Slocum and the Big Timber Belles

by Jake Logan

  “I suppose some men do.”

  “You smoke cheroots, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll get you one and light it for you.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” he said.

  “Happy?” she asked as she slid out of bed.

  “Yes. Very happy. You?”

  “Supremely happy, John.”

  He watched her trip barefooted across the floor like some sylph-like creature, all curves and angles, a sprite of a woman, her skin glowing in the dim light of the sun’s rays streaming through the window. She lifted his shirt and found his cheroots. She took one in hand and found his box of matches. She glided back to the bed, a smile on her face.

  He opened his mouth and she placed the thin cigar between his lips. She struck a match and the smell of phosphorous stung his nostrils. He puffed and the end of the cheroot glowed as he drew its smoke into his lungs.

  “We still have our drinks, too,” she said. “Would you like a taste?”

  “Umm,” he said, rolling the cheroot from one side of his mouth to the other.

  She laughed, and her laugh was girlish as she pranced to the bar and lifted their glasses. Slocum sat up and put a pillow behind his back. He saw an ashtray on the bedside table next to him. He tamped the ash from his smoke and laid the cheroot against the rim.

  “Here’s to a wonderful afternoon,” she said. She handed him his glass and clinked hers against his.

  “Yes,” he said. “Wonderful.”

  She sat on the bed and drank. She looked at his nakedness with an admiring sweep of her eyes.

  “You are some man, John Slocum.”

  He looked at her in frank admiration.

  “And you’re a woman to ride the river with, Velva. Truly.”

  “I’d ride anywhere with you,” she said.

  They drank. Slocum smoked and they saw the sun dropping low in the sky. Shadows striped the lawn outside her window. A quail piped from somewhere, its trill hanging in the air like the last notes of a minor symphony.

  “Are you hungry?” she asked after a time.

  “I could eat,” he admitted.

  “I’ m famished.”

  “Let’s eat then,” he said.

  They dined by candlelight on the veranda at the back of the house. Dusk brought a soft glow to the sky and seemed to linger as they ate and flirted with each other. They spoke with their eyes, and occasionally, she reached across the table and stroked the back of his hand. She wore a simple slip-on dress that clung to her body, all silken with a dull satiny sheen. His hair was still slightly tousled, and stubble sprouted from his jaw and chin.

  Clarissa was invisible until they were finished eating. Then she appeared with a tray and set cups and saucers before them, cleared away their plates and utensils. She returned in moments with coffee steaming in a pot, a small pitcher of cream, and a bowl of sugar with a dainty spoon sticking out of it. She poured coffee into their cups and set an ashtray near Slocum. There were three wooden matchsticks inside the tray.

  “Thank you, Clarissa,” Slocum said.

  She curtsied and smiled, then vanished into the kitchen as soundless as a bunny.

  Velva laughed.

  “I brought her over from Italy,” she said.

  “She’s British?”

  “Oh my, no. She’s as American as you or I are. She traveled abroad and got stranded in Italy. She worked at a pensione and I discovered her, brought her back with me. She’s a delightful companion and loves to keep house.”

  He lit a cheroot and sipped his coffee. The aroma was heady and it tasted faintly European. He supposed she had imported the coffee, too, but made no comment.

  “I’m so happy, John,” she said. “The funeral for Albert was dreadful and I was very low afterwards. And I was a little gloomy about coming home to an empty house. Even though Albert and I slept in separate rooms, he was something of a presence.”

  “I understand,” he said. “You get used to someone.”

  “I couldn’t stand to be around my husband,” she said, “but he was like an old pair of shoes that were once comfortable and you hate to throw them out.”

  Slocum said nothing. He smoked and gazed out at the twilight, the soft contours of the mountains, the darkening trees.

  “Will you stay the night?” she asked, changing the subject.

  “I could,” he said. “I have no good reason to go back to the hotel tonight.”

  “But do you want to stay?”

  “Yes.”

  “I still want you, you know.”

  “Yes,” he said. “I want you, too. Again.”

  His words brought a smile to her face and she stood up, walked around the table, and embraced him. She buried her face in his dark hair and drew his scent into her nostrils.

  “Oh, your smell,” she breathed. “It’s better than wine. Better than French wine.”

  “That was good wine we had at supper,” he said.

  “It was a Bordeaux. It’s almost as old as I am, I think.”

  They both laughed and he grasped her hand and kissed it.

  “I could get used to you, John,” she said. She glided away from him and walked to the railing on the veranda. The glow in the sky faded and the clouds turned ashen in the hush of evening.

  Slocum did not say anything. He did not want to spoil the moment, nor dash her hopes.

  But he was a man who did not settle, did not tarry long in any particular places. He was a rover and that was his nature. He had known many beautiful women, and he had taken much pleasure from them. But he had avoided rings and ceremonies, dollies and halters. He roamed free like the herds of buffalo, or the prowling panther.

  He blew a smoke ring and watched it dance in the air like some ghostly doughnut. Then it wriggled free of its form and disintegrated into gray wisps that were like cobwebs blown to pieces by a hidden wind.

  The land hushed and there was a deep silence between them. They lingered over their coffees and gazed into each other’s eyes.

  They both knew what was coming and were only waiting for night to draw them into its dark ocean like two mating seals on a deserted beach.

  When they ascended the stairs, the house creaked with a dozen invisible clocks and they held each other’s hands like children off on an adventurous lark. They entered the bedroom and Velva did not light a lamp. There was only the sound of their rustling clothes and the clatter of his boots to break the seemingly eternal silence.

  10

  Dave Jenner was sitting outside the hotel on one of the benches when Slocum rode up just after dawn. The sky was peach in the east and the last star was fading in the blue sky.

  “Had breakfast yet, Slocum?” Jenner asked.

  Slocum patted his belly and nodded.

  “I’ve got grub in my saddlebags. Wondered if you wanted to take a little ride, do some trackin’ ?”

  Jenner got up, squared his hat, and walked to the edge of the porch.

  Slocum looked down at him, then at the hitchrail.

  “I see two horses saddled here and a pair of mules loaded with panniers.”

  “That’s Donnie’s horse, and the pack mules.”

  “He’s goin’ with us?”

  “Part of the deal I made with Mallory. He says he needs meat, and if you want your rent paid, you got to take Donnie up and bring back an elk.”

  “I could quit,” Slocum said.

  Jenner laughed.

  “No need. We’re just going to look around, follow them horse tracks to that old camp. If that bunch is holed up there, you and Donnie can hunt elk and I’ll come back and see if I can raise a posse.”

  “You have it all figured out, don’t you, Dave?”

  “You and I can’t do much if that camp’s full of Crow and hard cases. What do you call it in the Army? Take a look-see?”

  “Reconnoiter,” Slocum said.

  Donnie came out of the hotel then, still chewing on something from breakfast. He wiped his mouth a
nd grinned at Slocum.

  “Daddy says we got to bring back an elk, Mr. Slocum.”

  “Did Sheriff Jenner tell you how dangerous it might be if you tag along with us?”

  “Dangerous?”

  “Yes, dangerous.”

  “I told Donnie we’d drop him off at a campsite of your choosing while you and I take a look at that place we talked about.”

  “Oh, I see,” Slocum said. “It’s kind of a two-pronged mission. Hunting two birds with one stone.”

  “We’re just reconnoitering, remember?” Jenner said.

  “What’s ‘reconnoiterin’?” Donnie asked.

  “Never mind,” Slocum said. He looked at Jenner.

  “Let’s go. Donnie, get on your horse and pull those two mules.”

  “Yes, sir,” Donnie said. “I got saddlebags full of grub, candles, matches, a hatchet, and all kinds of stuff in case we have to stay up there a few nights.”

  Slocum drew a breath through his nostrils and bowed his head. Donnie scampered off the porch and untied the mules, held the rope, and climbed into his saddle. Jenner walked down the steps and mounted his horse.

  “You missed a fine evening at the hotel, John,” Jenner said as they rode down Main Street to the Billings Road. “Them two gals gave a hell of a performance. The dining room was packed. Took folks’ minds off of what happened yesterday.”

  “Some folks have short memories,” Slocum said.

  “By the way,” Jenner said, “I got you a dozen cheroots at the general store yesterday. You owe me sixty cents.”

  “At that price, they must be made out of rope.”

  “Hemp, Slocum. I bought myself one and turned green when I smoked it.”

  Slocum laughed.

  Donnie trailed along behind them, shivering in his light denim jacket. Cool air blew off the Yellowstone and the sky to the east was now a pale yellow, cloudless. Slocum had acclimated himself to the altitude, but his first days in Big Timber had brought mild headaches. Now he breathed the morning air with relish, filling his lungs with the dregs of the cool breeze that braced them.

  “Them two gals looked all around for you last night. Jasmine wondered where you had gone.”

  “You tell her?” Slocum said.

  “Nope. I told her you were probably worn down to a nub and asleep in your room. Why? Does it matter?”

  “No, Dave. It doesn’t matter.”

  “I think Mallory is going to hire them on. So they may be in town for a spell.”

  “I reckon we can handle a couple more belles in Big Timber.”

  “I’m worried about Jasmine’s ex-husband, that Bruno feller. He might be more trouble than I can handle.”

  “He might. If he finds out she’s working at the hotel, he might just show up there.”

  “I was thinkin’ that. I could use them gals as bait to bring that bastard out in the open.”

  “Only thing is, Bruno’s not alone. He’s got him a gang of hard cases and some bloodthirsty Crow Indians.”

  “Yeah,” Jenner said and kept silent for a time.

  When they reached the site of the ambush, Jenner called a halt.

  “What now, Slocum?” he asked.

  Slocum turned to Donnie.

  “Do you think you can find your way back to where we kept the mules, by that cave?”

  “I think so,” Donnie said. “I just ride on up that woodcutters’ road to where we found the Lorraines and their manager, then up the opposite slope.”

  “Above that bluff where we kept the mules, there’s a flat place, with trees and a little spring-fed stream. Make camp there and wait for me. I should be there before sunset. Can you do that, Donnie?”

  “I sure can,” he said with a wide grin on his face.

  “I don’t want you to leave that place. Don’t hunt elk, and if you see any, don’t shoot them. Understand?”

  “Sure, I understand,” Donnie said.

  “Whatever you do, just stay put up behind that bluff where the cave is. I mean it.”

  “I’ll do just what you say, Mr. Slocum.”

  “If you don’t,” Jenner said, “you might get killed.”

  Donnie’s eyes widened and he swallowed. He looked a little sickly for a moment.

  He waved good-bye to the two men and started up the old logging road, pulling the mules behind him. He did not look back.

  “I’m glad that’s over,” Jenner said. “I know you have to make meat for Mallory and he’s tied that albatross of a kid around your neck. The kid just doesn’t look right to me.”

  “He’s all right. Just young. Let’s get to the job you and I have in front of us.”

  Donnie disappeared from sight and Jenner heaved a sigh.

  Jenner and Slocum rode up the slight ridge and into the timber. They went past the place where the Crow and Bruno had waited to bushwhack the coach and wagons.

  “That soft soil made the tracks easy to follow,” Jenner said.

  “Yes, but you know where that old camp is, right?”

  “I have a general idea. We’ll follow the tracks up the mountain, and when I think we’re getting near that place, we’ll turn off and come up parallel to it. We don’t want to ride right up on where they’re stayin’ .”

  Slocum nodded.

  “Lead the way,” he said.

  Jenner ticked his horse in its flanks and they scrambled up on the small ridge. They followed the tracks that went both ways. The trail led through deadfalls and past elk wallows and deer trails. Jays flitted among the spruce and pines like fluttering blue lights, chirping but not squawking.

  The sun rose higher in the sky and shot rays through the timber, lighting up small glades and moving shadows around like chess pieces.

  They topped one foothill, then another. The riders they tracked had taken the easiest path from a higher elevation, skirting rocky outcroppings, riding around large deadfalls where mighty pines had toppled.

  The two men did not speak. They rode slowly through the tall timber and tried not to make noise. At one point, they heard noises and stopped. Three antlerless elk arose from wallows and lumbered off through the trees. They watched them go without comment. But they were both thinking the same thing. Slocum could have killed one of them, dressed it out, and taken the meat back to the hotel.

  An hour passed, then another.

  Jenner reined up and waited for Slocum to come alongside.

  “I think that old camp is over the next rise,” Jenner whispered.

  Slocum looked up. The slope was steep. Mountain peaks rose behind it, some snowcapped. It was hard to tell if there was a plateau beyond the rise, but he had seen such places before in the high Rockies.

  “We better start making a circle,” Slocum said, his voice barely audible.

  “Split up?” Jenner said.

  “No. If we see anything, we need to see it together.”

  “I agree.”

  “You need to figure out how big that camp is and how far we have to ride to flank it.”

  “I think I can do that,” Jenner said.

  They rode in a straight line parallel to the ridge that they deemed to be above them. It was rough going, with deep gullies and fallen trees they had to circumvent. Rocky outcroppings that looked like the ruins of ancient cities blocked their path at times. The horses clawed their way up steep grades that were still soft from melted spring snow, and in shadowed places, white snow glistened like ermine pelts.

  The air was thin and cool. Slocum figured they must be about 10,000 or 11,000 feet above sea level. When he looked up at the peaks, he could see where the timberline was, where gray granite began.

  They jumped a young mule deer, watched it gallop downhill at an angle, its hooves flying, its tail a dim flag as it bounded between the fir and spruce, the tall pines.

  Finally, Jenner turned his horse and they began to climb again. They cleared the ridge and saw that they were on a shelf, a plateau, dotted with trees. Chipmunks scuttled away from them and dove into burrows.
Partridges took flight or ran for cover, their gray bodies fat, their wings covered with dust.

  Beyond the plateau, they saw the flat granite shape of limestone bluffs. Water seeped from rifts and fissures in the rock, and there was a small creek that ran parallel to the lofty mountains beyond.

  Jenner stopped and looked off down the flat.

  “Look familiar?” Slocum whispered.

  “Somewhat. I think that camp is yonder. This plateau widens out. I remember the flat was pretty wide, better’n a quarter mile.”

  “Maybe we ought to tie up our horses over in the pines and proceed on foot.”

  “I think you’re right, Slocum. It could be just beyond that clump of juniper and spruce trees, or another mile or two.”

  “We can walk it,” Slocum said.

  They rode a short distance, then dismounted. They concealed their horses in a small grove of bushy firs and spruce, tied them to juniper bushes. They slid their rifles from their sheaths. Jenner reached into his saddlebag and pulled out two sandwiches wrapped in brown paper. He handed one to Slocum.

  “You want to carry your canteen?”

  Slocum shook his head.

  “Too noisy. We got a little creek here if we get real thirsty.”

  He stuffed his sandwich inside his shirt. Jenner did the same.

  The two men walked along the bluff, through scraggly pines and thickets of alder bushes. They stopped every few minutes to listen. They made little noise, and what noise they did make was drowned out by the burble of the small creek as it coursed its way over worn pebbles and fallen rocks.

  After a time, when they stopped, they heard voices. Men’s voices. They listened, but neither could make out the words. They moved closer, crouched over, each step careful and slow.

  They came to a place where there was a game trail leading upward from the flat. It was grassy and gradual. Jenner stopped and gestured toward it.

  Slocum nodded.

  They left the plateau and climbed carefully up the sloping game trail as wide as a wagon. Then they followed a well-worn path along the top of the bluff.

  Jenner stopped and pointed downward.

  Slocum craned his neck and saw the outline of a log cabin.

  It was very quiet and the voices had gone silent.