Slocum Buried Alive

by Jake Logan

  It was his turn to gasp as she reached down and grabbed hold of his manhood. She stroked along the length, then clamped down more firmly.

  “It’s like a pump handle,” she said. “What happens if I begin to pump?”

  “Prime the pump, let me do the pumping,” he said.

  Slocum closed his eyes as he felt her begin stroking up and down his length, then toy with the hairy sac tightening beneath.

  “Prime it like this?”

  She sank to her knees, robbing him of the delightful feel of her breasts. But he couldn’t find the words to complain. Her lips circled the tip of his erection and took him into her mouth. The bulbous end stroked along the inside of her cheek before moving deeper into her throat. She swallowed, and he almost lost control.

  Her hands circled his body and cupped his butt so she could pull him deeper into her mouth. Slocum opened his eyes and looked around. The room was illuminated by a distant lightning flash. Looking down to where he vanished into her mouth gave him a feeling of unreality, yet the way her tongue pressed against the underside of his organ was anything but illusion. As she sucked a little harder, her lips moving up and down, her teeth scoring his sensitive manhood, her tongue pushing and probing and trying to coax out his juices, he was excited to the point of no return.

  “My turn,” he said, pushing her away.

  “No, I want more,” she said in a sex-husky voice.

  “You’ll get it. After I drink my fill.”

  “What?”

  He pushed her onto her back. She lay back, her knees opening for him. He sank between her legs. The tangled mat between her legs was dotted with her inner juices. Dipping low, he scooped up one drop after another without actually touching her. When she protested, his tongue dragged the length of the pink curtains protecting her inner fastness. This sent a shudder through her body. Her legs rose on either side of his head. He drove his tongue forward, parted those delicate nether lips, and then plunged into her sex well.

  She cried out. Her thighs clamped firmly on either side of his head. Deaf now, virtually blind, he had to rely on his sense of touch and taste. The salty fluids from her inner core drove him on. He lashed with his tongue, roughly touching her everywhere he could reach. From the tiny pink spire at the top of the V to the bottom, he didn’t miss a spot. Polly thrashed about, moaning and crying out in excitement as he laved and licked and sucked.

  Then her legs released his head. She propped herself up on her elbows and looked down at him. Her face had flushed. The red reached down to the tops of her tits.

  “Enough, John, or not enough. I want more. I want you. In me. Now!”

  He licked the length of her hidden slit, to her belly, and dipped low into her navel before working up to the canyon between her breasts. The oral assault robbed her of the strength even to hold herself up on her elbows.

  Then she screamed in desire as his hips moved forward, and he sank balls deep in the cavity he had so recently probed with his tongue.

  “Oh, yes, that’s what I want.”

  “No,” he said, “this is what you want.”

  He began stroking, slowly at first as he felt the warmth and tightness all around his length. She tensed around him, urging him to greater speed. He kept up the pace he wanted. It drove her crazy with lust. When she arched her back and jammed her crotch down around his hidden length, he knew his own control was slipping. He began pistoning faster. The heated tide built irresistible pressure in his loins. He stroked faster. The friction grew until he knew it was not possible for him to last any longer.

  Arching his back, he thrust as far into her as possible. She rose to meet him, twisting from side to side to give even greater pleasure. Then he lost all control and spewed his seed into her hungry center.

  She clawed at his shoulders as she pulled herself up and struggled to take him even deeper inside. Then they sank back to the floor, exhausted from their passionate efforts.

  Slocum looked down into her dewy eyes. She rose up enough to give him a quick kiss before dropping back.

  “You wore me out.”

  “I was inspired.” He rotated his hips a little, but he was already limp within her. Slocum slipped free and rolled to lie beside her. “It must have been the storm.”

  Rain pelted the roof now. The thunder came only seconds after every lightning bolt.

  “It’s warm.”

  He moved his hand down between their legs and cupped her privates.

  “It is.”

  She giggled like a schoolgirl and snuggled closer, safe within the circle of his arms.

  Slocum slipped to sleep about the same time she did.

  When he awoke the next morning, he was alone on the floor with a blanket tossed over his hips. He pushed the blanket away. The new day’s heat was already building and made it too much.

  “You should cover up. It’s not proper to go around naked like that,” she said. “Come on and eat. After you get dressed.”

  “You didn’t mind last night.”

  “You distracted me.”

  “But I don’t now?” He looked down at his groin. “I reckon not.”

  This brought a laugh to her lips. Slocum fetched his clothes and dressed. After he strapped on his six-gun, he wondered if life could get better. Then he heard Liam Neville moaning from the other room. That caused a flood of unpleasant memories.

  “I just checked him. He’s not looking too good,” Polly said. “Isn’t there anything more we can do for him?”

  “No doctor could do more. Whiskey might cut through the pain.” Even as he spoke, he wondered if that was true. Drinking the whiskey himself or giving it to Polly would be a better use.

  “I know. Here. Eat.” She pushed a plate of ham and fried eggs toward him. “Only got a couple chickens left. And that’s the last of the hog.”

  Slocum shoveled in the food. It settled into his belly and renewed his strength. It had been too long since he’d eaten this well. Or was it the food and the long night with Polly that made him feel so confident now?

  As he finished, he pushed the plate back and hooked his thumbs in his gun belt.

  “Mighty good,” he said.

  “You’re thinking of something else. What is it, John?”

  “We can’t keep your pa here. Hawkins will have his men searching everywhere for him.”

  “They recognized him? You said the attack was quick and—”

  “Somebody will know him. The townspeople will be as eager to string him up as Hawkins is to bury him again.”

  This made Polly shudder. She glanced in the direction of the bedroom, then down to her plate. Slocum knew where her thoughts strayed. Fighting Leonard Hawkins had turned her father into a killer hunted by everyone in Espero.

  “We should leave, shouldn’t we, John? I mean go as far as possible.” She looked up. Her eyes blazed. “I won’t do it. That means Hawkins wins. I’d rather die than let that son of a bitch win!”

  “I’m not going to give up,” Slocum said. “I have my own reasons, but then you know that. You and your brother dug me up.”

  “Where can I take him so we can keep fighting?”

  Slocum wasn’t sure who she meant by “we,” but he wasn’t going to ask. He had to find Hawkins. If the man had died in the explosion, good. Slocum would feel robbed, but the undertaker would have been brought to justice for his crimes.

  “You take your pa to where you thought he was safe before.”

  “I can’t. That’s still on our property. Anyone looking will find that shed.” She thought a moment, then said, “I know a place south of here, down by the river. I can sketch a map for you.” She eagerly pushed her plate aside and dipped her finger in the coffee to draw on the tablecloth. Slocum reached across and grabbed her wrist.

  “It’s better if I don’t know. What I don’t know I can’t spill
.”

  “And I won’t know where you are either,” she said with a note of sadness. “We should get out of here right away, shouldn’t we?”

  “Last night would have been better.”

  “Last night could never have been better.” She leaned across the table and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “It can be that good again. Maybe better?”

  “I’ll fetch the buggy unless you have some way of carrying your pa that’s better.”

  “I have my horse. We’d have to ride double, and I’m not sure I could hold him the whole way.”

  Slocum left the house and hitched up the horse to the buggy. He didn’t like asking Polly for her horse, but he had to be more mobile than staying on foot. Driving the buggy around to the front, he pulled up. To his surprise, Polly was already helping her pa down the steps. Liam Neville wasn’t helping much, but he managed to keep from putting his entire weight on her. He looked up, recognized Slocum, and made a gesture with his hand. This exhausted him.

  Slocum got Neville into the buggy, where he sagged.

  He turned to Polly, who looked on anxiously.

  “He’s going to be all right, isn’t he?”

  He kissed her hard. For a moment, she resisted, her thoughts still on her father. Then she melted into his arms and returned the kiss.

  “Everything’s going to be fine,” Slocum said. He hoped he wasn’t lying to her.

  She smiled weakly, then climbed in, snapped the reins, and got the horse pulling. As she left the yard, she yelled over her shoulder, “My horse is out back. Her name’s Buttermilk!”

  Slocum let the buggy rattle out of sight, then swept through the house to get what supplies would serve him best. When he found Polly’s horse, he almost despaired. It was a swaybacked mare that hadn’t seen better days in a year. It was all he had, though, so he slung his supplies over the horse’s rump and stepped up. The horse didn’t buckle under his weight. That was a good sign, but he doubted it could run.

  He trotted it around the ranch house a few times, then let the horse gallop. He slowed quickly to prevent tiring out the old nag. While not as sturdy as the pinto he’d left in Espero when he had pulled Neville from the barn, it would do.

  Immediately on starting down the road he heard shouts and catcalls from ahead. The thick trees along this part of the road warned him the riders were too close for comfort. He steered the reluctant horse into the thicket, then waited, hoping the gum tree proved enough of a camouflage to let him go unnoticed.

  The riders passed within a dozen yards. He kept his hand on the mare’s neck to quiet her. The first half-dozen men he didn’t recognize, but the two trailing riders were from Julian’s gang. A posse had been sent out with the outlaws a part of it, to report back anything discovered.

  “This is their place. I say we burn it to the ground.”

  “Neville might be inside,” protested another.

  “Then we sift through the ashes to find him.”

  This met with a round of cheers. Slocum waited for them to disappear around a bend in the road. The prudent thing was for him to ride away as fast as he could without being discovered. That was prudent. He unfastened the rope at his knee, spun it out into a lasso, then let the loop fall quiet beside his knee.

  Making his way through the thicket proved tedious, and he and the horse picked up more stickers and burrs than he could shake a stick at, but he finally got to the road so he could trail Julian’s men.

  His pace was fast enough that he overtook them before they reached the ranch house. With a deft twist of his roping hand, he got the lasso spinning and cast it as the trailing man saw what was in store for him. A loud yelp was quickly followed by a thud as Slocum let the running noose come down around his shoulders so he could drag him to the ground. He charged forward as the man struggled on the ground. His partner stared in disbelief, giving Slocum the element of surprise.

  He drew his six-shooter, leaned far out, and swung. The barrel caught the man on the cheek. He recoiled, spooking his horse. In a heartbeat the man flew from his horse and landed hard. Slocum grabbed the horse’s reins and savagely jerked down to keep it from pawing at the air. As he brought Polly’s horse around, he leveled his pistol.

  With the pair on the ground a few yards apart, Slocum aimed at a spot midway between them.

  “If you want to go on sucking air, tell me if Leonard Hawkins is still alive.”

  From the smirks on both men’s faces, he had his answer.

  “Where’s Julian? Where’s your camp?”

  “No, don’t tell him, Abner,” cautioned the one Slocum had buffaloed. He never hesitated. He fired. The slug took the man high in the chest, knocking him flat onto the ground.

  Slocum swung his six-shooter around.

  “Tell me, Abner. Fast.”

  “H-He . . . We got a camp right behind the funeral parlor. Mr. Hawkins, he wanted us close by if anybody in the town got too belligerent. That’s his word, belligerent.”

  The shot had attracted attention from the posse, but they didn’t know what to make of it since a second shot hadn’t alerted them to any kind of a fight.

  “Toss me the end of the rope.”

  Abner started to shake himself free of the loop, but Slocum was too quick for him. He rode forward and snatched the end from the man’s hands. Trailing the other outlaw’s horse, Slocum commenced to dragging Abner along the rough double-rutted road. The man yelled for a dozen yards, then stopped. Slocum suspected he had hit his head on a rock. He threw down the end of the rope, trotted forward, and caught the reins of Abner’s horse.

  With the two outlaws’ horses in addition to Polly’s, he could ride all day if necessary.

  But all he had to do was return to town. He knew where Julian and his gang were. And he knew where Hawkins was.

  As he rode, he plotted their deaths.

  13

  Slocum took his time riding back to Espero, waiting for the shadows to lengthen so he could escape any sentinels Julian might have posted along the road. When he reached the outskirts, dusk hid his features. Not riding the same horse and having two others trotting behind might also provide some cover, but Slocum doubted that. Anyone Julian—or Hawkins—posted would be smart enough to recognize him. With the countryside filled with posses hunting down Liam Neville, it was a stretch of the imagination to believe they didn’t also look for him.

  At the edge of town he heard the mournful peals from the huge bell Hawkins had put into a ten-foot-tall bell tower in front of his funeral parlor. A solemn note sounded every thirty seconds. Slocum counted, then nodded an instant before a new peal rolled out over the town.

  He wanted to investigate, but another matter occupied him first. He rode to the livery stable. The barn Neville had blown to smithereens still smoldered some distance away. He expected to see corpses stacked like cordwood but nothing of the sort showed through the twilight. Sniffing, he tried to catch any hint of decomposing bodies. All that made his nose wrinkle were the mingled odors of burned wood and the sharp ammonia scent of detonated dynamite.

  Dismounting, he led his horses into the livery stable. The owner snored peacefully in a back stall. Slocum looked into every stall until he found his horse and gear. Only then did he awaken the man and dicker some for the return of his own property and the sale of the three horses in his possession. Selling Polly’s horse bothered him but only for a moment. Chances were good she wouldn’t need it if her pa died—and Slocum doubted the man would survive to see another day. She would have the buggy and horse to ride in style to Dexter Junction. Selling them there would get her money for a railroad ticket out of Texas.

  And if he lived, Liam Neville would require almost constant attention. Polly had no place to go in the buggy in that case nor would she miss her horse.

  The thought crossed his mind he could always give her the money he got from selling Buttermi
lk. That gave him a good reason to seek her out again. She was fiery and the kind of woman he appreciated most in life—and in bed. If she moved on after her pa died, Slocum saw no reason the two of them couldn’t ride together.

  For a woman like Polly Neville, remaining on the Box N would be nothing but a constant reminder of bad days and worse people in Espero.

  He pocketed seventy-five dollars for the three horses and another hundred for the gear. So much money stuffed into his vest pocket almost compensated for having Julian and his men rob him.

  It would take far more than getting back the money they stole to leaven his desire for revenge. Awakening in the coffin the way he had would burn in his soul forever.

  Best of all, he got back his own horse and rifle. He didn’t remember where he had dropped it when he had lit out to stop Neville, but it had to have been close by his horse for someone to stuff it back into the saddle sheath. A quick check convinced him it wasn’t damaged and would stand him in good stead when he had to use it again.

  After he left the livery stables richer and feeling better about his chances of settling the score with Hawkins, he noticed the funeral bell still tolled. Counting under his breath brought him to thirty seconds and another clang. He knew better, but he had to see what was going on. He rode around back of the mortuary and saw where Julian and his men were camped.

  Three cooking fires warned him the gang leader had recruited more men than he could handle alone. As much as he wanted Julian and the men who had buried him to end up in graves of their own, he would forgo that pleasure in return for putting a bullet into Hawkins’s fat gut. He was the source of all the trouble in town and in Slocum’s life.

  Slocum had dealt with such men before. All the way from Bloody Bill Anderson and William Quantrill on, after the war had been filled with men itching to do harm—and every one of them had come to a grievous end because of John Slocum. He took no real pleasure in killing, but for Leonard Hawkins, he would make an exception.