Slocum's Great Race

by Jake Logan

  “You need spare pants, Slocum? I can sell them to you,” Little Hand said, watching.

  “He’s not injured.” Slocum looked at Zoe.

  “And he was killed,” she said.

  “Of course he’s dead,” Little Hand said. “My braves don’t miss.”

  “He said back in Jubilee Junction he couldn’t go on.”

  “So he lied,” Zoe said. “But how could he fake his death?”

  “This isn’t the man we saw back in Jubilee Junction,” Slocum said. “It might be his twin, or at least a brother. They must have been in cahoots since he knew my name.”

  “You mean this Ned Morrisey was already here, waiting for his brother?”

  “He was waiting to get a telegram from his brother about who had keys so he could rob us.” This was the only explanation that made sense to Slocum. Twins working together to steal keys and steal a march on anyone who chanced to be first at the finish line after running a legitimate race.

  “What are these keys?” Little Hand asked.

  Slocum explained. The more he went on, the more incredulous the Ute leader looked.

  “You white eyes are crazy. Why do you kill each other for gold?” Little Hand shook his head sadly.

  “But you played poker with Mr. Slocum,” Zoe said. She frowned as she tried to figure out the discrepancy.

  “I like to win. What do I care for your money or gold?” Little Hand made a dismissive gesture.

  “We like to win, too. Think of this as a race where the winner gets great honor,” Slocum said.

  “Honor? Gold!”

  “That, too,” Slocum said, smiling. “We need to get through the mountains to reach this spot.” He knelt and drew a rough map in the dirt. For a moment, he returned to riding scout with Little Hand years before. They had made quite a team, and nothing and no one had eluded them. Some of the scrapes they had gotten into had required them to depend completely on each other. There were men Slocum had known for years that he trusted less than he did Little Hand, even now.

  “You want to get through Hidden Pass and reach the railroad station,” Little Hand said, circling Slocum and the map to study it from all angles.

  Slocum looked up sharply. There hadn’t been mention of a railroad depot in their new race instructions.

  “You didn’t know?” Little Hand shook his head sadly. “This hunt for gold makes you stupid, Slocum. It is not like you to act stupid.”

  “It must be a new spur,” Slocum said. He looked out of the corner of his eye at Zoe. If her confusion had been a fire, every forest in Utah would be ablaze. She understood nothing about their destination.

  “You can ride straight to San Francisco from that point,” Little Hand said. “You should join me, Slocum. We can ride and take scalps!”

  Zoe recoiled at the suggestion.

  “Bring your squaw if you want.” Little Hand leered at her, then laughed at her reaction.

  “I’m not his squaw!” The words exploded from Zoe’s lips, and she glared at the Ute warrior.

  “I’ll buy her from you then, Slocum. Two horses. A stallion and a gelding.”

  “Newly stolen, I suppose?”

  “From the army. Their troopers were mistreating them. Stealing the horses was a boon to everyone.” Little Hand looked suddenly sly. “I will give you three horses, your choice. I won’t even ask to see your squaw’s teeth first.”

  “I’m not—”

  “She’s not for sale, Little Hand. We have horses.”

  “It’s a dangerous trip over the mountains. Sudden snows, wild animals, many ways to die.”

  “You can have Morrisey’s horse,” Slocum said. He ignored Zoe’s outrage. Slocum toyed with the notion of seeing how much Little Hand would pay for the woman, but he knew she would never speak to him again, even if he made the offer in jest. Somehow, that bothered him.

  “I’d take it anyway,” said Little Hand. “We killed him. Everything belonging to a dead enemy is taken by his killer.”

  “He was a great friend,” Slocum lied. He bartered with Little Hand for more than an hour, each of them enjoying the dealing. Slocum eventually settled with the Ute when he saw that Zoe’s patience had worn too thin. If he continued the pleasurable negotiation, she would say or do something that would jeopardize his bond with the Indian.

  “Done,” Little Hand said, sticking out his hand. Slocum took the stunted hand in his much larger one and shook to seal the deal.

  They were on the trail within fifteen minutes, riding single file until Zoe urged her horse to a quicker gait to ride alongside Slocum.

  “Do you trust him?”

  “With my life,” Slocum said. “He pulled my bacon out of the fire more than once, risking his own life to do it. The last time, they wanted to give me a medal when Little Hand was responsible for completing the mission. That’s when I quit scouting and rode down into Mexico for a few months.”

  “He might have made up that railroad station. I never heard of it.”

  “Doesn’t it make sense that the colonel would split the field again, force us to travel over a mountain range, and then put us back onto a train for San Francisco?”

  “We could have stayed on the train,” Zoe said. “If any of the others stayed on the train, they’ll be ahead of us.”

  “Calhoun?” he asked, but he thought of Molly Ibbotson. The lovely woman had plenty to settle. Her brother was dead and she had lost the gold key he had carried. Slocum touched his vest pocket to be certain all the keys were still there. He jerked his hand away. Becoming obsessed with the $50,000—or even winning Colonel Turner’s race—was not any way to live his life.

  “There were so many others,” said Zoe. “I needed to detail every racer, and I failed to do so. It’s difficult to know who is most likely still in the race through pluck and grit.”

  “And a fast gun,” Slocum said. This irritated her, and he didn’t care. It took more than determination to win a treasure hunt like this. A quick six-gun or a willingness to shoot someone in the back trumped all else.

  “You are going to fold your hand, aren’t you?” she asked.

  “What?” Zoe’s comment took him by surprise. “Why do you say that?”

  “I read people, John. You’re fed up with all this,” she said. Zoe looked at Little Hand’s back as he rode ahead. “Perhaps it is something more. The Indian’s invitation to ride with him interested you. Or maybe it enticed you with a siren’s song of days long past.”

  “He’s off the reservation and will be caught soon enough. Every cavalry post in the region is hunting him,” Slocum said. “He knows his freedom is limited, but it doesn’t matter.”

  “That’s it,” Zoe said in triumph. “You share that feeling of needing freedom, but you both know it is fleeting. You fear boundaries.”

  “I’m not afraid of anything,” Slocum said, but the words rang hollow in his ears. He knew she had reached out, grabbed his soul, and now squeezed. He wanted her to let him be, but she wouldn’t.

  “See this through, John. You’re not a coward. No one could ever say that with any conviction. What you are is a romantic seeking a life that is always just a horizon away, always beyond your grasp.”

  “I’m content enough,” he said.

  “No, you’re not. You’re restless, and hunting for something that might not exist.” She paused, thought on it a bit more, and added, “You might be running from something, but it’s more likely you’re running to something—and you don’t know what it is.”

  Again, Slocum felt her silken touch tighten around him. The judge-killing charge lay in his past and sometimes be deviled him, but he paid it little attention these days. Other things sometimes collided with him, but they meant nothing compared to his need to ride on.

  Slocum listened to Zoe with half an ear, lost in his own thoughts. By the time they reached the pass Little Hand had proclaimed was the one leading to the railroad depot, Slocum had come to his conclusion.

  He’d finish the race, w
ith or without Zoe Murchison beside him.

  23

  Molly Ibbotson watched the conductor fifty yards down the track waggling the lantern back and forth to warn the approaching train of the derailment. She stood away from the train with her fingers curled around the derringer in her purse. Sid Calhoun had to be on the other train, and he wouldn’t brook any competition.

  Or would he? Her mind raced as she worked through various schemes. Her brother was likely dead or in prison because he was a fool. That meant she was on her own if she wanted to win the race. And she did, with every fiber of her being. The money was a lure unlike anything she had ever experienced in her life. Always before, success had been just beyond her grasp, and never as lucrative as this. She realized she had been a petty hustler before, but now had the chance to strike it rich—and big.

  Creaking metal warned her to move farther from the passenger car. The crew levered the car back onto the rails. She looked from the men struggling to repair the tracks to the train now stopped down the line. She sucked in her breath when she saw a flash of sunlight off Skunk Swain’s white stripe of hair. Sid Calhoun was nowhere to be seen, but he couldn’t be far away. Molly slipped and slid down a cinder-covered incline away from the tracks and began walking downhill. It did her no good to hide. Without supplies and a heavy coat, she would die in the mountain pass before midnight.

  She had to take the bull by the horns. She drew her derringer and began creeping back up the incline to the track bed behind the second train. Several passengers had climbed down to study how the other crew worked to get the car back onto the track. The loose rail that had caused the derailment had already been replaced, and when the passenger car sat on its wheels again, both trains could continue.

  Molly ducked under the caboose and came out on the other side. Her hand turned sweaty, but was steady. When Swain appeared suddenly, Molly lifted her pistol and fired. The recoil startled her, but the spray of blood from the hole she put in Swain’s skull caused her to flinch. A drop got into her eye and turned the world black, until she blinked the dead man’s blood free.

  When she saw clearly again, she whirled around to determine if her murder had been detected. The tiny pop from the derringer had gone unnoticed. She edged toward Swain and kicked him with the toe of her shoe. The surprised expression on his face didn’t change. His unseeing eyes stared up at her in disbelief.

  Molly dropped to her knees and began rifling the man’s pockets. He had a few silver dollars in a vest pocket, but she left those and ripped the cloth, getting four gold keys free.

  “You did me a favor,” came the cold voice. “I was thinkin’ on doin’ the same thing to him that you just did. Swain was a back-shooter, pure and simple.”

  Molly pulled the keys closer to her chest and fingered the derringer. One round remained. She half turned and stared down the barrel of Calhoun’s .44. It looked bigger than a railroad tunnel and darker.

  “You won’t shoot me,” she said. “We need each other.”

  “Why’s that? You stole the keys off Swain’s corpse. I shoot you and steal them and whatever else you’ve got. I come out ahead all around.”

  “But why do it alone?”

  This caused him to pause. Molly knew that every second she stayed alive and talking, the closer Calhoun came to letting her live.

  “We can join forces, Sid, and more than double our chances to win.”

  “If I have all the keys, I win,” Calhoun said. The six-shooter wavered just a mite.

  “Maybe,” Molly said. “Might be we get there and find someone else has beat us to the strongbox. Sometimes, how you get there is better than arriving.”

  “How’s that?”

  “And if we do lose out, I’ll be there to console you—and you can console me.”

  “What are you going on about?” He sounded tough, but Molly knew he was weakening by the way the muzzle no longer pointed directly at her. She stood slowly, keeping the derringer hidden in the folds of her skirt.

  “I like your looks, Sid. You’re not namby-pamby like my brother. You’re a man. A real man, and one I could get to like.”

  “Do tell?”

  “We were meant to team up from the start, Sid, and it’s taken me this long to realize I can’t finish the race without you. And you need to think who you’re teamed up with also. Swain wasn’t right for you if you worried about him shooting you in the back.”

  “Curly wasn’t so good either.”

  “Another weak link,” she pressed. “Not like me.”

  “So I’d have to watch my back with you, too?”

  “I didn’t say that right. I’m not a weak link, but I am a soft, feminine one. And you’ve got a long and hard link,” she finished. Her beauty was working on him if the growing bulge at his crotch was any indication. She licked her perfect lips, using only the tip of her tongue, and thrust out her chest just enough to be suggestive, but not so much that he thought she was leading him on.

  “You thinkin’ on teamin’ up with me?” Calhoun asked.

  “Why not? A woman always likes to go with the strongest man. That’s you.”

  “You were the one who shot Swain.”

  “For you, Sid, for you.” Molly moved closer. Her finger tightened on the derringer trigger, but her mind ran ahead, planning and figuring odds. She kissed him. For a moment it was awkward, the derringer in her hand and the six-shooter in his. They found a way to wrap arms around each other and make the kiss more satisfying.

  “They about got the car on the other train ready to roll,” Calhoun said.

  “And I’ve about got you ready to roll,” she said. Her free hand pressed against the man’s hard belly and worked over his gun belt to rest on his crotch. She felt the pulsation there and, to her surprise, she felt something more. He excited her. She was willing to do whatever was necessary to win Colonel Turner’s prize, but she hadn’t expected Calhoun to make her heart race just a little faster.

  “Let’s get on your train,” he said, “and find a spot where we can get some privacy.”

  “The mail car,” she said, remembering how she had flopped down on the mailbags when she thought Calhoun and Swain were boarding back in Salt Lake City.

  They hurried along and went up the metal steps between cars. Molly put her finger to her lips to keep Calhoun quiet as she opened the door and peered inside. The mail car clerk was nowhere to be seen. He had probably helped get the passenger car back onto the rails.

  Calhoun crowded behind her and pushed her into the car. Molly swung about, grabbed him by the shoulders, and pulled him down on top of her as she flopped into the stack of canvas bags filled with mail. Calhoun fumbled, and got his hands under her skirt and lifted. She trembled as his calloused hands worked up against her tender inner thighs—and then went higher still. His thick finger entered her, and sent a tremor of stark desire throughout her body that shocked her.

  “Do it, Sid. Hard, take me hard. I like it like that.”

  He didn’t have to be asked twice. He scooted the rest of her skirt up around her waist as she parted her legs, eager for him. She felt all liquid inside, and then she felt his hardness driving inward. Molly gasped and closed her eyes, letting him have his way. As a lover, he was about what she’d expected. He stroked brutally, intent only on his own pleasure, but Molly needed that kind of power now.

  She cried out as her muscles locked hard, and she clamped down around him. He grunted as he arched his back and tried to drive even deeper into her yielding core.

  Calhoun heaved a sigh and twisted around to lie on his back beside her.

  “Damn, lady, you’re good.”

  “So are you, my prince, so are you,” she said. He had needed what she offered, and she had gotten what she needed from him. It had been too long, but now that the animal hunger had been sated, it was time for her to think a bit harder about the gold and what she wanted from Sid Calhoun.

  She stroked over his cheek until he snorted and turned away, going to sleep. Th
e train whistle sounded, momentarily bringing him back awake, but Molly soothed him as she would a small child, as she had done so often for her brother, and Calhoun fell into a deeper sleep.

  It wouldn’t be long until the mail clerk returned. She disengaged her arm from under Calhoun’s head and sat up to smooth her skirts. The train rattled along as it had before the derailment. The trouble had been minor, but it had set her back and let Calhoun overtake her. It was time to make this pay off.

  She got to her feet and went to the small rolltop desk at the rear of the car. A bit of rifling located what she knew was there. A ring of keys rattled as she held them up. A few seconds of fumbling opened the ring and let the keys spill into her hand. She returned to where Calhoun snored loudly, sank down beside him, and began lightly touching every pocket until she located the gold keys he had stolen.

  With the deft, sure fingers of a pickpocket, she pulled out the golden keys Calhoun had tucked away and replaced them with keys from the mail clerk’s ring. The lurching train and the gentle roll to the car made the substitution tricky, but this was hardly the first time she had taken what she wanted from a sleeping man’s pockets.

  Only when she had a full dozen of the gold keys safely hidden away did Molly lie back and stare up at the roof of the mail car. Slivers of blue sky shone through followed by occasional glints of bright sunlight. The rays warmed her almost as much as the knowledge she was going to be $50,000 richer very soon.

  24

  “For another horse, I’ll see you down into town,” Little Hand said.

  “But you’re running from the law,” Zoe protested. Then she saw both Slocum and Little Hand were laughing. “You two! Can’t you ever be serious?”

  “Life is too short for that,” Little Hand said.

  Slocum reached out and shook the Ute’s hand. The Indian looked down and then shook back.