Slocum and the Gila River Hermit

by Jake Logan

“Now?”

  “Of course not now,” he said. “It’s dark. I need to scout the place where your pa tried to cross and see if it is even possible to get over the river there. A better spot might show itself if I look real careful.”

  “You seem to be looking for a better spot right now,” she said. Her brown eyes moved up to his green ones. Her lips parted slightly, begging to be kissed.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I know you were looking up under my skirt. And I know what you saw there. Were you too much of a gentleman to say anything about my indecency—or were you just enjoying yourself?”

  “A little of both,” Slocum admitted.

  “Why not a lot of only one of them?” She turned toward him, threw her arms around his neck, and kissed him good and hard.

  He pushed her away. Arlene looked startled.

  “Wha—” she began.

  “That’s not right,” Slocum said. He put his arms around her and pulled her to him. As her head tipped back and her face came up, he said, “This is.” He kissed her. It started off with all the pent-up passions in both of them and grew. They had almost died that day and needed a reaffirmation of life. Slocum tasted her sweet mouth and then moved his tongue outward enough to lightly roll around her lips. She sighed and melted in his arms. He let her go backward, slowly lowering her to the ground. There should have been blankets to pad the ground. There weren’t. All she had to lie on were her outer skirt and the tattered blouse. Arlene didn’t protest as his weight crushed down on her.

  Lips dancing over hers, Slocum moved from her mouth to her closed eyes and then to her cheeks and around. She tipped her head to one side so he could kiss her ear and nibble a mite on her earlobe before moving lower. He kissed the hollow of her throat and heard tiny trapped animal sounds coming out.

  “Oh, oh, oh, John,” she sobbed. “I want you so. Give me more. More!”

  Her hands worked to his shoulders and turned into claws that scored his flesh. He moved around. Her legs parted for him so he could work his way between them.

  “It’s mighty uncomfortable for you on the ground like that,” he said. “It’s mighty uncomfortable for me. My elbows are banging into rocks.”

  “These are the rocks I want banging into me,” she said, her nimble fingers working under the waistband of his jeans. Those questing fingers worked free a button or two and then dived down to circle his growing erection. She took him in hand and began squeezing.

  “That’s what I want, too,” Slocum said. The feel of a woman’s hand working all over him like that set his pulse to racing. “There’s a better way.”

  “Show me,” Arlene said eagerly.

  Slocum pulled and tugged and got her sitting up— naked. He cast aside the thin muslin shift so that she was entirely exposed. In the firelight, her skin took on highlights of pearls. Her lips shone red and full, and the tangled mat between her legs became dark and dangerously mysterious. He lay back, lifted his hips off the ground and began skinning out of his jeans. When Arlene saw what he was doing, she helped.

  “Good thing I don’t have to worry about taking off my boots,” he said.

  “Why’s that?”

  “I can do this even faster,” he pulled her toward him, burying his face between her firm, high breasts. He licked and kissed, then worked his way up one snowy slope to the very crest. There his tongue pressed into the rubbery nip he found before he sucked it into his mouth. Arlene gasped and thrust her chest forward. He took more of that succulent mound of tit flesh into his mouth, tonguing and sucking and licking until she was gasping for breath.

  “More, I want more,” she sighed.

  He sat cross-legged on the ground and moved her around so her legs thrust out on either side of his body. Face-to-face, Slocum started a more serious exploration of her mouth and neck and boobs. His arm went around her waist so she could lean back and let him at whatever portion of her anatomy he found most interesting. And that proved to be most everything.

  Sitting across his lap as she was, though, proved to give them both a touch of discomfort.

  “Now, John, now. I can’t stand it anymore without you inside me.” She reached down between them and again captured his rigid length. She tugged and pulled, rose a little, and positioned herself just right. She simply collapsed. Slocum’s manhood rushed into her heated interior. For a moment the shock of entry was almost more than he could stand.

  He sat without moving. Heat boiled all around his cock as her inner muscles clamped down feverishly on him. He pulled her closer and lavished kisses on her breasts. Not moving his hips allowed him to keep from blasting off like a young buck with his first piece of trim. Her body began undulating, and he felt himself slipping out of his tight berth.

  Or rather, Arlene moved herself up and away from him until only the plum-tipped end of his shaft parted her nether lips. She balanced herself by putting her hands on the tops of his shoulders. The expression on her face was unreadable. Her eyes were half closed, and Slocum guessed she was feeling about the same arousal he was.

  She collapsed back down onto his lap. Again he rammed hard and fast into her. The carnal friction was over in a flash, but this time she did not remain straddled over him for as long. She lifted and dropped with increasing fervor. Arlene gasped and moaned as Slocum felt her begin to sweat, though the night was chilly. His hands moved across her sleek skin, past her breasts to her back, and then down to cup her firm, heaving ass cheeks. He felt the muscles playing back and forth as she rose and fell on him, and every time he sank particularly far into her heated core, it was conveyed to his groping fingertips by the tension she experienced.

  “More,” he whispered in her ear. “I want you to be on fire.”

  “I am, oh, John, I am. Oh!”

  Arlene began twisting from side to side as she lifted off him and then dropped back. This motion was more than either of them could tolerate. Slocum felt the heated lava hidden deep in his balls began to churn and boil. When she tensed all around him, he exploded like a volcano. She clung fiercely to him and crushed her breasts into his chest as orgasm seized her. Long after Slocum had finished pumping his seed into her, she clung to him, panting.

  He gently disentangled her, or she might have stayed that way all night.

  “Was that wrong, John?” she asked.

  “You did everything just right,” he said.

  “That’s not what I meant.” Arlene sounded indignant. “I’m no virgin. Not since—never mind. What I meant was, well, was it all right for us to be making love when my pa is in a coma and I haven’t even put my brother to rest yet?”

  “Did it feel right?” Slocum asked.

  “Yes.” Her voice was so low Slocum almost could not hear it over the roar of the river.

  “Then it was what we both needed. It’s been one hellacious day.” He put his arms around her quaking body. The heat of sex was off them now, and the chill of the night stalked both of them.

  “Get dressed or you’ll catch your death of cold,” he told her. He pulled on his jeans and went out to find more firewood. It was likely to be a long night, and he had a chore to do first.

  If he didn’t get Perry Castle buried, they would be fighting off the coyotes and wolves all night long.

  The next morning, Slocum waved to the settlers on the far side of the river. At first he thought they were going to take a potshot at him. The skinny one, whose name was Herman Goslin, lowered his rifle, then talked with his missus. Slocum watched as what could only be taken as an argument transpired. The woman ended up grabbing the rifle from Goslin’s hand, then pointing. The man, head down like a whipped dog, started for the river.

  “No, no, stay on that side,” Slocum yelled.

  “What is he doing, John?” Arlene stood on tiptoe and looked past him, one hand on his shoulder. “He’s not going to try swimming across, is he?”

  “I think his wife wants him to drown,” Slocum said in disgust. He waved for Goslin to remain. “What’s in it for
them?”

  “You mean in Silver City? Pa promised them part of the land. Well, he promised they could be tenant farmers. He reckoned he could collect enough rent from them to more than get back the money he would have to pay to settle the taxes.”

  “He’s quite the land baron, your pa,” Slocum said. He hitched up his pants, then told her, “Stay here. I’ll get them across by noon or die trying.”

  “Don’t say that, John. Not even if you are joking.”

  He wanted to kiss her, but it wouldn’t be proper with the settlers looking on.

  “You rest up and tend your pa. The remaining part of the trip to Silver City isn’t going to be easy, and you’re going to have to ride with some of them.” He glanced over his shoulder across the river. He would as soon pet the rattler that had spooked his horse than break bread with any of these people, but Arlene had to deal with them. With her brother dead and her father in a coma, she was the titular head of the expedition.

  “Hurry back, John,” she said, moving a little to hide herself from the people on the other side of the river so she could kiss Slocum. It was a short, quick kiss, but it promised much more to come.

  He made sure she was backing away from the riverbank before he turned, hunted for pieces of the broken-up wagon, and then used the largest board as flotation to help him get across the river. Even with the buoyancy added by the plank, he almost didn’t get to the other side. He sputtered and struggled, but none of the men, least of all Herman Goslin, made an effort to help him. For two bits he would let them rot where they stood.

  Slocum pulled himself up out of the river, shook like a wet dog, driving back the less adventurous of the men, then went to Goslin.

  “There’s got to be a better place to cross. This isn’t shallow enough to drive over like Castle tried.”

  “Him and his boy are dead, ain’t they?”

  “Perry’s deader than a doornail,” Slocum confirmed. “Caleb’s barely hanging on. You either need to build some kind of float, maybe out of empty barrels, to help you get across, or we find a shallower section.”

  “That’ll take days,” complained Goslin.

  “You in a big hurry to get yourself drowned like Perry Castle? He’s in a grave on the other side, and his pa might be soon enough.”

  “You don’t have to get mad, Slocum,” said Goslin. “I was jist pointin’ out we got a timetable to follow.”

  “There’s a spot about a half mile downriver where we might cross. It’s about where I fished Caleb out.”

  Slocum didn’t wait for them to react. He stalked off to find his horse and get his gear. He checked his six-shooter to make sure it carried dry loads. The worthless settlers had not even bothered to see that his horse had been fed. He took his time, letting his horse graze on a succulent patch of grass growing through the rocks a ways up from the river. As the horse cropped at the tough, hardy grass, Slocum scouted the area along the river. He found faint traces of old wagon wheel ruts that told him others had crossed here some time ago.

  When his horse had its fill, he rode back to the settlers, got them rolling back to the spot he had found, and pointed across.

  “The river’s a man-killer, but if you keep going and don’t let your horses stop or panic, you can make it. You first, Goslin.”

  “Do I have to be the one, Slocum?”

  Slocum didn’t bother answering. He put his spurs to his horse and splashed into the cold, swift river. The horse balked once, then started stepping carefully. At midpoint the water was sloshing up to the horse’s withers, but Slocum kept the stalwart animal moving and quickly found himself on the far side, not ten yards from where he had found Caleb Castle the night before. Slocum sat, leg curled around his saddle horn, watching as first Goslin and then the rest of the settlers made their way across the treacherous river.

  He did not bother telling Goslin he had done well. Slocum pointed and got the wagons rolling back in the direction of where he had left Arlene Castle. There was a considerable amount of territory to cover if they were going to reach Silver City in only eight days. He doubted Arlene would be able to win the property from the tax auction, but he had his own deadline.

  Eight days seemed like seven too many to lead the dour men and women who had survived so far. He did not even want to speculate on when Caleb Castle was likely to die along the way.

  3

  Slocum thought he would never see it. Sitting in a small bowl with mountains all around was Silver City. Three wagons lined up behind him, but he doubted they appreciated the sight near as much as he did. Caleb Castle had stayed in his coma for two days after taking his dive into the Middle Fork River, coming out of it in time for the fording of the Gila River. The man had let loose with a stream of blue invective matching the roar and roll of the river itself. Most of the spewing curses were directed at Arlene, though Slocum came in for his share for not getting them to Silver City faster. Not once did the man mention the loss of his son.

  “It’s about goddamn time,” Caleb Castle called from his post on the hard wood seat next to Herman Goslin. He hung on to the seat with both hands, showing the ferocity that had kept him alive after having four ribs broken and almost being drowned. He wore the bandage on his head like some sort of banner showing his contempt for the world. The only good thing Slocum could see in Castle’s survival was that the money belt the man wore had been saved with him. That meant he would be paid for all the troubles he had gone through.

  Slocum wondered how the death of Arlene’s brother would affect her relationship with her pa. Caleb had great contempt for Arlene. Whether it was only his daughter or all women, Slocum didn’t know, but with her being the last one of his children left alive, Caleb would have to decide how to treat her. And Arlene would have to figure out what she wanted from life. No patch of land ought to be worth such treatment.

  “Roll on down,” Slocum called. “That’s your destination.”

  Goslin let out a tiny whoop, but Caleb silenced him. Goslin snapped the reins on his team and got his wagon rolling. Neither Goslin nor Caleb saw Arlene drop to the ground behind the wagon. She hurried over to where Slocum sat thanking his lucky stars the trip was at an end.

  “John,” she said.

  “You planning on walking into town?”

  “I hoped you would let me ride behind you.”

  “Your pa’ll be fit to be tied. You know what he thinks about me.”

  “He’s like that with everyone. You’ve seen how he treats poor Mr. Goslin and the others.”

  “I’ve seen how Goslin and the others let him treat them.”

  “That’s the difference between you and them. You don’t take his guff.”

  Slocum said nothing. Arlene had to count herself in with the settlers, since she never said a word in her own defense once her father got to ranting and raving.

  “I saw him again, John.”

  “The fellow who’s been watching us?” Several times Arlene had seen the man Slocum had spotted while hunting for her family back at the Middle Fork River. At least, Slocum assumed it was the same man. He was always up on the canyon rims, watching through field glasses or simply standing silhouetted and staring. Slocum had considered following a trail to the rim and hunting the man down, but Caleb Castle had always insisted on pushing ahead a tad faster than they were going. Slocum decided that identifying a mysterious man doing nothing but spying on them was less important than washing his hands of Castle and his wagon train.

  “I’ve been thinking. We heard of a wild man in the Gila Wilderness before we left Fort Wingate. Could that be him?”

  “A wild man?” Slocum laughed. “There’s nothing but wild men west of the Mississippi.”

  “I know,” she said, reaching around him as she settled behind him. Her hands rested in a mighty uncomfortable place for Slocum, but he did nothing to lift her fingers away from his crotch. Riding along with her hanging on like that was a sight better than listening to her pa’s constant caterwauling. “But it’s s
till a fine story—thinking about other wild men.”

  Slocum had not heard such tales, but they were hardly unusual. At first he had thought the man watching might be an Apache scouting for a war party, but after he got a better look, he knew it was a white man. An Indian would never purposefully outline himself against the bright blue New Mexico sky even once, much less do it repeatedly. Whoever watched the wagon trains either wanted them to know they were under observation or didn’t care if he was seen.

  “The wild man’s supposed to snatch away babies and eat them,” Arlene said seriously.

  “It’s a good thing I’m with you, then,” Slocum said. “No wild man’s going to eat you ’fore I do.”

  “Anytime, John.”

  “That’s been the problem,” he said, thinking of the times they had sneaked away and enjoyed one another’s company. “There hasn’t been enough time to do everything we spoke of.”

  “That’s one thing I like about you. You make love even slower than you talk.”

  “And I felt like I was rushing,” Slocum said.

  Arlene pressed her cheek against his back. He felt a twinge from the wound he had gotten off the Spanish bayonet plant but did not complain. They had managed to be together more than was appropriate thanks to that injury. Arlene was about the only one in the party who could bandage a wound properly.

  “What are you going to do, John? After we get to Silver City?”

  “Hadn’t give it much thought,” he lied. He had done little else but think on it. From there he was going to angle back to the southeast and see if Mesilla and Franklin were as wide-open border towns as the last time he had ridden through El Paso del Norte. From there, drifting on down to San Antonio would be a good way to spend a month or so.

  “Stay,” she said, not unexpectedly. “Pa isn’t up to working the land. He’s sure to get it for the back taxes, and then we’ll have almost a section of land. You said you were a farmer once.”

  “In Calhoun, Georgia,” he said, memories crowding back. “That was before the war. Things have changed since then.” And how they had! His brother Robert had been killed during Pickett’s Charge. Slocum had ridden with Quantrill’s Raiders, got himself gut-shot, and when he recuperated and returned to Slocum’s Stand, found that a carpetbagger judge had seized the land for unpaid taxes. Slocum had left the judge and his hired gunman in shallow graves. He had ridden out and never looked back, staying a day or two ahead of the federal warrant out for his arrest. Killing a judge, even a thieving carpetbagger Reconstruction judge, was still a serious crime.