by Jake Logan
“Dad wanted to grow alfalfa,” she said, wrapped in a robe and standing on the rise behind him.
“Not enough water?”
“Not enough, but he dreamed about it.”
“Are there any artesian wells in this country?”
“I don’t know of any. Most wells are like the one at the windmill, hand-dug. Besides, I couldn’t afford a driller.”
“Are there any drills in the country?”
She shrugged and smoothed the robe wrapped tight around her willowy figure. “It would simply cost too much.”
“Ever hear of miracles?”
“No. Not in my life.” She shook her head. “They don’t happen.”
He climbed up the grade and shielded his eyes with his hand from the piercing glare. “There must be sixty or more acres here that could be irrigated in this flat if you had the water.”
She nodded. “Dad thought so when he homesteaded this section. But the tank’s never been full enough to do more than the patch we cleared. Some years, we’re lucky to even water half of it.”
“I can see that.” Unable to hold back any longer, he swept her up in his arms and started for the house with his precious cargo.
She looked embarrassed. “I didn’t come up here to—to—lure you.”
“Hey. I’m glad you came. I couldn’t help myself.”
She pulled his face down to hers and he stopped to kiss her. Honey flowed from her mouth and he grew heady, striding across the rise.
She gulped for her breath. “Not—not on my bed.”
“Whatever you say.”
“I want no reminders of that night.”
He nodded, and hurried a little faster going down the slope for the house. Once over the threshold and into the house’s shady, cool interior, he set her down and kissed her. Then he closed the door and barred it.
She led him by a finger to his bed and fumbled with his shirt buttons. When his shirt was undone and open, she rested her cool forehead on his chest. “I’m scared.”
“I don’t blame you. We’ll let it happen. You get too scared—we’ll quit.”
She sighed, and he lifted her chin. Then his mouth closed on hers and he squeezed her tight to him. Slowly, a fire began to rise in her. A hungry flame in need of more fuel. Her palms squeezed his face and her mouth became a volcano. She forced his shirt off while he toed off his boots. He untied the ropelike belt of the robe, and slid his hand in to cup her firm pear-shaped breast. As he used his thumb in a circular fashion, the nipple rose to a hard point.
Their mouths demanding more of each other, they whirled in passion’s dance. His pants fell and he stepped clear of them, pushing the robe off her shoulders so her bare skin was against his.
When she dropped on the bed, she gasped at what she saw of his erection, and then the fear in her face melted and she smiled. “Come to me.”
He followed her across the bed, filled with a need to seek her depths. Sprawled on her back, she held her arms out for him. He moved in and kissed her hard.
She squirmed to be under him, and he parted her legs to get between them. His hand cupped her mound and his thumb spread open her gates. Satisfied she was moist enough for his entry, he raised her knees up and then inserted the throbbing skintight head in the lips.
Gently, he probed against the ring. She clutched his arms as if she anticipated pain. The way was tight, and he took his time to work in and out to lubricate his way. The muscles in his butt screamed for him to stab her, but he refrained, opening the way more and more each time with gentle pushes against it. Then he eased his rock-hard dick through the restriction and she gasped with a sigh, “Oh, yes.”
He smiled down at her. Her face was half hidden by her hair and by the shadowy light in the room. Her fingers slipped off his arms and she fell into never-never land under him.
In a short while, his actions began to quicken. She wrapped her legs around him and hunched to meet his thrusts. Her mouth open, she moaned in pleasure’s arms and tossed her head. Then, seized by it all, she began to rock on her back faster and faster until she cried out with a hard strain. A hot rush of fluid surrounded his dick and he smiled.
Then she fainted. Parting the hair over her face, she blinked at him and gasped, “What was that?”
“You having fun.”
“Oh, my God. I don’t even know where I am.”
“You’ll be all right. Hang on.”
She did, and in a short while he had her back in a whirl-wind vortex. Both of them soon strained and the sparks flew, until he came and they both collapsed in a pile side by side.
“Oh, my God, Slocum.” She threw her arm over him and squeezed his body to her. “I was raped by boys.”
“Boys?”
“They had—well, they were smaller than a dog. Yodder never could get it hard enough to go in me.” She buried her face in his chest. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. Oh, I wish it had been you first.”
“It was me.” He kissed her forehead.
“Yes, it was you. You were first.”
She began to kiss the fine hair on his chest, and when he moved against her, she sucked in her breath. “You aren’t finished, are you?”
“It’s your call.”
She rolled on her back. “Don’t wait for me. I’m ready.”
Later, he went to the hillside and buried the dog’s remains, while she cleaned up and fixed breakfast. He had the grave completed when she called to him.
“I’ll be there shortly.” Using the shovel, he put the corpse in the grave and then covered it. Shovel on his shoulder, he headed back for the house, grateful that the job was completed.
Then, he heard the hard-running horses and the sound of a buckboard coming off the hill. In the distance, a fan of dust trailed it.
“Who’s coming?” she asked, standing in the doorway and wearing an apron over her riding garb.
“Don’t know. But he’s in a hurry, that’s for sure.”
The driver swung the team around and as the veil of dust cleared, a stern-faced man in a suit covered with dust reared back on the reins as he sat on the spring seat.
“What brings the sheriff out here today?” she asked the man.
“Who’s he?” The man indicated Slocum.
“My foreman.”
“Slocum’s my name. I never caught yours.” He never offered to shake the man’s hand.
“Hmm.” The man set a scowl on his face. “Why didn’t you report the rustling?” he asked Roberta.
“I did. I brought both them brand changers to your jail and filed the warrant.”
“You have a witness?”
“Slocum here.”
“They say they’re innocent.”
Her eyelashes narrowed at him. “You lose the confession they signed?”
“Ah, ah, no. But it’s your word against theirs.”
“Gantry, we brought them to you, with a signed confession from each of them, and we can get the steer they marked up. Now what more do you want?”
“Court cases cost the county lots of money that we don’t have.”
“Never was a problem when you trumped up them charges against Searle.”
“And what’s this threat about a special judge? What are you up to?”
“I figure a judge that don’t get paid off by Charles Worthington might run an honest court, and the governor might just send one.”
“You don’t have no proof of that.”
“You’d be surprised what all I do know.”
“Well—it—won’t do you no good.”
“Them two rustlers worked for Worthington. When that pair tells a grand jury that they were under his orders to mark them brands like that, then maybe there’s a bunk in Yuma Prison for him, too.”
Gantry’s face grew red. “There won’t be no grand jury in this county.”
“Maybe. Maybe not, but you can squirm awhile on that one. A governor has lots of authority in a territory when push comes to shove.”
“I’m warning you. You push this thing too far and your brother might never get out of that hellhole alive.”
Slocum caught her arm and frowned her down. When he was satisfied that she was in control of herself, he turned back to Gantry.
“You’ve made some big threats here this morning. For a man of the law, you’ve stepped on both sides of it. I understand as tax collector you make a healthy sum. I’d be more worried about losing that honey hive than I would about losing Worthington. Ranchers ever learn you’re in cahoots with a rustler, they’ll turn you out of office quicker than a lamb can swish its tail.”
“Mister—I’m the law here.”
“Don’t give me that crap. Ask them three deputies of yours where they were the afternoon they shipped her brother out.”
She gave a gasp behind him.
“Go ahead. Get the truth out of them.”
“What about them?”
“You’re the law. You ask them what they did that afternoon and evening.”
Gantry shook his finger at Slocum. “You better listen to me, saddle tramp!”
“No, you’re the one needs to listen. But I fear it’s too late to save your hide.”
“We’ll see who runs the law in this county.” He slapped the heated horses and whirled away.
Roberta rushed over and hugged Slocum. “Why did you tell him that?”
“He’ll pressure them boys till they tell him. Then that’ll worry him some more. He didn’t know a thing about it. I could see I blindsided him with it.”
With her eyes wet, she looked up at him. “I won’t testify.”
“I didn’t expect you to. I only wanted another porcupine quill stuck in him.”
“Can he hurt Searle in prison?”
“Naw, that was just a threat.” But he wasn’t convinced about what he said—enough money could do anything.
Slocum watched Gantry’s dust go over the hill. They weren’t rid of anything. Least of all Worthington or the sheriff’s department.
Chapter 5
“There’s a mining village called Barlowville north of here. I think I can mail a letter to the governor from there with Gantry none the wiser.”
Slocum nodded as they sat eating their cold breakfast. “You better get to writing. I’ll make a swing by the marsh and look around. Be back in mid-afternoon. You keep a gun close and don’t take any chances.”
“You do the same. We can post it tomorrow. It’s a tough ride over there, but we can make it in a few hours. Well, maybe we should take our bedrolls.”
He winked at her. “Might take them for show.”
She blushed and got up for more coffee. It was hot on the stove. “You know, I never thought about that—looking respectable.”
“Request that the chief brand inspector comes out and surveys the damage done here, too,” he told her.
“What good will that do?”
“A brand inspector requested to check things out would have to reply to the governor about his findings. That might get more action out of the courts.”
“You’re probably right.”
He finished his fresh coffee, kissed her good-bye, and went after Baldy. When he rode by the house, she ran out with some food wrapped in a cloth.
“So you don’t starve.”
He threw her another kiss, saluted her, and rode on. Seemed a shame to go off and leave her all alone, but he had things he wanted to see again. Check more of her cattle for blotched brands, see about the bogs, and learn the lay of the land. A good knowledge of the country could pay big dividends any time he needed to know something.
At mid-morning, he rode up a side canyon to check it out. Five javelinas ran out of the juniper and live oak brush headed for new ground. Baldy spooked to the side. Slocum checked him, and laughed when he realized that the piglike critters were as surprised as he and the pony were. The narrow trail wound upward until he reached a spring flow that crossed the trail. The water had attracted the javelinas.
There was a brush lean-to nearby and other signs that someone had camped there. But the signs and tracks he saw were not recent enough for him to care who had made them. Could be renegade Indians—there were still several of them on the loose in Arizona and Sonora. Loners, for the most part. Dangerous, too.
His hat in hand, he studied the towering walls of brown and tan layers. There was nothing in the azure sky but a buzzard riding on the updrafts. The narrow chasm led to the top, so after Baldy had a drink, Slocum remounted and rode him to the pass.
Wind swept his face, and he could see lots more broken country spread beneath him. He rested Baldy for a few minutes, then mounted up and started back down.
Who had used the camp? Prospector or renegade? He rode on by the water source, and the clack of Baldy’s shoes on the rocks rang like a bell and then echoed back. Out in the open country dotted with junipers, he set Baldy in a trot for the home place, spooking up a set of cows and calves. Mostly brockle-faced, longhorn-Hereford cows sporting three-quarter calves that showed good. Even a loafing horned white-face bull rose out of the shade, stretched his back, and then moved off with the cows and calves.
Her outfit impressed him. She had a good cow outfit going. If she could hold it together till her brother got out of prison, she might someday have an empire, or at least a damn good ranch.
At mid-afternoon, he rode in and dismounted at the hitch rack. He’d found nothing out of place. No cattle in the bog. He looked up when she appeared in the door in a robe. Her hair was wet and she was busy drying it. “Didn’t expect you back so soon.”
He turned on his heel and went back to Baldy like he was leaving.
“No, I mean, I didn’t expect you back so soon. Don’t leave.”
He laughed, and caught her in his arms and hugged her. “Seen lots of country. You know that trail goes over the hills back there?”
“Dead Man’s Spring?”
“I guess. How did it get that name?”
“Some prospector was killed up there years ago by Apaches. The war party found two baking powder cans full of gold nuggets in his things that the Apaches scattered all over.”
“Anyone find the mine?”
“No, and not much gold in the creek beds to indicate there is any in those hills.”
He followed her inside. “Where did the gold come from?”
She shrugged and began brushing her hair. “Some think he may have high-graded it up at the Vulture Mine. You know, stole it while working up there. It was the same kind as that ore. The gold came from a white-quartz source, and there isn’t much white quartz up there.”
“Guess we’ll never know, huh?”
She stopped brushing her hair and smiled at him. “I could sure use that gold if I ever found it.”
“Who couldn’t use it? You get the letter written?”
“Yes. I hope the governor reads it.”
“Good, we’ll ride over in the morning and mail it. Take most of the day?” He poured himself some coffee.
“Oh, yes, we can ride over. That’s old stale cofffee, I—”
“It’ll be just fine,” he said, looking in the tin cup. “I ain’t use to babying.”
“I wouldn’t call it that.” Pulling out a tangle with her hairbrush, she made a pained face. “I’d like to spoil you.”
“You’re doing that, girl.”
His lower back complained in the predawn light. He stopped saddling a bay gelding Roberta called Cy, and put his hands on his hips to strain against the soreness. Images of her subtle body in the bed with him all night made him close his eyes. Must have awakened a devil inside that girl. He laced the latigos and drew the cinch up—he’d ride Cy today and give Baldy a day off.
Her sorrel King was saddled and, leading them both, he strode back to the house in the cool air. The chaparral was waking up. Wrens, doves, and quail all heralded the coming new day. At the hitch rack, he tied on the bedrolls she’d set out earlier.
“You must know how long it takes me to cook,” s
he said from the doorway, and swept back an errant wave of hair from her face.
“When I smelled it, I went to working faster.” He washed his hands at the basin set out, and dried them on the flour-sack towel on the nail.
She hugged his arm and herded him inside. “It is so peaceful here with you. I hate to leave.”
He agreed, and hung his hat on the peg.
After doing the breakfast dishes, they left the ranch and headed north for Barlowville. A big jackrabbit kicked up by their approach loped to the first rise to see who was coming. The trail and dim wagon tracks it followed led through the mesquite and when they gained elevation, they could see where junipers studded the grassland. It was a country that any cowman could appreciate. Several small bunches of cows raised up from their grazing to look the two riders over in their passing.
“Dad believed in the Hereford breed,” she said. “He had some of the first in this part of the territory. Guess it got contagious from there.”
“He had lots of vision.”
She nodded, riding stirrup to stirrup with him. “Shame that his heart quit—he was only fifty-five.”
“A real shame. He built a fine ranch. You and your brother have a good start.”
“Yeah, and him in prison—maybe the governor will look into it.”
“It’s a good notion.”
“I hope so. Look.” She pointed out a mule deer and her two fawns taking to the brush.
“Plenty of game left in this country,” he said.
“There’s some mountain lions that come through, too. They got a colt of mine back in the early spring.”
“They make big circles. Hard to catch them short of some good hounds.”
“I need one of those. But worse than that, I hate losing Ring. He was sure a big help working cattle in the brush.”
They were getting higher—a few scrub cedars marked the land. Large beds of prickly pear covered the ground. Some they rode by had been eaten on by the javelinas. Their mouth marks on the pads looked funny. How anything could eat those spiny pads, he had no idea.
By noon, they were at a spring-fed tank, and the adobe ruins of a jacal and corral marked the site.
