Slocum and the Tomboy

by Jake Logan

  They finally came up for air.

  Hugging him tight and with her chin on his shoulder, she managed to catch her breath and say, “Damn, I’ve wanted that since I first seed you at the wreck.”

  “Can’t say I didn’t think the same thing. But much as I’m enjoying this—maybe we better eat something first.”

  She agreed, and they reluctantly released each other.

  Hip to hip, they sat on the ground, exchanging small gestures of private affection between bites. She leaned over, and her forehead touched his for a moment. His elbow nudged her and made her laugh with pent-up relief.

  Getting up for more beans, she kissed him on the cheek and left a burning sensation. She refilled his bowl, too, and settled back down beside him.

  “Why did we come out here in the first place?” she teased.

  “You came to see if I was real.”

  “Oh, I knew you were real all right—” Then she shook her head as if amazed at it all and at the thought of what lay ahead.

  They finished their coffee still seated side by side, fighting the impatience that consumed both of them. Slocum shook the last drops out of his tin cup and turned to her. Caught by the desire to hold each other, they were soon sprawled on the ground, so hungry for each other that their mouths locked together seeking some relief. Lying beside her, he felt her solid breasts, and she arched her back to present them to him. Then they kissed with a fervor that possessed both of them.

  “We’ve—we got to get in bed—” she finally managed.

  He agreed and they rose, shedding their clothing. He toed off his boots at the edge of the bedroll. The night’s cooling breath swept over his bare shoulders and drew away the day’s heat.

  She sat on her butt, mumbling about her lace-ups as she tore them loose. When she was naked to the waist, the moon’s first light shone on her snowy breasts as they shook with her every action. Enjoying the sight of her body, he slipped down his pants.

  She lay on her back and pushed off her canvas britches with an all-consuming, leg-kicking haste. With them tossed aside, she rose, took down the bottom half of the men’s underwear she wore, and straightened up to look in his eyes.

  He hugged her tight. She’d sure be a bedful. He let her push her short hair back, then kissed her hard, savoring the closeness of her flesh.

  In an instant, they were in the bedroll, her long fingers tracing down his muscle-corded belly. A shocked gasp came from her when at last she grasped his half-hard appendage.

  “You damn sure are real,” she said, sounding excited at her find.

  “Good,” he said. Filled with a growing need for her, he eased himself over between her knees. She raised them up and inserted his dick in her gates. Once he was started in her, she pulled him down on top of her and they kissed.

  His butt ached to plow into her, but he found her ring was tight and restraining. Easing in and out, he tried to penetrate her and not hurt her.

  “Go for it,” she said, and raised her butt up to meet his thrust.

  He did with a pain-filled thrust of his turgid dick. The ring felt thick, but his sword was through it and plunging in and out, savoring the pleasure of her body and the constriction.

  “Oh, God!” she cried, and hugged him tight.

  In the starlight, he looked down and watched her eyes glaze over with the increasing speed of his actions. The moans escaped her parted lips as he sought more of her. Twice she came, and each time he worked her right back up to a feverish pitch.

  Then a cramp developed in his testicles that shot needles in both sides of his butt. In seconds, a screaming train rose that exploded through his skintight dick’s head buried deep inside her. Twice, he came hard, and they collapsed in a bedroll of flesh.

  “Damn, damn, you are sure real.” She slurred her words.

  He hugged her tight and closed his eyes. “So are you, tomboy. So are you.”

  “Oh, Lord—I don’t think we’re going to get any sleep at all tonight.”

  “Whatever you want to do.”

  “Well, don’t ask me. Just do it!”

  They both laughed.

  In the predawn, Slocum got up to empty his bladder. Wearing only a shirt, he went to the cottonwoods to relieve himself. With a stream arcing out in the air, he heard a horse. Not one of theirs, this one came from the south. Standing in the shadowy light of the grove, he figured the hatless rider hadn’t seen him, and slipped back to camp.

  “Get up easylike, we’ve got company,” he whispered.

  “Who?” she hissed, grabbing her shirt to put it on.

  “At least one Indian.”

  Sitting up, she fought the garment to get it on. “What should we do?”

  He checked the loads in his .44. “Keep low. He may miss us.”

  “Where’s he at?”

  “Across the creek, coming this way.”

  She nodded, pulling on her underwear bottoms. “Man, oh, man, as hard as I slept last night, I’m glad he didn’t come by then,” she said in a low voice.

  Slocum had his britches on and was seated putting on his socks. “Good thing.”

  They stayed low with rifles in their hands as the light of dawn spread over the land, and watched the buck ride past, taking note of their hobbled horses, then heading on in a short lope for the main house.

  “I wonder what in the hell he wants,” she said, still talking in a low voice beside him in the grass.

  “He didn’t want to be shot stealing our horses anyway.”

  She looked over at Slocum with an eyebrow cocked. “You reckon he knew we had our guns pointed on him?”

  Slocum nodded and stood up. “He gets his business done, let’s find out from Woman where Lane’s at.”

  “She’s not too friendly.”

  He squatted by the fire hole and started building a new fire to cook breakfast. “She’ll talk.”

  “Well,” Rory drawled, putting up her suspenders, “she didn’t seem to me to be no big talker.”

  “We’ll work on that. I’d give two bits to know what that buck’s doing up here.”

  “My, my, don’t you sound like the big spender this morning.” She laughed aloud, taking up the water pail and filling the coffeepot.

  “We may not have long to wait,” he said, getting up. “She’s coming this way on horseback.”

  “Huh?” Rory used her hand to shade her face from the golden glare. “That her?”

  “It ain’t that buck.”

  Woman reined up her horse on his hind feet in a skid. “You find Lane—quick—war party is coming.”

  “That buck came through here to warn you?”

  She nodded.

  “Where should we look for him?”

  “West.” She used her fringed arm to sweep in that direction.

  “How long we got before they come down here?”

  “Not much time. They are coming.”

  “Who was that buck anyway?”

  “My brother, Horse Runs.”

  “He just come by to warn you?”

  Woman nodded. “You can stay here,” she said to Rory.

  “Oh, Lord, no, I’ll go with Slocum.”

  Woman shrugged.

  “After we eat, we’ll go find Lane,” said Slocum. “When will the war party get here?”

  She shook her head. “Maybe too late now.”

  “We can hope not anyway. Why are you afraid of your own people?”

  “Pony Boy leads them. Lane once dishonored him in fight. He has sworn revenge.”

  Slocum nodded. “Lane have a chuck wagon?” That way they could follow the tracks.

  “Yes.”

  “Good, we’ll be up there in a while and follow the wagon tracks.”

  Woman nodded and started to leave, looking half-satisfied with his response. Then she turned the pony and headed back for the main house in a run.

  Pony Boy’s name was unfamiliar to Slocum. He’d met lots of the Sioux. This must be one of the younger ones who had moved into a le
adership role with the impatient young bucks after the forced move to South Dakota. And why didn’t Woman ride out and tell her husband herself?

  “I got any credit with you?” Rory asked, slicing the white back-fat slab with a sharp knife.

  “Why’s that?”

  “’Cause I’d take two cents on my credit and ask you what you’re thinking now.”

  “What’s so important at the house she can’t leave it?”

  Rory nodded. “I wondered the same damn thing.”

  5

  Slocum spotted the two riders herding a bunch of cows and calves down a draw. He checked the sun time—close to noon. He left Rory on the ridge and sent Turk downhill to catch them. Both riders stopped at the sight of his approach.

  One sported a big white mustache, and the other was a kid with a peach-fuzzed face.

  “What’s up, mister?” the older one asked as his pony danced underneath him.

  “Where’s Lane?”

  “’Bout two miles or so south. What’s wrong?”

  “Woman said Pony Boy was on the warpath and coming to the ranch.”

  “Well, I’ll be frittered. That red bastard wants some more, huh?”

  “I don’t know nothing except she was upset and wanted me to find him.”

  “Chip, we better show him to the boss.”

  “What about this bunch of cows, Ryder?” the boy asked.

  “Hell, we’ve got Injuns to fight. We can gather them any old day.” The man turned in the saddle. “Name’s Ryder. That’s Chip.”

  “Mine’s Slocum and that’s Rory up there. She’s bringin’ the packhorse.”

  Ryder nodded and Chip looked startled when Slocum said “she.”

  When Rory joined them, Slocum told her they were headed for Lane. Then all four set out in a hard lope, the packhorse coming on a loose lead so Slocum didn’t worry about him. They hit the flat and scattered a few cows and calves. But from the look on Ryder’s face, Slocum took it that the news he’d brought the older man was serious.

  A balding man in an apron turned around frowning at the wagon when they reined up.

  “Where’s Jim?” Ryder asked.

  “Ain’t seen him since morning, why?”

  “Slocum here come from the ranch. Woman told him Pony Boy was coming.”

  “Oh, and just when I got supper started.”

  “Better button it up and head in,” Ryder said.

  “I can help,” Rory said, and dismounted.

  The cook blinked and swallowed his Adam’s apple twice. “Why—ma’am—”

  “Don’t stand there gawking. I’m a woman. Now where do we start?”

  “Her name’s Rory. Ryder, how do we split up to find Lane?” Slocum asked.

  “You go south. You hit the Frying Pan Creek and ain’t found him, come back. He won’t be south of it. First main stream south of here. Kid, you go up to Pelican Lake and you don’t find any sign, come back. I’ll look for him west where Floyd went.” They all agreed with a nod and the two hands left.

  Slocum turned Turk around in a circle to go back to speak to Rory and the cook. “You two keep an eye out,” he said.

  She gave him a tight-lipped nod and he was gone. Seeing Ryder fleeing westward, he sent the big bay south for the far rise. What all this business meant, he didn’t know, but since the old man had acted upset over Slocum’s information, he decided he’d better hurry and find Lane.

  Over the next rise, he flushed out a band of good-looking mares and colts. Tails high, they rushed off to a high point to look back at him. The colts were circling the mommas and giving baby cries. He sped over the dim wagon tracks, searching the vast sea of waving grass for any sign. The big horse’s hooves pounded the ground, his breathing deep but easy. Slocum enjoyed the ride, but the vastness of the land concerned him. A few cowboys off in a draw might go unseen. But he loped on.

  He spotted something white, and then a chestnut horse. Soon, a small bunch of cattle came over a crest to his left and he relaxed, reining Turk down to a jog. He swung wide of the cows and calves—some mottled-faced longhorn crosses with more Hereford blood in their offspring.

  At last, he reined Turk to a stop, and a tall man in a starched white shirt came over standing in the stirrups.

  “Lane?”

  “Yes.”

  “Slocum.”

  “Howdy. You got that big hoss about hot, haven’t you?” Lane booted his stout sorrel closer and looked Turk over like a horse buyer.

  “He’s warm enough. Early this morning your woman said that I needed to find you. Pony Boy was coming.”

  The man’s look sobered at his words “Wiley, Frank, forget them cows. Come on, we’ve got Sioux problems,” he said to his hands. “This is Slocum, he came down from the ranch to tell us.”

  “Man,” the younger cowboy said as if impressed. “You’ve been sure riding, mister.”

  Slocum nodded and patted Turk on the neck. “We figured you needed to know.”

  “We did,” Lane said. “Now I’ll need to get my crew gathered in.”

  “Ryder and the kid are out looking for you and getting the others,” Slocum said. “And a lady with me is helping the cook load up.”

  “Hell, that’ll plumb spoil old Frisco.” Lane laughed and they headed back north in a short lope. “You’re kind of a take-charge person.”

  “It worked that way. Sam Oliver sent me to talk to you about your holdings.”

  Lane nodded as they rode stirrup to stirrup. “Yes. I wrote him a time or two. Figured he’d gave up on the notion.”

  Slocum shook his head. “I’m here looking around for him.”

  “Good. Glad you’re here, we can always use another gun.”

  “These Sioux do this often?”

  “I’ve had my share of them. Young bucks don’t like reservation life.”

  “Hell, none of them do, but that’s the system,” Slocum said.

  Lane pulled down the brim of his Boss of the Plains Stetson with the silk rim and nodded. “Damn sure isn’t what they want. I’ll go ahead and see if the boys are all coming in.”

  “Turk can keep up,” Slocum said, and Lane nodded back at him.

  “Boys, bring them ponies on steady. We’re going on.”

  They left in a high lope, and in a short while they rode up on the point above the camp. The cavvy was in and the mules were being harnessed to the chuck wagon. Things looked smooth. Rory had a chain twitch on the upper lip of a big sorrel mule that Frisco was harnessing. When Lane rode up to her, he tipped his hat and stepped down. “Here. I can do that for you, ma’am.”

  “Aw, hell, I’ve been doing this all my life. Go load the rest of the stuff,” she said with a scowl.

  “Jim Lane, meet Rory Clements.”

  He made a sweeping bow. “My pleasure to meet you again, ma’am.”

  “Well, you’re quite welcome. Whoa there, stupid,” she said to the mule, and applied more pressure on the twitch that forced the mule to lean his head sideways as the twisted chain tightened on his upper lip.

  “I better go load the wagon,” Lane said, and laughed.

  A short time later, Ryder and two hands rode in. Lane issued them rifles and ammo. “You boys start with Frisco for the home place. We’ll go look for the kid and then head in. Keep your eyes open.”

  “What’ll we do with the horses?” Ryder asked.

  “Stable some good ones inside and put the rest in the corral. We’ll have to graze them under heavy guard. That’s what that red bastard wants is the horses, I figure.”

  Ryder nodded and things began to shape up. Frisco, on the seat, tipped his bowler hat at Rory and thanked her as he set out. The rest of the hands herded the cavvy horses, and they headed northeast. On her roan, Rory rejoined Slocum.

  “Thanks for the help and coming out to warn us,” Lane told Rory.

  “Kinda cut your roundup short.”

  “Yes, but you can always brand and gather.”

  “If yah got your hair.” Then she l
aughed aloud.

  “Right.” Lane smiled and chuckled. “We better ride.”

  They met Chip close to sundown coming in by himself.

  “Seen any of the hands?” Lane asked his man.

  Chip nodded. “I sent Tim, Red, and Hurley on to the ranch and was coming back to camp to help load up.”

  “Good, we’ve got that done already. You see any signs of them Sioux up here?” Lane asked the youth.

  “There’s been a few camps around the marsh. One or two looked fresh.”

  “Could have been some peaceful ones came to fish, too.”

  The kid agreed and they pushed their mounts eastward in a long trot. It was well past midnight when they reached the home place on their weary ponies. Ryder came out with a lamp.

  “I’s beginning to think the night swallowed you all,” Ryder teased.

  “It could have. No sign of ’em?” Lane asked.

  “No, but I got a night guard posted on the roof.”

  “I can take a shift,” Slocum offered.

  “No,” Lane said. “You and her are company.”

  “Whatever.” Slocum fumbled with the latigos and figured that Rory felt the same about guarding as he did.

  She carried her saddle and pads over and spoke to Slocum. “Guess they don’t need us.”

  “Not tonight.”

  “Fine with me.” She lowered her voice. “Where’re we sleeping?”

  “I reckon down where we left our stuff.”

  "I’ll toss this saddle back on him then. I ain’t packing it that far.”

  Lane came over and spoke to the two of them. “Frisco’s got food cooked for us inside.”

  “Well, we ain’t turning grub down,” she said, and laughed.

  “Right,” Slocum agreed.

  “I was wondering how come you two joined up, if I may ask,” Lane said.

  “Ask, whatever. He needed a guide up here,” she said. “Looking for some range.”

  Amused, Slocum nodded in the candle lamp’s light. “And she got me right in the middle of this Indian war.”

  “Well, shoot,” she said. “Just looking at rattlesnakes, jackrabbits, and a few deer ain’t all that interesting.”

  With a shake of his head, Slocum herded her after Lane. Rory talked plain enough that anyone could understand her.