Slocum and the Gila River Hermit

by Jake Logan

  “When can we head back to Texas?”

  “I don’t rightly remember the stagecoach schedule, but it’s due sometime soon.” Slocum had noted that the stagecoach company only ran through Silver City every two weeks. In the time he had been in town and making his forays into the Gila Wilderness, he had not seen a single stage. The schedule need not be too exact, he knew, because of the rugged terrain all around and the possibility that Apaches off the reservation might be kicking up a fuss.

  “Don’t want to leave,” Rolf said sullenly. “Let me go back. I won’t bother anybody.”

  Slocum wasn’t sure who the old man spoke to. As they had ridden, Rolf had folded into himself. Out along the Gila River he had been ornery, vital, and downright dangerous.Now he was little more than a frail, balding man who looked ready to die.

  “You’ll be fine,” Slocum said to reassure Rolf. “Look. There’s the stagecoach now. Just pulling in. That means they’ll change teams and be on the road to Mesilla in the hour.”

  “Hurry, hurry,” urged Edna. “I don’t even need to collect my things. We can buy tickets and—”

  “No need to be in such a rush,” Slocum said. “The passengers need to eat, and the driver wants to rest. Riding on that hard plank fighting a six-horse team through these mountains is quite a chore.”

  “You sound as if you know firsthand about such things,” Edna said.

  “I’ve done my share of skinning mules,” Slocum said. “Driving coach is only a bit trickier.” He had ridden along as shotgun messenger more than once in his day, and handling a rig wasn’t out of the question, though he preferred to ride one horse rather than keep four or six pulling together.

  “I want to leave as quickly as I can,” Edna insisted.

  They rode along Silver City’s main street and drew as much attention as the stagecoach. Men and women pointed and whispered. Slocum felt a small glow of pride. He had failed too many times to catch Rolf Berenson. Now that he brought him back, there ought to be some measure of triumph for his deed.

  As he rode past the general store and the owner stuck his head out, Slocum waved and called, “Won’t be needing but a few more supplies. Enough to get me on the road out of here.”

  The owner laughed and began discussing the matter with two customers who had pushed past to get a better view.

  “We seem to be the main attraction,” Edna said. She was obviously uneasy with the attention they drew.

  “They’ve all joshed me about not catching your husband,” Slocum said. This got a little rise out of Rolf, who perked up. For a brief second, a smile came to his old, cracked lips. Then it vanished. He was still tied up and his ankles were still hobbled to keep him from running off, although Slocum had looked at the hermit’s bruised leg and decided it wouldn’t hold up to much walking. Edna had insisted, however, on securing Rolf’s feet under the horse.

  “I owe you the rest of your money,” Edna said. “Four hundred dollars. And you can have my horse. You appreciate an Arabian more than anyone in this dreary town ever could.”

  “Damn blood money,” muttered Rolf.

  Slocum had been on the verge of turning it down, but the old man’s comment caused his ire to rise.

  “I’ll be happy to call the chore completed for that amount, ma’am.” Truth was, the offer of the horse had sealed the bargain.

  “I’ll get the ticket to Mesilla. You watch him. Then I’ll pay,” Edna said. She galloped off, as if the ticket office and station agent would vanish if she didn’t reach them within seconds.

  Slocum and Rolf proceeded at a slower pace.

  “Let me go. Can’t pay, not like her, but you’d be saving my life.”

  “You’re a crazy old coot,” Slocum said. “How can I believe anything you say?”

  “Mayerling wanted to take me back alive,” Berenson said. “Didn’t want to go with him, but he wasn’t going to kill me. She will.”

  “She’s your wife.”

  “Second wife. Married her because she got all sweet on me after Mary died and because she was ’bout the only one who’d spread ’em for an old coot like me. I should have known she wasn’t doing it because she loved me.”

  Such language startled Slocum. There was nothing crazy in what Rolf Berenson said. Rather, he spoke with bitterness and regret.

  “She’s only going to lock you up. That’s better than getting your neck stretched for killing your brother.”

  “I don’t have a brother. What are you going on about?”

  Again Slocum was taken aback. Rolf was vexed, not raving mad. Then he remembered how Berenson had turned his face to the full moon and howled like a wild animal. He had escaped and gone into the wilds to keep from being locked up.

  As that thought crossed Slocum’s mind, he almost reached over and untied Rolf Berenson. Being locked up, either in a prison cell or a sanatorium, was no fit way to age. Rolf was feeble enough that he might not live long in captivity, although he had thrived out in the Gila Wilderness.

  “You should have,” Berenson said, his eyes fixed on Slocum. “Now it’s too late.”

  Slocum glanced up and saw Edna hurrying back, the most determined look on her face that Slocum had ever seen.

  “Come along. I left the horse in front of the stage depot, Mr. Slocum,” she said. “Here.” She handed him an even bigger wad of greenbacks than before. Slocum felt as if he was being paid for hanging a man, though he could not say why. He took the bills and stuffed them into his vest pocket. They made a huge lump almost as big as the one in his throat as he watched Edna lead her husband away. She had not bothered to untie his hands, though she had freed his feet.

  She hustled him into the stagecoach and there they sat for the better part of a half hour until the driver and three other passengers got in. Slocum caught one last glimpse of Rolf Berenson. He thought he was going to be killed, and his expression mirrored that concern.

  Slocum turned and went to get some food at the restaurant down the street. He needed something in his belly before he hit the trail other than the jerky and beans he had lived on for too long. Edna was taking her husband to Mesilla, where they could catch the train that would take them down into Texas. Slocum intended to ride in the opposite direction. Arizona beckoned to him more and more as he thought of Rolf Berenson and the fate awaiting him.

  Besides, as lowdown as Mayerling had been, he had still carried a deputy sheriff’s badge. He might have been legitimately sworn in, along with the three men riding with him. Slocum was no stranger to killing judges and lawmen, but he had no desire to find that someone actually cared about Mayerling’s fate.

  Arizona. Not Texas, at least for a spell.

  He sat in a chair by the window and ordered. Before he had eaten half his meal, he heard the swoosh of skirts. He looked up over a forkful of steak to see Arlene Castle.

  “John,” she said breathlessly. “I’d heard you were back. Is it true?”

  “What’s that?” He stuffed the hunk of meat into his mouth and chewed slowly, savoring the taste.

  “That you found Rolf Berenson. Is it true?”

  “I found him,” he said.

  “Where is he? What did you do with him?”

  “His missus loaded him on the stagecoach headed for Mesilla. I reckon she intends to put him into a sanatorium for safekeeping. Leastways, that’s what she told me she was going to do.”

  “No, John, say it isn’t so!”

  “What’s eating you?”

  “John, she wants to kill him. Outright murder him.”

  “That’s what Mayerling intended,” he said.

  “No, no. Mayerling was a pig,” Arlene said earnestly, “but he had been sent to take Rolf back alive. Judge Peter-son wanted to force him to sign over property. He needed Rolf to be alive for it to be legal.”

  “Not the first time a judge has taken a fancy to a man’s land,” Slocum said, remembering his own sorry past and how the carpetbagger judge had tried to take Slocum’s Stand.

 
“Stop her, John. You have to stop her and get Rolf away safely. I want to keep him alive.”

  “What’s your interest in this?”

  “Well,” Arlene said, looking around, then lowering her voice to a whisper. “I can tell you if you’ll come to my place right now.”

  Slocum looked at the remains of his meal. He was stuffed, but the lure of peach cobbler was almost more than Arlene’s allure could overcome. He reluctantly pushed the plate away, peeled off a couple bills from his poke, and followed her from the restaurant. The day was turning cooler as the sun dipped low over the Mogollons. That was the direction he would head in the morning.

  “Where are we going?” Slocum asked when it was obvious Arlene was not heading for the land office where her pa had a room.

  “I’ve got a room at the hotel.”

  Slocum slowed, then picked up the pace to match her. He had an idea and he wanted to see if it panned out, but Arlene never gave him a chance. They entered the lobby and she took his hand, pulling him along and putting her finger to her lips to silence him.

  The clerk slept behind the counter, snoring so loud it sounded as if he were sawing wood.

  They went up the steps, and Slocum hesitated in front of the door to Edna Berenson’s room. Arlene pulled him along hard and went into the room across the hall. She spun around when he entered and closed the door with a loud click.

  “You’re in an all-fired hurry,” Slocum said. “What—” That was all the further he got before Arlene planted a big, wet kiss on his lips. Slocum tried to back away and disengage her, but he found himself pressed flat against the closed door. The woman’s hungry mouth moved all over his lips, his throat, down lower. She began unbuttoning his vest and got his gun belt dropped to the floor before he knew what was going on.

  “Arlene, I—”

  “Come along, John. Please. Now.”

  There was no arguing with her. She spun around and somehow shucked off her skirts so that she was naked from the waist down. Arlene sat on the bed and lifted her feet to the mattress so she could peer at him like she was looking down the sights on a rifle.

  He wasn’t looking at her face and those wide brown eyes. He couldn’t take his eyes off the tangled, nut-colored nest between her legs. When she parted her knees and leaned back on the bed, supporting herself on her elbows, Slocum knew he was lost.

  He slid out of his coat, vest, and shirt as he came forward. Arlene sat up and worked on the buttons holding his pants. It was a relief when they dropped around his knees and let his erection come snapping out, hard and thick and proud. She gasped as she sat up, her legs on either side of his body now. She grabbed the fleshy pole and tugged gently to get him closer. Then she dived down like a hawk going after a rabbit.

  Slocum grunted as her soft lips circled him. Her tongue swirled and twirled and stroked across the most sensitive parts of his length. Then she took his full length into her mouth, moving down inch by agonizingly exciting inch. He laced his fingers through her lustrous brunette hair and held her in place. She began to gently gnaw on him. As she did, he felt the tide rising within his balls, ready to blast forth.

  “No,” he said. “You’re too good at that.”

  She backed off as he released her head, but she teased him every inch of the way, until only the thick purple arrowhead capping his cock remained within her lips. She pressed her tongue down and twisted her head from side to side until he wanted to explode. When she reached under his manhood and began playing with his balls, he gasped and fought to keep from jetting off into her mouth.

  “Not now, not now,” he said in a husky voice. She looked up, her brown eyes gleaming. Arlene pulled away and smiled wickedly.

  “Then what? You have to keep my interest, John. Do it or I’ll do this some more.” She dived back and engulfed him, sucking hard at his hardness.

  Slocum groaned and felt himself sagging in the knees even as other parts turned harder than granite. He reached out and ran his hands over the woman’s blouse, working his fingers under the collar and down to the soft mounds of her breasts. The nipples were already rock-hard with need. He ripped open her blouse and bent forward, his mouth seeking each of those nubs in turn. He gave as good as he had gotten. Arlene’s hand slid away from his cock as she flopped on her back. Her legs rose on either side as he continued to cup her breasts, squeezing the bases and slowly moving to the tips.

  He caught both nips between thumbs and forefingers and rolled them around.

  “Oh, oh, John, yes. That feels so goooood,” she sobbed out.

  He saw the passion on her face and this fueled his own need. He bent down and licked and sucked at her tits before moving lower to the auburn nest between her legs. His tongue stabbed out and touched just the right spot. Arlene arched her back and her legs went wide. Slocum continued to lick along the turgid flaps of her nether lips and occasionally dipped into the well of her being. Then he moved from there and went back up to the deep valley between her breasts. As his mouth moved, so did his body. She was open and willing.

  He slid forward, felt his tip bang against the pinkly scalloped sex lips and then insistently pressed forward. He sank deep into her with one smooth movement. Both gasped with desire when he was fully within her tightness.

  She clung to his upper arms, and her legs wrapped around his waist to keep him in position. As if he wanted to stray. He began moving in a deliberate circle, still within her tight, moist confines. The rotary motion drove her desire to the breaking point. Just when she was about to tip over the brink, Slocum stopped.

  Arlene sobbed out, “You bastard. Don’t stop. Don’t. Oh, don’t, John.”

  He withdrew slowly against the pressure of her heels behind him. Her fingernails clawed at him, but he continued until he was hardly within her. Then he moved forward again, faster, harder, deeper still. Her heels unlocked from behind him, and her knees rose on either side. This crushed his buried length and almost got him off. Slocum was not going to give in this easily. He wanted to ride the sexual tensions mounting within him until a tornado was released.

  He stroked with easy, slow strokes that all too soon turned ragged. He thrust furiously. The carnal friction moving deep within her core lit a fuse that was not to be denied. He tried to split her apart as she took his every thrust until they both cried out in release.

  The white-hot tide rising within Slocum spewed forth, and Arlene tensed around him as if she were milking him. When Slocum began to wilt, he sagged forward. His chest pressed against hers. He felt the woman’s heart beating, even through her cushioning breast.

  Faces only inches apart, he looked into her half-hooded eyes. A tiny, contented smile danced on her lips.

  “You were magnificent, John. As always.”

  He rolled onto the bed beside her when she lowered her leg and twisted about. They lay face-to-face.

  “You will, won’t you, John?”

  “What?” He didn’t catch her meaning right away. Then it came to him.

  “You want me to get Rolf Berenson away from his wife?”

  He saw by Arlene’s face this was exactly what she wanted. He had no idea why she was so involved or what her interest in Rolf Berenson was, but he had already come to the conclusion that he had made a big mistake letting Edna Berenson take the old man.

  “I’ll start in the morning,” he said.

  “Good,” Arlene said, snuggling closer. “That gives us all night.”

  16

  None of it made sense, but Slocum found himself riding hard on the road to Mesilla, New Mexico, trying to overtake the stagecoach carrying Rolf and Edna Berenson. The stage had to follow the winding road. Slocum cut across country, taking a higher pass and making his horse complain bitterly about the exertion. Bringing the Arabian along had proven to be a good idea. He switched off as one horse tired and rode the other. Even with the two horses, the going was difficult. Nevertheless, if he had any luck, he would slip down the far side of the mountains and then find himself ahead of the stag
ecoach on the high desert stretching all the way to Mesilla.

  As he rode, he tried to piece everything together in his head. All he knew was that Arlene wanted him to pry Rolf free of Edna’s clutches, and that he had already come to the conclusion that he had made one whale of a mistake letting her ride off with the old man. A second wife, Rolf had said. Much younger. What did that mean? Did Edna have a lover and intend to kill Rolf as soon as she could? If so, that gave Slocum some time. She wouldn’t openly kill her husband on the stage in front of witnesses. And when she got to Mesilla, there might be too many people around for an easy kill, though the opportunities would magnify. Mesilla was a rough border town where murders went unnoticed.

  Slocum kicked at his horse a bit more and got it to lengthen its stride up the mountain pass. Before noon, he reached the top of the pass. A brief rest, a switch of mounts, and then downhill until he came to the flat, dry northern stretch of the Chihuahua desert. All the way Slocum calculated the odds of beating the stage. Every time it seemed he made up a few minutes on the coach, he had to detour or find a watering hole and wasted time.

  He got to Mesilla as the sun sank and the desert air turned chilly. He rode directly for the stagecoach station. Standing beside it was the same coach that had left Silver City two days earlier. The team stood peacefully in a corral. He hit the ground running and threw open the door. The station agent, a man hardly old enough to be shaving, looked up. His eyes went wide and his hands were reaching for the sky.

  “This isn’t a robbery,” Slocum said in disgust. He knew how he looked. He was covered from head to toe in trail dust and still wore his bandanna over his nose to keep out the choking sand from the arid land he had ridden over so fast and hard. Tugging the bandanna down, he went on. “When did the stage get in from Silver City?”

  “Not more ’n an hour back,” the young man said. He didn’t lower his hands.

  “What about the passengers?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Where’d they go?”

  The station agent shook his head, then said, “They went their way.”