Slocum and the Tomboy

by Jake Logan

  “You watch your back,” Lane told Slocum, and clapped him on the shoulder.

  Ready to mount, Slocum nodded. He knew the man didn’t approve of Rory going along. But that wasn’t his idea in the first place, and Slocum didn’t know a way to make the tomboy stay unless he hogtied her. With his boot toe in the stirrup, he stepped up and checked Turk.

  “Keep your hair on,” Slocum said to the smiling cowboys who were enjoying helping Rory get ready. With a nod, and lots of cheering, Slocum and Rory headed out for help. Slocum would bet that any man there would have given a year’s wages to have her in bed.

  7

  The country Slocum discovered north of the S Bar S was rolling grass hills with much less settlement. Stirrup to stirrup, he and Rory headed northeast to hit the White River Road, short-loping their horses. By mid-morning, Slocum knew they could never make the camp before sundown if it was thirty miles away. They had lots of traveling to do.

  “I only regret one thing,” she said, riding beside him.

  “What’s that?”

  “We never got to finish what we started.” Then she laughed aloud and shook her head. “Guess we’ve got that to do all over?”

  “You bet.” They shared a confident smile.

  At midday, they watered their horses at a shallow ford on the road. Slocum noticed that several wagons and rigs had recently crossed there. He kept a close eye on the slopes and down toward the cottonwoods farther downstream while the horses drank their fill.

  She’d gone off to relieve herself while he held the reins. He wondered which of those tracks were from Rory’s wagons.

  She soon joined him, pulling up her suspenders. A meadowlark was singing over the growing wind. Several sharp-sounding killdeer ran up and down the wet, sandy creek bank.

  “No sign of any barefoot ponies here?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “How far ahead are your wagons?”

  “They should be close to the reservation by now. Whitey and the boys are tough enough and experienced with Indians. I don’t think they’d be caught unaware.”

  “I just wondered.”

  She nodded, removed her hat, and moved in close to hug him. “I’m so sorry I did that to you back there.”

  He swept the hair that the wind had ruffled away from her face and kissed her. “Just be sweeter when we finally get a time and a place to do it again.”

  “Oh, yes,” she sighed, and devilishly winkled at him. “And I’ll make it up to you.”

  “Good.” They remounted and crossed the stream.

  On the far side of the shallow creek, he looked back over the hills. Seeing nothing, he turned forward and they set out in a long trot. He hoped the camp had enough soldiers to spare to solve Lane’s problem. They’d been seriously stretched for manpower in most places ever since the “paper settlements” after the Little Big Horn that supposedly let the army reduce the number of men posted in the region. This was mostly at the insistence of the powerful Eastern newspapers that had downplayed the Indian problem as a big exaggeration by people in the West. Maybe one of those big-city newspaper owners needed an arrow up his ass, Slocum figured.

  In late afternoon, they stopped on a high point to survey the rolling open country that stretched to the north. He swung down, pulled his pants out of his crotch, and worked his stiff back muscles. She dismounted, and they loosened their cinches to let their horses breathe easy and shake off the ride.

  “We’re about six hours from there, I figure,” she said, slapping the sides of her leg with the reins.

  “This is normally a busy road, isn’t it?” he asked.

  “Yes. And we haven’t passed a soul or a freight outfit all day, have we?” Her thick lashes narrowed in slits as she considered the matter. “Funny, something is amiss.”

  “Something. I don’t know what it means, but I’ve been thinking the same thing since we stopped back there to water our horses.” He reset his felt hat and tightened his girth. “We better make some tracks and figure that out later.”

  In the saddle, he watched her look back, wet her lips, and shake her head. “Damn strange there ain’t been anyone but us.”

  Sundown caught them in some steep hills. Slocum felt the hair rise on the back of his neck, and searched the scattered pine-clad slopes in the long shadows. He’d be glad when they were out in the open. By then it would be twilight or dark.

  A short time later, she pointed ahead. “You see those fires ahead?”

  “They look like signal fires.”

  “That’s what I thought—”

  War cries broke out, and they swung their horses for the fires. He could hear the drum of hooves from the west. Several bucks, from the sounds, must be bearing down on them. Slocum hoped those were white men up by the fires and it wasn’t a trap.

  “They’re wagons all right, I can see the canvas sides,” she shouted, and they whipped their horses to escape the pursuit.

  Slocum expected any minute to feel an arrow or bullet in his back. He glanced over his shoulder, and saw they were outrunning the pursuit by the shadowy figures.

  “Hold your fire!” she shouted at the fire ring and led the way in. Roan jumped over the wagon tongue, and she set him down inside the ring.

  Slocum’s mount did the same.

  “It’s the boss,” someone shouted.

  “You all all right?” she asked, bailing off the saddle.

  “Fine, but what are you doing up here?”

  “I could ask you the same. Where’s Whitey?”

  “Coming,” someone shouted, moving up on crutches.

  “What’s happened to you?” She frowned at the man with the snowy beard.

  “Broke my leg working for you.”

  “Aw, hell, did they attack you?”

  “Two days ago.”

  She looked around in disgust. “Them devils’re still out there. We drawed them. Good thing it was dark when we got here, I guess.”

  Finished undoing their girths, Slocum nodded as she introduced Whitey and they shook hands. “You seen the army?” Slocum asked.

  Whitey shook his head. “I’d liked to’ve seen them. Got three freight outfits and a dozen families with wagons here. Us and Kerry’re going up there. The other outfit and the settlers are headed south and afraid to split up and move out from here, ’cause both’d be too weak to stand an attack.”

  “How far away is the army?”

  “Ten to twelve miles if they’re in camp,” Whitey said as they were joined by others who shook Slocum’s hand. “We understand there are several bands of bucks off the reservation on the warpath.”

  Another man, who introduced himself as Zack Kerry, agreed.

  “Are they sending more army?” Slocum asked.

  Kerry shook his head. “The damn agency hates the army and says they don’t need ’em.”

  “Well, the agency sure needs something,” Rory said.

  “When it comes to handling the Indians, they’re doing a damn poor job of it by my estimation.”

  The big man shrugged. “I’m like you, Rory. I don’t make any money either stalled out here.”

  “I know the feeling. Whitey, how did you break your leg?”

  “Jumping out of a wagon when they attacked us.” He made a disgusted face.

  She turned to Slocum. “What do we do now?”

  “You better help him,” Slocum said. “I’ll wait a few hours and then make a run for the army.”

  “Good. Come eat first. We’ve got food ready,” Whitey said.

  “Good idea,” she agreed, and nodded to Slocum to come on. “Does that leg hurt?” she asked her man.

  “Been so busy I can’t tell you.”

  She shared a sympathetic look with Slocum. “Whitey, you need to prop that up some and let it heal.”

  “I’ll try that now that you’re here.”

  She hugged his shoulder. “Good.”

  After the meal, she made Slocum a bed in the back of one of her wagons, and once he was inside,
she closed the back flap. Then she quickly shed her pants and underwear bottoms. “If the damn Injuns interrupt me this time, I’ll kill all of them.”

  He laughed at her threat.

  Her fingers rushed over the shirt buttons in the darkness illuminated by the campfire light on the canvas. Soon, she slipped it off with a shrug of her shoulders and toss of her short hair. By this time he’d toed off his boots, enjoying the shadowy show of her undressing. Wasting no time, she dropped to her knees and undid his fly so his pants were open. She took the head of his dick in her hot mouth and twisted around on it. Her actions sent lightning to his brain as he cradled the back of her head. Hungrily, her tongue rasped the underside of the tender collar. She removed her mouth, and slapped the turgid shaft with her fingers a few times to increase the size. Then she put the aching knob back in her mouth to suck on it.

  Slocum was on his toes as her fingers gently rolled his balls around and she continued her oral attack on his rod. Slap, slap, then back in her warm mouth. Her breath raged as she frantically worked over his dick. Her hands were moving up and down his bare legs and over his butt, working him into a frenzy.

  In his chest, his heart raced, and he wanted her to swallow the whole length. The sharp edges of her teeth teased him more and more, until he felt two hot needles stinging him deep in the muscles on both sides of his butt and the cum began to flow.

  She tore loose, wiping her mouth, pulling him down on the pallet, and raising her butt for him to enter her. He was soon deep inside her slick gates, seeking even more relief from the throbbing head of his dick. The ring and muscles of her cunt began to contract and caused him to speed up. In the half-light coming through the canvas from the watch fires, he looked down as her open mouth issued soft moans. She jerked him down on top of her breasts, hugged him tight, and their pubic bones ground out in need.

  Then, in the depth of his testicles, he felt a cramp that paralyzed his thrusting and straightened his spine as he came again against her arched back, which was shoved at him. They collapsed in a pile.

  In an instant, she was on top of him, her mouth kissing him, meaty breasts forced onto his chest, and her fist between them reviving his declining erection. It responded to her fierce hand-pumping and when he felt it stiffen, she moved to straddle it and began to bounce up and down on top of him. Her breasts were swinging wildly in the dim light. Finally, she sat upright, and he felt the hot flush of her cum leak out and spill over his sac.

  Bent over him, she whispered. “Payment enough?”

  “Your debt is canceled.”

  Her hot breath in his ear, she whispered, “Oh, no. I want to make a big savings account, too.”

  “You have it.”

  “No, but I’m going to make it a big one.” She dismounted and snuggled up to him.

  He hugged and kissed her. They fell asleep.

  Someone was fondling his dick and woke him. He looked down in the dim light and saw her long bare back with her fine ass sticking up in the air as she sucked on his dick. His hips moved toward her and his breathing quickened. She in turn slapped the shaft awake, and quickly replaced it in her hungry mouth. She swallowed the head until he felt the flow and raised up for her to get a mouthful.

  On all fours over him, she wiped her mouth on the back of her hand and quickly moved to straddle him. “Time to get up, and I don’t mean awake.”

  He smiled as she bounced on top of him until she came again. Then she and her firm breasts spilled on top of him. “You won’t forget me?”

  “No, I won’t.”

  “Good.” She pressed herself tight to him. “Be careful today.”

  “I will.”

  He had a hasty bowl of oatmeal and coffee at the campfire while others saddled Turk and brought him forward. She stuffed his rifle in the scabbard and looked him square in the eye. “Don’t fall off your horse.”

  They both laughed. He grabbed and kissed her, knocking off her hat.

  She swept it up. “See you, big man.”

  He swung in the saddle and saluted her. “Yes, ma’am.”

  And he rode off in the predawn, thinking about what wonderful flesh he’d left behind. His plan was to head east and circle back, hoping the Indians were watching the road for movement and they’d miss him. Short-loping the big gelding, he headed for the purple skyline.

  He crossed a small creek and when he came up the steep bank, he knew he had company. Three bucks were headed his way off the side of the steep slope to the east. With a quick dismount, he slid the rifle out and used the saddle for a gun rest. Speaking sharply to Turk to be still, he fired high, hoping for the trajectory at that distance to reach them. The lead horse crumpled. His faltering caused another horse and rider to fall over him.

  Slocum figured that was enough shooting, then bounded in the saddle and changed his course to northerly. Meadowlarks and sage hens were flushed out of the sagebrush and tall grass ahead of him. The stout horse was loping hard and breathing easy under him as they took game trails that the vanished buffalo had no doubt once used. Slocum looked around all the time to be certain that he had no more pursuit.

  At mid-morning, he dropped off the last ridge and smiled at the sight of the stars and stripes flapping and the rows of tents. The flag never looked better to a former reb than it did that day. And the tents seemed to indicate there were numerous soldiers there. He was anxious to meet this Captain Nichols. With a heel to Turk’s rib, he sent him toward the camp.

  8

  Captain Nichols was a short man in his early forties. His hair and sideburns were gray, but he looked physically fit as he came out of his command tent to shake Slocum’s hand.

  “Good day, sir.”

  “Good day, Captain. A rancher named Jim Lane sent me. Two days ago his ranch was under siege by renegades, and there are three freight outfits and several setters all forted up on the White River Road under siege about ten miles from here.”

  “Come in. My main force is at the White River Agency keeping peace up there since they have no rations.” He showed Slocum to a folding canvas chair in his tent.

  “That’s because the rations are tied up on the road by renegades. Two of the freight outfits are headed there with the supplies.”

  Nichols nodded. “That agent and I have been at odds. I arrested some troublemakers last year and he got them released. Well, a week ago he got all excited and telegraphed Washington that he needed protection. Same damn bunch that I had in irons a year ago, I’d bet my bars on it.”

  “Yes, Pony Boy is the one they say is down at Lane’s. I don’t know who ramrods the bunch holding the freighters hostage.”

  “That’s what those renegades are doing. With no supplies, they can convince more and more to go out on the warpath. I have no idea who that leader is either.”

  “Lane had hoped to get some relief from them so he could finish his roundup.”

  “I imagine that would be so. I might get Major Bone out of Ogallala to help him.”

  “That’s seventy miles from here.”

  The officer nodded. “We don’t have the manpower out here. The company I sent up to the agency is way outnumbered and outgunned.”

  “You need those wagons of supplies delivered. That might solve some of the unrest.”

  “I do. But how?”

  “How many men can you spare?”

  “A dozen—that would be all.”

  “With that many men, you can pull all of them up here where they’d be safer. Then the dozen troops and the teamsters can get the wagons through. They get them unloaded and back here, they can see the settlers back south. And maybe help Lane.”

  “I can tell you’ve commanded men before. I had no idea about the freighters being held at bay. I’ll send you and Sergeant McCoy down there to bring them up here, since you know the situation. Then we can make more plans.”

  Slocum nodded and slumped in the chair. It was the best that he could do under the circumstances. He hoped Lane could hold Pony Boy off that long.<
br />
  Nichols called in his orderly to get the sergeant.

  The burly Irishman arrived and saluted.

  “McCoy, this is Slocum. There’s a wagon train being held up by Indians. About how far south?” he asked Slocum.

  “Ten miles.”

  “Yes, sir,” said McCoy.

  “Take a dozen troopers and go move them up here. Slocum knows the location and where to look for the hostiles. Better take rations for two days and ammo.”

  “Yes, sir.” The sergeant saluted him and nodded to Slocum. “Thirty minutes and we’ll be mounted and ready to leave, sir.”

  “Slocum will do, McCoy.”

  “Aye. We can handle it, sir,” McCoy said to Nichols.

  “No Little Big Horns either,” the officer reminded the noncom.

  “No, sir.” McCoy hurried off, shouting at troopers what he wanted and how fast.

  “Good man.” Nichols said. From the front of the tent they watched McCoy as he organized his men. “But men like McCoy still have scabs from Custer’s death. I don’t want him picking none of them out there and him undermanned as George was.”

  Slocum nodded.

  “You need something to eat and some coffee?” Nichols asked.

  “If it’s handy.”

  “Sorry. I was so wound up I forgot my manners. Private Green, get Slocum some fresh coffee and food.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, have a chair again. What brings you up here?” Nichols showed him back inside.

  “I’m an agent for some stockmen looking for new ranches in this country.”

  “Be great cattle country. But I don’t think aside from the river bottoms there is much of this suited to farm.”

  “The slaughter of the buffalo really helped this country recover,” Slocum said. “I was up here a decade ago and it didn’t look this good then.”

  “It sure looks good now. The grass up here is strong, too. From time to time, grain gets hard to come by and our horses do well on grass alone, which surprised me.”

  The private delivered a food tray, and Nichols told Slocum to eat as they talked about things. Nichols mentioned that the army had few opportunities for advancement with all the higher-ranking men serving in lesser grades at the time.