Slocum and the Tomboy

by Jake Logan

  “I’d damn sure be pleased if you would.” McCoy rapped the side of his tin plate with his spoon. “This scouting business, or rather the bloody lack of it, makes me mad as a hornet.”

  “I can understand that. I’ll be on my way south before daybreak.”

  “Good, good. I’ll be in your debt, sir. Better see about me guards. Me work’s never done.” The noncom rose and took his plate over to the steaming tub, where one of the settlers’ wives took it from him and doused it.

  “Still hungry?” a woman asked Slocum, holding a small iron kettle in front of herself with both hands on the handle. She stood straddle-legged in a wash-worn dress and looked down at him. Fair-headed, with a willowy figure, she looked to be in her twenties.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He held his plate out.

  “I’m not ma’am. My name’s Sue Ellen.” She set the pot down and very openly met his gaze when she ladled him out more steaming beans.

  “Nice to meet you, Sue Ellen. Mine’s Slocum.”

  She nodded, her azure blue eyes still looking hard at him. “I know your name. And now you know mine.”

  “Thanks for the beans,”

  She winked and then straightened. Holding the kettle like a pendulum, she looked down at him. “I bet I have something you’d like better.”

  He nodded. “I might.”

  “Later,” she said in such a soft voice the night wind about carried it off.

  His head barely moved when he nodded. Through the thin material of her skirt, he could make out her shapely legs with the campfire’s light behind her. “I’ll be around,” she said.

  Then she was gone down the row.

  Who was Sue Ellen? Nice enough looking, a willowy figure. He nodded to himself as he watched her go around refilling other plates. How had he been chosen? Who knew about women anyway? They weren’t the lesser sex in his book. They had control of half the money in the world and all the pussy.

  10

  “Shhh,” she said, and crawled into Slocum’s bedroll with him.

  He rose up on his elbows and tried to look around in the night. The campfire in the wagon ring was burned down to small flames—he could see the glow of it by looking under a wagon bed from his location outside the camp in the sagebrush. No one looked to be moving around.

  Sue Ellen raised her skirt to her waist and straddled his legs. Slender—he discovered she had a small butt and waist when he put his hands on her hips. She pulled hard on the tongue of his belt to undo it. His hands found she had no undergarments on under her skirt, and at that point he decided that she had come for business.

  “I don’t have much time or I’ll be missed,” she insisted under her breath.

  “Yes, yes” he said, reaching down to help her. They soon had his pants undone, and he shed them from underneath her. Her fist clutched his shaft and it came to life under her fierce prodding.

  “I knew you had a big one,” she whispered at her discovery, and soon raised her butt up to insert his erection in her gates. Then she lowered herself down on it with a shake of her hips, pulled the covers over her shoulders, bent over him, and spoke in his ear. “I’m sorry, but my old man was horny earlier.”

  He raised his butt up to get deeper, and shook his head to dismiss her concerns. She was humping his dick hard, lying on top of him, and her breathing soon grew faster. Her lips parted as pleasure began to consume her. His hands clasped the cheeks of her hard ass, and he felt her effort each time she pounded down on him.

  Her hand on his chest, she sat half up under the blankets, still grinding on him, and tore open the front of her dress. Then she moved his hands from in back to put them to fondling her firm breasts. “Oh, I love this,” she sighed.

  “Yes,” he agreed.

  “I better get under you,” she said between her gasps for more air.

  They made a switch, and like a fox he was between her knees, shoving his aching head back in her slick pussy. He knew when he made the first stroke into her that she was close to coming. After a few more strokes, she arched her back and he felt the hot fluids flow out of her. In seconds, she was back up to speed and came again—then again.

  “Oh—my God, man . . .” Her nails dug into his back as she pulled him down on her.

  He closed his eyes and concentrated, knowing she might be missed any minute. The cramp in his thighs came first—then the cum. Putting his hand over her mouth to cut off her scream, he surged it all against her hard back wall.

  She about fainted. He climbed off her and on his hands and knees searched around in the pearl starlight to see if there was anyone nearby. Nothing looked out of place around the camp-ground. He could hear a baby crying and a mother soothing it. A horse snorted off in the night. Beside him, she was busy fighting down her dress and buttoning the front.

  “The coast looks clear,” he said to her.

  She put an arm over his back and kissed him. “You’re real good.”

  Then, after searching around to satisfy herself, she gathered her skirt and ducking low, fled off in the night to the wagons. He thought he saw a flash of her going to the other side of the fire, but wasn’t sure.

  Slocum lay back down, pulled his covers up, and closed his eyes. That trooper on guard duty was supposed to wake him at four—that couldn’t be far away.

  He was awakened not very long after that, he decided. When he was dressed and Turk was saddled, he moved around on foot in the wagon ring where the women were making breakfast, and secured a cup of coffee.

  “There’ll be food here in a few minutes,” one woman said, stirring the fire.

  “There’s cold biscuits if you ain’t too fussy,” a buxom German-sounding woman offered.

  “Not at all. They’d be fine.”

  “You’re up too damn early,” a gray-haired woman told him, and they all laughed.

  “I’ve got to do some scouting.”

  “I was only kidding. We know how hard you’ve worked to get us a guard and all.”

  “We’ll feed you, too,” another of them promised.

  So with reheated beans, some freshly fried bacon, and cold biscuits on his plate, he sat down on a crate to eat and let the reflective heat of the fire warm him in the predawn coolness.

  “More coffee?” a familiar voice asked. She was holding up a pot.

  “Sure,” he said as she refilled his cup. He noticed Sue Ellen had brushed her hair and scrubbed her face since earlier. As she was standing there before him with the pot, he imagined her slinky form under the dress.

  “I’ll be back again,” she said under her breath, more as a threat than an offer to refill his cup later.

  “Yes,” he said, considering, busy spooning up the beans on his plate in the firelight. “I always can use a refill.”

  He watched her move away like a weeping willow tree in a soft wind. There was a story there—her horny old man went first the night before. Which one was he?

  Before the sun began to pinken the eastern horizon, he left all the gossiping women, crying babies, and honking mules and headed south. Turk acted his usual fresh self, and Slocum kept him in a short trot, fearing he might break in two any minute. But Slocum staved off any bucking, and soon had him in a slow lope headed down the wagon tracks. In the faint light of the stars and a setting moon, he had no ambition to ride smack into a bunch of bloodthirsty bucks, so he tried to keep his wits about him. It wasn’t easy. He still had Rory on his mind and how she was getting along going to the agency—as well as Sue Ellen. Later. Her word from the night before made him smile.

  At mid-morning, he knew he had three bucks shadowing him. Three alone did not bother him, but how big an outfit were they a part of? That’s what worried him. The three appeared from time to time on the ridges to his left. The sun glinted off their bare copper bodies, and their paint horses were easy to see when they emerged for a few seconds on the crests.

  He had his .44 and a loaded rifle. A box of fresh cartridges that Frisco had given him fit both weapons. He was not exactly
loaded down with ammo in case of a confrontation with them, so he’d have to make his shots count. It couldn’t be over four or five miles to the S Bar S.

  If he only knew how many more Sioux were between him and the ranch. He shook his head—no telling until he drew closer. No reason to push Turk any harder until he saw what his pursuers planned to do.

  He crossed the next rise and could see, down in the basin, the ranch house and chimney smoke coming from the stovepipe. Good. He set Turk down and looked over the rolling country. There were Indians on horseback in the west. He could barely make them out, and reached in his saddlebags for the brass telescope.

  Fifteen or so over there. The three tracking him. Maybe twenty bucks in all. Lane and his crew could hold that many off. The bucks didn’t appear to be getting ready to attack the ranch—but they weren’t leaving either. A standoff. Lane couldn’t work cattle defending his headquarters. Maybe they knew that, too.

  He collapsed the scope and started for the ranch. He noticed as he loped downhill that the renegades had another plan and were going to try to cut him off. Four braves were burning the breeze off the point to do that. He put Turk in high gear.

  The big bay could run with any racehorse. Still, he had more distance to cross than they did. It would be close. Slocum saw some men come outside at the ranch house and they spied him with their scopes.

  Good, maybe he’d get some help. He urged the gelding to go faster. The four braves were riding jockey style on their horses and getting all they could out of their ponies. They soon were swallowed up in a deep valley and he couldn’t see them, but he figured they would emerge about the same time he crossed their plane. It might be a collision course.

  He slapped Turk with the reins. To his right, he saw the hatless riders and they were less than two hundred feet from him. Then shots from the ranch house made them pull up and turn back. Slocum nodded in approval and got set for Turk to clear the gate.

  The bay flew over it and slid to a stop on his hind feet. Slocum patted him on the neck and slipped off his back.

  Lane came running. “Damn shame, we can’t open gates for company. Tell the kid to come cool out this great horse.”

  “I can do it,” Slocum said.

  “Hell, no, I want to know what you learned.”

  Slocum undid the girth and handed the reins to Chip. “Thanks.”

  “Well, if I can count, there’s about twenty bucks out there. The wagon train should be here by dark. A Sergeant McCoy and a dozen troopers are guarding it. The rest of Nichols’s command are up at the agency keeping the peace.”

  “So—no help.” Lane dropped his gaze to the ground in defeat. “Guess I have to mop them up myself.”

  “Nichols telegraphed a Major Bone at Ogallala to send you some troopers.”

  “Any idea when they’ll get here?”

  Slocum shook his head. “No idea. But if we had this Sergeant McCoy and his troopers that are with the train as well as some of your men, we could round this bunch up.”

  “Come inside, I can show you why they haven’t left.”

  Slocum frowned at him. “What’s that?”

  “Come on. When did you eat last?”

  “A while ago.”

  Lane opened the door and showed him in. “Woman, Slocum’s back and he’s not eaten in days.”

  It took a few seconds for Slocum’s eyes to adjust to the room’s darkness. Tied and gagged in a ladder chair sat a barechested Indian. His angry face with eyes like coal glared deep hatred at Slocum.

  Lane nodded. “Yes, Slocum, meet Pony Boy.”

  “How did you get him?”

  “Two nights ago, Snyder caught him trying to steal horses out of the corral. Guess he thought he was untouchable.”

  “What now?”

  “I guess there isn’t really much I can do. They would only lie and tell you they’d go home if we turned him loose. But lies mean nothing to them. I guess give him to the army so they can turn him loose again.”

  Slocum agreed. “If Bone don’t send any help, we’ll give him to McCoy.”

  “Good. I’ve got him gagged right now to shut him up. He gets on my nerves with all his shouting and threats.”

  “I don’t blame you.”

  Woman brought Slocum a plate of food and put it on the table. Slocum took a seat and told Lane about the wagon train.

  “So she went on up to the agency.” Lane motioned in that direction.

  “Yes, her man Whitey broke his leg.”

  “That Rory’s tougher than a pine knot. But she was raised that way. I seen her whip a man with her fists one day in Ogallala when I first came up here.”

  “I guess she’s tough as she has to be to run a freight line.”

  “You’re right. I’d rather have her on my side as against me. Eat. Do I need to send that train a warning the Sioux are down here?”

  “Or send someone to warn the sarge. His foragers should be getting close to here.”

  Lane leaned back and spoke to the cowboy dozing under his hat on the couch. “Snyder, why don’t you ride up there and tell the army to watch out.”

  “They won’t be hard to find,” Slocum assured the man. “They’re coming down the road and McCoy should have some men out front scouting the country.”

  “What should I tell him?”

  “There’s a double handful of bucks down here still wanting a fight,” Lane said.

  “I can handle that.”

  “How many pistols you got?” Slocum asked him, then wiped his mouth and sat back in the chair.

  “One.”

  “Better take three more.”

  “Why?” Snyder frowned at him.

  “I fought Comanches in Texas, and you never had enough firepower unless you had that many bullets.”

  Snyder used the web of his hand to flatten his mustache and then nodded. “Makes sense. Boys, loan me your six-guns. I’m going loaded for bear.”

  Everyone laughed, drawing their revolvers and handing them over. Snyder left the ranch house well armed.

  Slocum went outside with the others to see him off. Snyder rode out on a fresh horse, burning the breeze to the north, and there was no sign of any Indian activity. But Slocum knew that didn’t mean much because they could be on their bellies a quarter mile away creeping up on the headquarters. That was something the lookout on the roof was supposed to see.

  They were about to enter the door that led to the living quarters when the lookout said there was a rider coming from the south wearing a hat.

  “Recognize him?” Lane asked his man standing on the roof with a Winchester in his arms.

  “No, sir.”

  “Any Indians after him?”

  “Can’t see any. He’s headed this way. He looks familiar.”

  Slocum saw the man use the field glasses on him. “It’s the deputy sheriff from Ogallala,” the man said.

  “Wakely?” one of the crew asked.

  “Yeah, that’s who it is.”

  Lane drew a deep breath. “Wonder what he’s doing out here.”

  “Way he’s coming, I guess we can ask him ourselves,” Slocum said.

  “Howdy,” Wakely said as he reined up and pushed the hat on the back of his head.

  “Howdy,” Lane said. “What’re you looking for out here?”

  “Some guy named Black came into town yesterday and said his wife and kids were missing. Said he went off hunting and couldn’t find ’em when he got back.”

  “How long ago did he say he left them?” Slocum asked.

  “Oh, I guess twenty-four hours,” Wakely said, and dismounted. “You know anything about them?”

  “Rory and I found them at her cabin south of here five days ago. He’d been gone hunting then for almost a week. At that time, her and them kids were near starving. We left them some food. Did he mention going back there?”

  Wakely shook his head. “He acted like it was real recent and he’d been gone less than a day.”

  “I think he’s lying
,” Slocum said. “You might check Rory’s cabin. I hope nothing’s happened to them. If there has been something, he may be behind it.”

  “I better go check on them,” Wakely said.

  “No,” Lane said. “There’s about two dozen Indians out there on the warpath. You were damn lucky to make it here with your hair. I’m sure they noticed you when you came in here.”

  Wakely batted his eyes. “Holy shit. You’re serious.”

  “Dead serious or we’d be out on roundup. Come inside. My wife or Frisco’ll fix you some food.”

  “I’m obliged to you. I never knew about any war parties.” He looked around pained, and when he noticed Slocum, he asked, “Where’s Rory?”

  “Up at the White River Agency delivering freight.”

  “Don’t reckon any Indians would mess with her. She’d scalp ’em.” He grinned and shook his head.

  “She probably would,” Slocum agreed and after a long look to the south wondering about Mrs. Black and the children, he followed the men inside.

  After they ate, Slocum told Wakely to wait for the army patrol before he rode to the cabin. They could back him up on his search for the woman. No telling if the Indians had found her and the children or if something else had happened. The notion kept niggling him. Had Black done something bad to his own? He couldn’t get the idea out of his thoughts.

  Why else would a man report his own missing?

  11

  Late afternoon, the troopers arrived with Lane’s man Snyder. McCoy shook Lane’s hand and spoke to the rancher, then smiled at Slocum.

  “Glad you’re still alive, me friend. You have any trouble?”

  “Some. They tried to cut me off from getting here. You see any?”

  “Only on the ridges, one or two. And too far away to run down.”

  Slocum nodded. “I saw them, too. Lane, tell him about your guest.”

  “Pony Boy’s waiting inside.”

  “Well, ain’t that nice. What’s he got to say?”

  “Not much, I got him gagged.”

  “I want to talk to him.” McCoy looked back and then said, “The wagons are a half hour or so behind us. Private Watts, take six men and ride back and observe them coming in. Any trouble, signal us.”