we can find any sign of them near here. They may have cleared out, but I doubt it.”

“Good, we've got some catching up to do in bed.”

He laughed and took her in his arms. “I think so too.”

“Close the door,” she said and twisted away to go inside.

He did and she began undressing. Waving him over, she quickly shed her clothes and then helped him with his. “I really liked last time, but it only made me want you more.”

They played naked, him on top of her, and soon impatient with him, she inserted his half-full dick inside of her. She spread her legs wide, clutched him, and gasped at his entry. The sparks began to fly from them. The excitement consumed both of them as they raced into a pleasured high. Then he came and they fell into an abyss, lying side by side. So the day went by like a dancing dust devil going right, then left, until they dropped into slumber and woke before sundown.

“Whew,” she said, getting dressed. “I thought sex was wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am. I'm still drunk.”

He swept his hair back with his fingers, sitting on the bed's edge. “A lot more than that.”

“I'm learning. I'm learning.”

“You know I can't stay here forever?”

She stopped and looked serious at him. “Yes, I know, but the memories will sustain me.”

“I hope so.”

She made some oatmeal cookies, and they ate part of the batch after her venison supper. It was dark by then and they fell into bed and slept deeply.

The next morning, he saddled their horses, and after breakfast they began their search of the nearby area for any sign of Jennifer's killers. Several miles from her place on the western slope, he caught a hint of smoke.

“Fire around here somewhere,” he said, twisting in the saddle.

She agreed, standing in the stirrups. “A campfire, huh? Where is it?”

“South, I guess,” he said, indicating the country to their left.

He soon spotted a sun-browned wall tent with some smoke swirling on the ground around a cooking fire. A short man with hair graying at the temples stood in the flap with a rifle in his hands. He wore a four-crown hat with a nearly flat brim and had the look of someone tough.

“Hold up. We ain't looking for trouble,” Slocum said, riding in his direction. “I'm Slocum and this is Wilma.”

He swept off his hat. “Carlton Houston, ma'am.”

“We're looking for two grubby men who murdered a woman,” Slocum told him.

“Several of them up here.”

“Deushay and Roberson.”

“They're camp robbers. They recently raided my things. I went after them and shot at them, but my horse hurt his leg in the chase and they got away down in the canyon.”

“When was that?” Slocum asked, stepping off Red.

“A day before that storm.” He set his rifle aside.

“What did they steal?” Slocum looked around the sagebrush-clad mountaintop site.

“Oh, a good pair of field glasses. Some money I had in a trunk and probably some more of my personal things. Would you like some coffee?” he asked Wilma.

“Sure. How long have you been up here?” Dismounted, she looked around at his setup.

“I came down from Montana about a month ago. Why?”

“Oh, I usually know most of the folks that populate these mountains.”

“I haven't met many people. Those two came around and I was suspicious, but I've been searching for a trophy mountain sheep. I was told there were several in the Bighorn Canyon.”

“I've seen some around here,” she said and took a place on his log seat near the campfire.

“I have sugar and cream.”

She shook her head.

“Do you know about hunting mountain sheep?” he asked Slocum.

“I've shot some down in Sonora. They're good eating.”

“I imagine they're tasty, but I'm looking for a trophy head to mount.”

Slocum nodded and sipped on his coffee. He swallowed, then looked over at the man. “This sure looks like the ideal country to find one.”

The majesty of Bighorn Canyon yawned beyond them, a deep gorge in the earth that went down to Ten Sleep—not Ten Sheep as some called it. Indians named the spot that was ten nights from Yellowstone and ten nights from Fort Laramie. Midway point between the two places. A few ranches, a store, and two saloons were all that was there to mark the place, which sat far down in the large chasm.

“You got any notion where those two killers are at?” Slocum asked the man.

“No, but I'll help you look for them. Those scoundrels.”

“We didn't bring any camping stuff with us. But we'll bring some back in two days and take you up on that offer.”

Houston smiled and nodded at Wilma.

“Sounds all right to me,” she said, rather like she enjoyed the attention of both men.

“Oh, I am certain if we put our wits together, we can round them up.”

“You must come from England,” she said. “You have a trace of that accent still in your talk.”

“Yes, my dear, I came from there, but bless my soul, I got to come to America, and my older brother got the moldy old family castle to keep up.”

She slapped her knees. “By damn, you got the best deal all right.”

They all laughed.

After the coffee was gone, Slocum and Wilma thanked Houston and started back for her place. Slocum knew it would be past dark before they rode in. Crossing over the mountain on the dim wagon tracks, he could see into the trashy lodgepole forests, and the way looked so jumbled with dead and fallen down trees, one could hardly get through them even on foot.

They spooked a large male moose out of a swampy area, and he snorted, then thought better of it and ran off into the trees. His huge trophy rack was widespread, and how he went anywhere, how he could even go through the woods, amazed Slocum.

“Big bull moose, wasn't he?” Wilma remarked.

“A winter's meat supply.”

“He would have been. You ever eat any moose meat?”

“Similar to elk, isn't it?”

“Lot like it. I liked buffalo too, but they're about all gone.”

“You ever get to hunt them?” he asked her.

“My first man married me, I figured, to make me his buffalo skinner. And I skinned lots of 'em, but them things were too big for me to turn over. I worked all the daylight hours skinning, then fed fires all night to keep the damn wolves from ruining the hides. And in between all that I satisfied the needs of his dick. He'd get a damn hard-on skinning a damn buff out there on the prairie in the broad daylight. He'd come up behind me, raise my dress up, shove my head down between my knees, and ram his prod in me from behind. I thought that was how married folks did it. Till someone said that wasn't how you were supposed to do it.”

“How often would that happen?” Slocum watched a big wolf in the edge of some alder bushes tracking along beyond them. He leaned over and eased the rifle out of the scabbard. With Red set down, he raised the stock to his shoulder. When the big male showed his head and flicked his red tongue out as if anticipating them as a meal—Slocum cut the future years off him with a bullet smashing him in his chest. The wolf flew over onto his back, thrashing his four legs in death's final throes.

Wilma gave a whistle. “That was a big sucker. I'd seen him kinda tracking us for a while and figured when you got that lever action out that you aimed to end his making any more pups.” Her laughter carried and echoed back. “He was a big old stud who really got too brave for his own good today. I sure like his pelt. Ice won't freeze on his coat and that would make a warm hood for me.”