by Jake Logan
“I can’t see.”
“You have to or you’ll never see your wife and daughter again.” Slocum used the only goad he could think of. It worked. “They’re holed up in a ghost town on the eastern side of the hills. You go blind and you’ll never find your way to them.”
“I know the place. We passed that town ’fore we started into the canyons.”
Watson dabbed at his eyes and then used his sleeve to get even more swiped off before turning his head to the side and blinking fast and hard. He cried out again, forcing Slocum to reach over and clamp a hand over his mouth. A guard stood above them, outlined against the dawn. Slocum couldn’t tell if the outcry had drawn his attention or if something else had stirred up Mackenzie’s henchmen.
When Watson stifled himself, still fighting to clear his vision, Slocum reached for his six-gun and steadied it to take out the guard. But the shot wasn’t needed. The guard sent a stream of urine arching out until it formed a tiny rivulet that made its way into the pond. Then he buttoned up and left. Slocum let out his pent-up breath and relaxed a mite. That single shot would have meant their deaths when other guards swarmed over to see about the ruckus.
“Everything’s blurred, but I can see better. I’m not blind.” Watson started to rub his eyes. Slocum stopped him.
“Keep blinking. Don’t force more muck into your eyes.”
“Feels like I’m bawling with so many tears pouring out.” Watson looked up with his bloodshot eyes and smiled wanly. “Thanks. You saved my life and maybe my sight.”
“We’re not out of trouble yet,” Slocum said.
He looked up the slope and saw how slick it was as sunlight glanced off the shiny black surface. Climbing would be a chore, but he saw rocky areas to support their weight. He pointed out the spots to Watson, then started up. After a few of the stones gave way under his weight, Slocum slowed and made certain of every hand- and foothold before pulling himself higher.
Watson slid back a few times but was only a yard behind Slocum when he reached the rim. Slocum flopped onto his belly and grabbed the other man’s arm, pulling him to safety.
“I lost the rifle,” Watson said.
Slocum thought that was for the best. Watson’s anger at being imprisoned and forced to work in the mine, what Mackenzie had done to his wife and daughters—all those reasons increased the likelihood that Watson would fly off the handle in a quest for revenge.
“If we steal horses, they’ll know right away.”
“The wagon,” Watson said. “It’s daybreak. If the wagon’s leaving, we might sneak out on it.”
“What wagon?”
“Every week a wagon’s sent south. There’s a town on the railroad there. Mackenzie buys supplies using gold dust.”
“We might be lucky. With so much destroyed in town, Mackenzie will want to get supplies right away.”
“I saw him overseeing a wagon being loaded with the gold dust this morning, right before they sent me to the mine. It always leaves at first light.”
“Where’s it leave from? The center of town?”
“No, from here.”
Slocum got to his feet, helped Watson stand, and turned him around to get his bearings. The man’s eyes still watered, but they looked sharp.
“Over there,” Watson added, pointing. “The supply warehouse is right there.”
Slocum ran to the building, aware that the shift change would bring out double the number of guards. Since Mackenzie had already ordered more of his gang into the mines after the fire, the place would be swarming soon.
He and Watson pressed against the warehouse wall. Slocum opened a door and chanced a quick look inside.
“Four guards. Two are loading the gold, two are already in the driver’s box.”
“What are we going to do?” Watson talked to empty air.
Slocum reacted fast. He scooped up a rock as he went into the warehouse. He heaved it hard enough to bang into the far wall, drawing all four men’s attention. With a savage swing, Slocum decked one guard. The other responded, only to catch a hard punch to his gut, doubling him over. Slocum lifted his knee and caught the man on the chin. From the way his head snapped back, he might have broken his neck. He slumped to the floor and lay still as Slocum hopped into the wagon bed and slid under the tarp.
He reached for his six-shooter when he heard a disturbance behind him but realized Watson had finally joined him.
“The driver and his partner didn’t see you drop the guards.”
The wagon clanked, creaked, and rattled from the warehouse, drowning out Watson’s report. Slocum pulled a canvas bag over and pounded his fist on it. He unlaced the top and saw it was filled with dozens of smaller leather bags.
“This much gold can make a man very rich and very happy,” Slocum said.
The wagon hit a rock and sent both him and Watson flying, to crash back down. The sack of gold hardly budged. It would take the wagon to make off with the gold, but Slocum already considered how to get away with the shiny dust. All of it. Mackenzie owed him.
That thought sparked another. Rawhide Rawlins owed him, too. He hadn’t located the cowboy, much less found out why he had hightailed it with the bank loot. Getting the Watson family free from their bondage was a start. Rescuing Erika went even farther, but Rawhide presented a different problem.
He drifted off to sleep, exhausted from all he had been through. His body hurt and had passed the limits of endurance. He had no idea how long he had slept but knew when he woke up that Linc Watson was gone.
So was the gold dust.
“Danged wheel’s loose,” came the loud complaint from up front. “Thought it’d go spinnin’ off when you hit that pothole.”
“Ain’t my fault,” grumbled the driver. “You was supposed to tighten the wheel nut ’fore we left, but you was too hungover to do it.”
Slocum listened to the pair argue. He was in a dangerous spot. Watson had left with the gold dust. Leaving his rescuer behind was another way of putting distance between him and Mackenzie’s men.
Anger built as Slocum turned that notion over in his head. Watson had left him to die after having his wife and girls rescued. Without the key and a helping hand, Watson would have died in the gold mine. He cursed his foolishness telling Watson where they were as a goad to get him to safety. Once he had mentioned Alicia and Mrs. Watson hiding out in the ghost town, Slocum’s usefulness disappeared.
“Got a wrench in the back o’ the wagon. Gimme a hand with it.”
Slocum slipped his gun from his holster, lay flat on his back, and waited. The tarp went flying. The two men jumped back startled when they saw their unexpected cargo.
“Make a move for your six-shooters and you’re dead,” Slocum said, sitting up.
The wagon’s poor condition betrayed him. As his weight shifted, the wagon lurched and the wheel popped off, sending him sliding. The shock of seeing him had worn off. Both men slapped leather. The air filled with lead. Slocum caught a bit of luck when neither of the men proved much of a marksman. He got off a round, sending them scurrying away like frightened rabbits. This gave him the chance to flop over the side of the wagon and land hard on the ground. The tilted bulk of the wagon sheltered him from more slugs sent his way.
Outnumbered and outgunned, he made his way to the nervous team. Working underneath, he unfastened the two horses. He intended to jump on the yoke between them and get away. His luck failed him now. As he stepped up to grab the harness, one horse reared. Slocum was thrown back and landed hard against the wagon.
Momentarily stunned, he failed to hang on to the harness as the horses galloped away.
“The gold’s gone. That varmint stole the gold!”
The complaint warned Slocum that at least one man had jumped onto the sloping wagon bed and moved forward. He swung about and flopped on his belly, estimating where the man would be. H
e squeezed off a couple rounds, shooting through the wagon bed. From the squeal of outrage, he had winged the man.
That still left him in a precarious position. Now he faced two furious gunmen, one of them wounded.
“Give us back the gold, and we’ll let you go free,” lied the gunman in the wagon bed.
Slocum heard boots scraping across the wood. Moving fast, Slocum rolled from the protection of the wagon as slugs ripped through the spot where he had been. He caught a flash of the man in the wagon bed levering his rifle and firing as fast as he could. It took Mackenzie’s man a second to realize Slocum was no longer under the wagon.
Slocum squeezed off a round. He doubted he hit his target, but the rifleman dived for cover. Where the driver had gone didn’t matter as long as Slocum could get the hell away. He ran for cover, sliding into a ditch alongside the road as another fusillade ripped through the air above his head.
He checked his pistol. He was low on ammo. If the men firing at him stopped, put into effect a decent attack, and launched at him, he was a goner. He sank down, thinking hard. As his ear pressed into the ground, he heard distant hoofbeats. His luck never improved. That had to be reinforcements sent from the mine to find out what had happened to the men he had left on the warehouse floor. If he failed to get away now, he would end up with shackles on his legs and working the mine again—or worse.
His back and torso ached from the wounds Mackenzie had inflicted with his razor-sharp thunderbird talons. Slocum couldn’t rely on the Sioux to free him if he got strung up again.
The vibration from the horses’ hooves changed to sound that filled the air. He glanced over his shoulder and saw two distant dark spots coming fast. A quick check of his Colt told him he was in big trouble. Caught between the two in the wagon and the approaching riders, he was a goner.
Sidling along in the ditch moved him away from the wagon. He took a couple shots to keep those men away. If they charged, they had him. He couldn’t remember how many shots he had left, but if he had two, it would be a miracle.
“John!”
Hearing his name caused him to perk up and look around. It took a second to realize the two horses galloping toward him carried only one rider—Erika. The horse with the empty saddle was his gelding. He tried waving but drew fire and fell back. She would make a target of herself if she came closer to rescue him, but he would get himself filled with lead if he stood and ran to her.
She understood the problem, aimed his horse in his direction, and gave its rump a hefty slap. She stayed out of range as the gelding thundered toward him. When he saw the horse’s path, he acted. Gathering his legs under him, he sprang out, dodged, and wove about crazily as the driver and guard fired wildly. His horse raced past. One chance. That was all he had. His fingers snaring the reins, he took three quick steps and jumped. His fingers curled around the saddle horn and then he was being dragged along until he kicked hard and became airborne. He landed in the saddle and immediately shifted his weight to steer the horse away from the road.
From behind he heard angry cries and finally the bullets stopped seeking his flesh. He had ridden out of range. The gelding strained on until Erika came alongside.
“You can ease up now,” she called.
He complied and let the gelding slow until it came to a halt.
“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” he told her.
“I happened to be out for a morning ride and thought it’d be good if you joined me.”
“Right about now, there’s nothing I’d like better.”
“You stirred up everyone in town ’bout as good as I did. It took the better part of an hour for them to put out the fire. Mackenzie has been ranting and raving. Offered a hundred-dollar reward for you.”
“That’s all?” Slocum said dryly.
“I think you’re worth more. You came back for me.”
“Watson lit out with a bag of gold dust. Mackenzie’s not going to like that when he hears.”
“Any idea where he’s going? Seems we ought to be cut in, considering he would still be swinging a pick in the mine if not for us.”
“I told him his wife and daughter were going to an abandoned town on the other side of those hills.” He pointed to the red-and-yellow stratified mountains due east. “I like the idea that he settle up since . . .” Slocum’s words trailed off.
Rawhide Rawlins had money that was his. A share of it, at least. They had earned that money, and thinking of it as stolen from the bank hardly counted. It was money owed him, Rawlins, and Dupree by a scoundrel of a rancher. But a share of Mackenzie’s dust would make a fine replacement.
“Can we find him?”
“He was on foot,” Slocum said, “but I don’t know how much of a head start he has.” Carrying the heavy sack of gold dust would slow any man. “I don’t cotton much to taking the road through the hills since we’d have to pass those damned guard towers.”
“We’re miles south of that canyon,” Erika said. “I saw a map of the entire area Mackenzie uses. He’s got his projects up north and built this road south to Upton.”
“That’s where he swaps the gold for supplies?”
“A train that comes through every week or so. We might catch it,” she said hopefully.
“I don’t have two nickels to rub together.”
“Me neither,” she said, scowling. “You say Watson is on foot? And you know where he’s headed?”
Slocum smiled. He liked the way Erika thought.
19
Two days later Slocum still hadn’t found Watson’s trail, but he and Erika had made good progress finding their own way through the winding canyons of this stretch of Badlands. The colorful rock turned vivid reds and yellows in the sunsets and sunrises, making the ride pleasant.
Riding with Erika made it doubly so. They had finally reached the point of exhaustion and stopped for the night. Slocum stretched and fumbled to pull his blanket up over his shoulder. It had been a chilly night and the morning carried an icy stab to it that promised winter approaching fast. He groped for the blanket but failed to find it.
What his fingers did touch caused him to roll over. A broad smile came to his lips. Erika had stolen his blanket and had pulled it around her naked shoulders. The dawn light turned her breasts alabaster even as the cold turned her nipples into taut little pink buttons. He had reached out for the blanket and found the thatch between her legs.
“That wasn’t an accident, was it?” he asked.
“Took me a while to position myself so you’d touch me there if you hunted for the blanket,” she said. She clamped her thighs together and trapped his hand.
He moved it up across satiny skin and found the moist spot at the juncture.
“I’m ready for you, John. Been ready for a long time. I wondered if you were going to sleep away the entire day.”
“Got a good reason now to get up.”
She reached out and pressed her palm into his crotch.
“Yeah, you have.” She squeezed down, then moved to pop the buttons on his fly and release the pillar of lust she had built.
The instant it emerged into the cool morning air, she dived down on it, engulfing it with her mouth. She sucked and licked and caused him to arch his back. He wanted to slam himself upward as hard as he could, but her fingers toying with his balls and her tongue stroking along the underside of his manhood controlled him fully. She began bobbing up and down, keeping a powerful suction applied to his length.
Slocum sank back to the floor of the cave where they’d spent the night. The first night had been frantic for them, sure that Mackenzie’s men were on their trail. He had spotted spoor from several riders who had passed only a few hours earlier. Pushing their horses to the limit, they had been physically spent.
That had been followed by another day of wandering through the canyons, worrying that they were going to be seen o
r get so lost they would die in the rocky wasteland. But the previous night had brought some relief. Slocum recognized terrain farther along the canyon and knew by midday they would reach the ghost town where he had sent the Watsons.
Knowing the destination let them both relax. And enjoy the scenery some more.
Slocum ran his hands over Erika’s back, pulling the blanket up over her bare ass. He cupped those curvy buttocks and squeezed down every time she sank another inch down his shaft. When he worked his way around a bit farther, he stroked over her moist nether lips and finally ran a finger into her hot interior. Her gasp at the intrusion gave them both a surge of desire.
Slocum fought to keep from spewing forth as her lips worked on the sides of his column and her tongue wiggled against the sensitive underside. Then she let him pop out and licked her lips. She looked him squarely in the eye.
Words weren’t necessary. He gripped her firm rear and pulled her around so she straddled his waist, legs spread and her crotch directly over the tip that had been in her mouth.
“Ride ’em, cowgirl,” he said as she lowered herself and took him fully within her clutching tunnel.
“Oh, yeah,” she said softly. Closing her eyes, she began rising off the throbbing rod within her. When only the plum tip remained within her, she paused, then lowered herself again to take him completely.
Slocum reached up and cupped her breasts. The warm white globes flowed pliantly under his grip. He caught at the cold-hardened nipples and tweaked. The blood pulsing into them made the points even harder. From them he stroked down into the valley between her tits, circled around them, and slowly moved back up her body to stroke her cheek.
She turned her head, caught his finger in her lips, and gave it the same treatment she had performed lower on his body. All the while her restless hips moved up, down, in a slow rotary motion that stirred him about within her like a spoon in a bowl.
He felt sweat beginning to bead on her cheeks and body as her arousal grew. Her hips flew like a shuttlecock now, creating a friction between them that threatened to burn Slocum to a nub. He wanted more and told her.
