Slocum and the Three Fugitives (15 page)

It was almost twenty yards across the river. With steady hands and sharp eyes, the snipers would cut him down before he got halfway.

He studied the bank going southward. It was rocky and would slow him, even if he got off and walked his horse. Those in the posse not waiting for him to cross would reach the gorge floor eventually and catch him. Any shoot-out put him at a distinct disadvantage. Alone against so many men, he needed a Gatling gun to fend them off.

He had scarcely enough ammo left to reload once the cylinder's six loaded rounds were fired.

The riverbank north looked easier to ride. He knew he couldn't get back up the gorge wall for five miles or better, but maybe the posse might hesitate long enough for him to get across the Rio Grande. As a last-ditch effort, throwing himself into the river and letting it buffet him all the way south offered itself up.

He began riding north, pressed against the rocky wall and listening to at least five in the posse make their way down after him. Slocum doubted he would get out of this alive, but surrendering so Judge Locke could hang him never entered his mind.

Slocum rode until he came to a slight bend in the river. The sheer gorge walls prevented anyone seeing him from the rim, and the turn gave a small amount of protection from the posse as they finally reached the bottom. He drew his six-shooter and waited. The rush of the river muffled the sound of his nervous horse pawing at the rocky ground, but it also hid the sound of the posse coming for him.

He forced himself to remain calm as the time stretched from seconds into minutes. When none of the posse came hunting for him, he found himself uncharacteristically anxious. Slocum secured the reins on a rocky outcrop and then edged around the bend to get a look at the base of the trail. What he saw made him jump in surprise.

“There's no need to gun me down. In fact, if you tried, it would draw the entire posse back this way,” Marta Deutsch said. She stood with her horse's reins in one hand, her other on a flaring hip. “Sounds carry up and down the river. Trapped by the high walls, you know.” She made a sweeping gesture, but Slocum kept his eyes fixed on her.

“Where'd you come from?”

“Why, I was with the posse. After I rode down the trail, I sent them scurrying downstream.”

“Why?”

“I happened to be in town when Judge Locke formed the posse and—”

“Why did you decoy them away from me?”

“You are a clever man, John,” she said. “You didn't ask how I happened to know you hadn't gone downstream or how I waited for you to come creeping out of hiding.”

“I wasn't hiding.”

“No,” she said, smiling broadly. “You were laying an ambush. Not a good one, though it could have been worse.” She looked up at the steep trail. “The men with rifles could never catch you in their sights. Keeping close to the walls took away the advantage of them owning the high ground, but you don't have much ammunition.”

He said nothing. Marta smiled even more broadly as she reached into a coat pocket and showed him a couple cartridges in her palm. With an easy smooth move, she tossed them to him. Slocum caught the bullets in his left hand. There was no need to examine them. They were the rounds he had dropped trying to reload on his way down the trail. She had not only found and retrieved them but understood that he ran low on ammo.

“Why did you send them on a wild-goose chase?”

“I don't much like men in a posse,” she said. “Their intelligence is lowered to that of the stupidest man in it.” Tugging on the reins, she moved her horse around where Slocum got a better look at it.

“That's your pa's horse,” he said.

Her eyebrows arched. For the first time she found herself at a loss for words.

“It's a paint, the one he rides,” Slocum said to spur her on.

“Why, yes, it is. My horse threw a shoe, and I took the one closest at hand in the barn. So to speak.” She mounted and pointed farther north up the Rio Grande. “There's a ford a mile upstream. Once across, a trail winds up to the western rim.”

“You know the area pretty well,” Slocum said.

“I listen to what my brothers say about exploring the entire length of the gorge. This trail, the one you just came down, is the only way to the floor for miles on the eastern side, but there are any number of others on the west face.”

“Why?”

He watched her closely. The smile turned into a leer.

“The moment we had in the barn was good, John. Perhaps I wanted more.” She openly leered now. “No, that's not true. There's no ‘perhaps' to it.”

“You spend all your time saving me.”

“From my brothers and the law?” She shrugged. “It looks as if it is my lot in life. I don't mind the chore, if there is something big to reward me.” The way she looked at him, eyes meeting his, then dipping lower, just under his gun belt, made her intent clear as if her words hadn't.

“How long will the posse hunt for me?”

“Not too long. There is a stretch that is several hundred yards long and straight as an arrow. Even the dimmest lawman will realize you couldn't have ridden that entire length ahead of them and disappeared around the lower bend, but it will take another fifteen or twenty minutes for them to get there and twice that to return.”

She put her heels against the paint's flanks and urged it past Slocum. He slid his six-gun back into its holster, looked at the two cartridges in his left hand, then slipped them into his coat pocket. With a single jump, he mounted and rode after her. Marta took special delight in pressing down hard into the saddle to give him the best view possible. He knew she did this on purpose because of the way she coyly glanced over her shoulder now and again.

As suddenly as she had appeared, she turned and splashed into the river. Slocum hesitated, watching as she and the horse fought against the powerful current. When she was more than halfway across, he saw that submerged rocks in the river broke the power of the water. This stretch wasn't as deep either, providing a safer ford. He wasted no time crossing. By the time he reached the western bank, she had already worked her way higher on a trail made almost invisible by wind erosion.

It took the better part of a half hour to reach the western rim. Once there, Slocum chanced a look back down at the raging river. Only yards from the ford the churning river would have swept any rider foolish enough to try crossing. Of the posse he saw no trace.

“Oh, I am sure they have given up,” she said, seeing the direction of his stare. “They might think you were swept to your death. If they care, they might follow the river hunting for your body or your horse's carcass. My guess is that they won't care.”

“Judge Locke won't believe I'm dead.”

“Not without a body,” she said candidly.

Water dripped from Slocum's clothing. He couldn't help noticing that Marta's coat and blouse clung tenaciously to every contour of her body. A slight wind evaporated the dampness and made it feel colder than it was. It didn't take a sharpshooter's eyes to see how her nipples hardened into tiny buttons from the chill. She made certain he saw by stripping off her coat and pulling her shoulders back. The blouse clung even more tightly to her body.

“We really do need to dry our clothes.”

“You're wet,” Slocum said.

“Your eyesight is far better than I thought,” she said, “if you can tell from such a distance.” She reached down and pressed her hand to her crotch. “You're right.”

She sawed on the reins, turned the paint's face, and galloped away. Slocum wasted no time going after her. She angled away from the gorge, riding in the direction of the X Bar X. When he reached a wooded patch, he slowed, then halted to listen hard. He no longer caught the sound of hoofbeats ahead of him. The sound of wood snapping turned him in a new direction. Riding slowly, he reached a clearing where Marta had already cleared off a section of ground, scooped out a fire pit, and built a small tepee of dried branches.

“We need to get dry or we'll catch our death of cold,” she said. Rummaging through her saddlebags, she took out a tin of lucifers, struck one, and ignited the wood.

Slocum dropped to the ground and began gathering larger pieces of kindling to add to the fire. In no time the blaze worked its magic on his coat, drying it. He still removed it and laid it out on the ground as Marta watched with interest. She grinned, dropped her coat next to his, then went on to strip off her wet blouse. A stick poking upright in the ground near the fire provided a way to dry it. Slocum slid off his vest, then his shirt.

By this time Marta had wiggled free of her skirt and stood near the fire, clad only in a flimsy muslin shift. She ran her hands over the thin fabric, pressing it wetly against her body.

“Do you think I should be so bold as to let this dry, too? Or should modesty force me to leave it on?”

She faced Slocum. The material hid nothing. Every curve of her body was revealed; every feature of her breasts and privates was as good as seen without the shift. He stepped closer. He dropped his gun belt. Marta stood motionless, a goddess hewn from delicate marble.

“Our coats are wet. We should do something about squeezing out the moisture,” Slocum said.

“Squeezing out the . . . moisture,” she said, finally moving to him. Her hand pressed into his crotch. Slocum moaned softly as she began kneading the lump growing there. “I like the idea of squeezing it dry.” She popped open the buttons and began flexing her fingers around his rigid length. “I think a better way of getting the moisture out is to . . . suck it out.”

She dropped to her knees. Her lips lightly touched the plum tip of his manhood. Then her head bobbed forward, and she took him full length. Slocum's knees went weak in reaction. She sucked and tongued and kissed. Her eager lips delivered stimulation in ways he had never experienced.

He sank lower, Marta following him until he lay flat on his back on their coats. The dampness in the cloth chilled him, but the feel of her mouth ministering to him sent lightning jabs of heat throughout his body. Her fingers stroked the hairy sac tightening under the shaft, and she somehow rubbed her breasts against his legs as she moved about restlessly.

Slocum reached the point where he couldn't stand it any longer. He reached down, caught the shift on either shoulder, and pulled. The cloth resisted movement since it was still wetly glued to her body. He got his fingers underneath and yanked hard. Cloth tore. Marta groaned and moved up his body. Her legs slid along the outsides of his thighs as she opened herself wantonly to him. Slocum yanked hard and tore the muslin away from her upper body. A second hard tug ripped it the length of her body.

She cast the pieces away and rose naked and gleaming in the sunshine above him. Slocum reached up, cupped her firm breasts, and began tweaking her nipples. She threw her head back, face to the sky, so she could press her body forward into his grasp. Palms flattening her tits, Slocum began arching his back.

They weren't aligned properly at the groin. His hardened length stroked between her nether lips. He felt the heat and damp boiling within her. He wanted more. He had to have it.

Reaching behind her, he caught a double handful of ass flesh and lifted her upward. She pressed one hand onto his chest and used her other to position him properly. When he released the upward pressure on her rump, she sank down—and he sank balls deep into paradise.

They both cried out in pleasure at the sudden intrusion. Marta began swaying back and forth, twisting without lifting. The pressures against his hidden shaft built. The softness, the warmth of her core, the way she squeezed down and then released him with her strong inner muscles all built his desires to the breaking point.

He sat up. Her eyes popped open, and she started to object. He shut off any protest with a kiss. Arms around her waist, he swung about so they reversed position, his manhood never leaving her. Looking down into her face now, Slocum saw a flash of irritation. Marta preferred to be on top rather than pinned beneath a man's weight, her legs spread and vulnerable.

His hips twitched. Moved. Slipped back. Shoved forward. Slowly at first, then with more powerful thrusts. As the friction built, it burned away all of Marta's objections.

Her knees rose on either side of him as he thrust vigorously until he no longer had control. The surging lava-hot tide rose within him, made him even harder, and then erupted from his tip. He continued thrusting until he melted away. Then he held himself above the woman's supine body, his chest pressing into hers.

Even with faces just inches apart, he barely heard her whisper, “I didn't know it could be that good.”

“Drying out makes it worth getting dunked in the river.”

Marta pushed him up, got her arms between them, and forced him to roll over.

“I agree.”

“You glad you rescued me again?”

He watched her expression. Playing poker had given him the ability to read a man's mind. He was at a complete loss to know what went on in her head now.

“I wish it could be different.”

“What?” he asked.

She sat up and pushed him down as he tried to sit up also.

“Time to go. The posse.”

“They are probably halfway to Santa Fe by now.” He wondered at her expression when he said that.

“I'm sure they returned to Taos, boasting of how they got the better of you. Chased you from the territory, maybe killed you. They aren't likely to keep on your trail. Posses lack dedication, determination.”

Slocum had seen more than a few in his day that employed expert trackers and would follow their quarry through the gates of hell, but he preferred to watch as Marta dressed. She held up the ripped shift, then wadded it up and tossed it into the fire. She stepped into her skirt, then pulled on the dried blouse and finally pointed to her coat.

Slocum silently rolled off it and handed it to her. It was dirty and still wet. She shook it out, then slung it over her shoulder. Marta studied his naked body and an almost shy smile came to her lips. Or was it one of regret? Again Slocum couldn't tell.

“You'd better ride north as hard and fast as you can. There's nothing for you here. Not anymore.”

Marta spun, grabbed her saddlebags, and slung them over the paint. She mounted and rode off without a backward glance, leaving him naked on the ground.

Slocum stretched out and let the sun warm him. He felt sleepy and not a little bit lazy, but he shook it off. With economical movements, he dressed, buried the fire, mounted, and rode after Marta.

He had to see if his suspicions were right.