Slocum and the Town Killers

by Jake Logan

  The private beamed. “Sergeant Benedict is a real fire-cracker. Best noncom out of Fort Supply.”

  Slocum nodded knowingly. This was all it took to settle matters with the young private.

  “Git on off them horses and advance slowlike. Keep yer hands where I kin see ’em.”

  “You got him trained well, Sergeant Benedict,” Slocum called.

  “It’s all right, Private. I know the marshal from a visit I made to Charity a while back,” the sergeant said. Slocum saw that Benedict walked with a limp matching Vannover’s. The sergeant’s leg was bloody where he had taken a bullet.

  “Whole damn boot’s filled with blood. Don’t dare take it off or I’ll never get my foot back in,” Benedict said, seeing Slocum eyeing him.

  “Got the same problem, only I got a swole-up ankle.” Les Vannover pointed to his own leg.

  “Heard tell they got a doc who didn’t get hisself killed. Why don’t us two gimps go see him?”

  “Lean on me,” said Vannover, “and I’ll lean on you.”

  Slocum watched the two hobble away. He looked around, and had no trouble finding where Langmuir had set up his command post. He went through the batwing doors into the saloon and saw the captain hunched over a faro table at the rear, a map spread in front of him. Two guards brought their rifles up when Slocum entered, but went to order arms when Langmuir spoke to them.

  “As you were. What can I do for you?”

  “Captain Langmuir? Got some information you might find interesting.”

  “Unless you’re scouting for the whole damn force out of Fort Gibson, I can’t imagine what that’d be. Who are you?”

  Slocum introduced himself, then explained what had happened and how Magee had lost most of his ammo.

  “Might be why he decided to hit Cimarron Junction,” Slocum finished.

  Captain Langmuir shook his head slowly and pulled out a water-soaked lavender-colored envelope.

  “The reason I came was this. You know anything about it or who might have sent it?”

  Slocum picked up the envelope and sniffed. His nostrils flared when he caught a familiar scent. It matched that in the Cherokee Springs church and over in Charity. He opened the envelope and quickly read the warning that Magee was going to destroy Cimarron Junction.

  “A woman’s hand,” Slocum said. He did not mention recognizing the perfume. “You don’t know who she is?”

  “I thought it might be the woman who had warned me in person about Magee and his butchers, but I don’t think so. I didn’t believe her, but this was . . . to the point.”

  Slocum slipped the letter back into the envelope and returned it to the captain. The officer had a way with words. “To the point” referring to a letter that detailed the most gruesome destruction imaginable in so few words and sparked action on the cavalry’s part. Apparently, the other woman, who warned Langmuir in person, had understated the matter.

  “Good thing you believed the warning,” Slocum said. “You saved an entire town from being destroyed.”

  “I need to find out what’s going on. That wasn’t an ordinary outlaw I faced out there. It was as if I had been thrust into the war.”

  “Major Magee is supposed to be quite a tactician,” Slocum said. “Mostly, all he has to do is ride into town and shoot anything that moves, but he seems capable of executing real military maneuvers.”

  “I need answers, Slocum. Who might supply them?”

  “Not me. Marshal Vannover might. He talked to two women back in Charity about Magee. The pair of you might piece together something. He’s with your Sergeant Benedict getting their wounds tended to.”

  “You have any idea where Magee would retreat?” Langmuir tapped the map on the faro table.

  “Vannover’s the man to see. Or the town marshal here.” Slocum saw from the expression on the captain’s face that wasn’t likely. “He get killed?”

  “One of the first. He walked out to parley with them after the first few shots were fired.”

  Slocum didn’t have to ask how that had worked for the marshal. He hoped he would get a decent headstone that didn’t include words like “damn fool” or “suicidal.”

  “I’ll talk to Marshal Vannover. Don’t leave town without seeing me first, Slocum.”

  “All I want is a hot bath, some food, and to get my horse tended to.”

  The captain nodded brusquely and swept out of the saloon, his aides trailing behind, struggling to fold the map and keep up with their commander.

  Slocum settle down in a chair and looked around. The saloon was uncharacteristically empty for this time of day. The owner barkeep might have been among Magee’s victims. Slocum got up and reached behind the bar to pull down a full bottle of whiskey. He held it up and approved of the color. This might actually contain Billy Taylor’s Finest, like the label said, rather than trade whiskey poured into the bottle.

  He went up the rickety stairs at the back of the room and poked around. Several cribs where the soiled doves had brought their drunken clients were all empty. None looked too appealing to Slocum, so he went down the back steps and wandered about until he spied the bathhouse at the rear of the hotel. He took a few swigs of whiskey as he worked to light a fire and heat water for a bath. He downed another mouthful of liquor and began to feel mellow. The aches and pains faded and the bath would erase them entirely.

  When he was done, he could go into the hotel, get a meal and a room, and sleep until Captain Langmuir decided to roust him. Slocum hoped the captain wasn’t a stickler for protocol and observed reveille at dawn.

  He finished heating four buckets of water for the large galvanized tub in the small bathhouse. Slocum sloshed out most of the cold, dirty water already in the tub and added his own. He stretched and got muscles working enough to slip out of his clothes. Making sure his six-shooter was close enough to grab if he needed it, he got a brush, some soap from a box on a shelf, and settled down into the hot water.

  The searing water caused him to tense, then began working on his muscles until he relaxed and leaned back. His eyes closed of their own accord, and he drifted away, only to come instantly awake when he smelled it.

  Rose perfume.

  He reached for his six-gun, but froze when he saw the woman standing at the foot of the tub. A small grin turned her bow-shaped lips into something approaching perfection. She wore her blond hair tied back into a ponytail that fell to mid-shoulder. It took Slocum a few seconds to move past her high cheekbones and button nose and piercing blue eyes, but he did. Her shirt was unbuttoned, giving just a hint of white swell from her breasts. She was dressed like a man, but there was nothing manly about those flaring hips and trim waist. From where she stood, he could not see her legs.

  They probably matched the rest of the perfect package.

  He inhaled deeply, then let the breath out slowly.

  “I’ve smelled you before,” he said. He was rewarded by her cornflower blue eyes opening wide. The smile turned to openmouthed surprise. She tried to speak, no words came out. Then she clamped her mouth shut and worked to get her confusion quelled. To Slocum, this made her even lovelier.

  “I don’t understand,” she said.

  “Your perfume. I caught a whiff of it in the church back in Cherokee Springs. Then again in Charity, in the restaurant after Magee shot it up. You seem to be a chip bobbing along on a stream.”

  “And the stream is Clayton Magee,” she said. All hint of amusement drained from her now.

  “I reckon it’s more of a flood.”

  She put her hands on the end of the tub and leaned forward. Slocum got an even better view down her cleavage.

  “I hope I’m not interrupting,” she said. She looked from his face down to a spot in the frothy bathwater. The pixie smile returned. “Perhaps I am doing just the opposite.”

  “You’re helping to churn up my bathwater,” Slocum said. He sat a little straighter so his erection would sink back below the surface of the bath.

  “I hope that�
��s not all I’m helping to churn,” she said, bending over even farther. Now he could see more of her breasts. The only blemish on her perfect female form was a large mole on the top of her left breast. Slocum thought that was something he wanted to examine closer.

  “You warned Captain Langmuir about Magee raiding Cimarron Junction,” Slocum said.

  “I did. Is that all you want to talk about?” She moved around and perched on the side of the tub, partly turned toward him.

  “I’m John Slocum.”

  “I know. I asked. One of the soldiers told me.”

  “If I asked all the soldiers, would they tell me your name?”

  “They don’t know it. Not even the captain.”

  “That’s a shame. I’m sure you have a lovely name. Rose? Your name is Rose.”

  She laughed and shook her head. More than her head swayed from side to side.

  “Violet? Daisy? Peony?”

  “Do I look like a hothouse flower?” She laughed so hard now that she slipped and fell backward into the tub with Slocum. He made no move to break her fall. She landed on his lap with a huge splash that sent water upward, where it hung suspended for a moment, then came rushing back to drench the parts of her that had not been soaked already.

  “You look like a well-watered one,” Slocum said. He reached out and laid his hand on her breast. The water plastered her shirt to her so that her nipple protruded. His fingers parted and then scissored back together, catching the sensitive nub.

  “Oh, oh, my,” she said, closing her eyes and splashing about just a little. “I had not counted on this.”

  “Like hell,” Slocum said. Her eyes snapped open. Her angry look faded when she met his gaze. The smile returned.

  “Perhaps, I had hoped just a little. You’ve done so much tracking of Clayton Magee that I wanted to see you with my own eyes.”

  “What’s your beef with Magee?”

  “Sarah Beth is my friend. I want to help her. She and her mama are running from him, and I want to help them and—”

  Slocum silenced her by bending over and kissing her full on the lips. For a moment, she sputtered, then relaxed, and finally returned the kiss with full passion. More water sloshed about as she turned toward him.

  When she broke off the kiss, she whispered hotly in his ear, “Catherine,” her tongue following the name into the channel of his ear. Before he could protest, her tongue slid away, around, down to the lobe, where she nibbled. She added, “Duggan.”

  “So, Catherine Duggan,” Slocum said, his hands roaming her body. “You’ll catch your death of cold in those wet duds.” He moved his hand under her shirt and peeled it away from her skin so his hand rested on warm, bare flesh. He pressed down and felt the nip getting harder. She ground her chest into his hand, moaning louder now.

  “I shouldn’t” she said.

  “You already have.” He slid his hand down lower and found her belt. He managed to unfasten it. The button holding her jeans was next to go. He worked down, unfastening buttons until her pants were loose around her trim waist.

  She put her hands on his shoulders, lithely turned, and stood so one foot was on either side of him in the tub. He reached up and grabbed the waistband of her wet jeans and began pulling. They resisted until Catherine began a slow, sinuous movement of her hips, then started bucking back and forth to aid him getting them over her ass and down her slender legs. She stepped out of them and stood above him, naked from the waist down. Her shirt hung open, giving tantalizing glimpses of her breasts.

  “You have to decide,” she chided. “What do you want? These?” She cupped her breasts and jiggled. “Of this?” Her hand ran down across her belly to the tangle of wet fur between her legs.

  Slocum reached up, got his hands around her waist, and pulled her to a kneeling position over his waist.

  “Why not both?”

  “Oh!” She gasped as his hardness slid upward between her nether lips and into her heated interior. Catherine gasped even louder when Slocum bent forward and began licking and sucking at her pink, rubbery nubs.

  “I . . . I can’t take much of this.”

  “You in a hurry?” Slocum asked. He was beginning to enjoy it. The water cradled him as surely as the warm female flesh around his erection. She bent forward and almost smothered him with her marshmallowy breasts. His hands worked around her back, up under her shirt, then down lower to cup her firm buttocks.

  She let out a tiny trapped-animal sound as she sank even lower and took more of him into her core. There wasn’t much room for movement. There didn’t have to be. She rose and dropped only a couple inches, but this was enough to arouse them both. The tightness of the passage, her heat, and his hardness generated increasing carnal friction until she threw back her head, ponytail snapping like a whip, and let out a long, loud cry of release.

  Slocum wanted this to last, but the way she clamped down around him threatened to crush him flat. He groaned and felt the heat deep within begin to build. The pressure was not to be denied when she tensed and relaxed all around his hidden length. He exploded like a stick of dynamite.

  She cried out again, put her arms around his neck, and pulled him close. Slocum was caught in a sexy web he did not want to escape. And then she let go of her hold around his neck and rocked back. He slipped from within her.

  “That’s the way I’d like to take a bath all the time,” he said.

  This brought another smile to her lips. She looked positively radiant now. The smile added that much more to her beauty.

  “I’ve never done anything like this before,” she said.

  “I wondered when you would start.”

  “What? Start what?” She looked startled again.

  “When you’d start lying. This wasn’t your first time. You knew what you wanted and, if I’m any judge, you got it.”

  “Oh, I did, I did,” Catherine said. She worked her way backward and then up to sit on the edge of the tub at the foot. Her legs were parted just enough to give Slocum a tantalizing look at her blond bush. He reached out, but she swatted his hand.

  “Naughty, naughty,” she said. “I meant I don’t jump into bed with a man the first time I lay eyes on him.”

  “Your virtue is still intact then,” Slocum said. “You jumped into my tub, not my bed. It’s always good to save something for later.”

  “Are you bragging?” She looked down at his crotch. The water had sloshed out of the tub and left him exposed to her gaze now.

  “Anticipating,” he said.

  “You are an arrogant man, aren’t you?” She swung around, got her feet on the floor, and found her jeans. She began wringing them out the best she could so she could put them back on. Slocum enjoyed the show as she struggled to get back into the wet pants.

  “Not arrogant,” he said. “Confident.”

  “Then find Magee and stop him. Even better, help me find Sarah Beth and her mother so we can help them.”

  Slocum said nothing as Catherine finished dressing. She had made love to him to enlist his aid finding Magee’s daughter and mother. As he watched her leave the bathhouse, he decided it had worked. Catherine Duggan was one beautiful woman, and she knew how to pleasure a man. Slocum could do a lot worse in the way of bribes.

  He finished his bath the best he could in the few ounces of water remaining, then stood, shook himself like a dog to get the water off, dressed, and went to find Catherine. They had a powerful lot to talk over.

  And he wanted her to bribe him some more.

  12

  Slocum had no trouble following Catherine Duggan because she left wet tracks in the dirt all the way to the back door of the hotel. Slocum went inside and down a short hallway into the lobby. He almost laughed when he saw the woman trying to rent a room. The clerk was paying almost no attention to her request because her clothing clung so tenaciously to her trim body.

  “Could I help?” Slocum asked.

  “He says there aren’t any rooms. The people on the outskirts of town
have come in because they think that monster Magee will return at any instant.”

  “You must have a room for the lady,” Slocum said. “Me, too.” He laid his six-shooter on the counter. For the first time, the clerk’s attention strayed from Catherine’s half-buttoned, clinging wet shirt. He stared at the worn ebony butt of the Colt Navy, licked his lips, then looked up into Slocum’s cold green eyes.

  “I, uh, we don’t have nuthin’, mister. Honest.”

  “Not even a single, solitary room? For the one who saved your hide?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Who do you think alerted Captain Langmuir to the attack on Cimarron Junction?”

  “You?”

  Slocum said nothing, letting the clerk come to his own conclusions.

  “We got a small room. Not got a bed big enough for a man as tall as you.” He stared up at Slocum’s six-foot frame. “But it’ll be better ’n nuthin’, I suppose.”

  “Good.” Slocum glanced out of the corner of his eye at Catherine, who fumed. When the clerk shoved the key in Slocum’s direction, he pushed it across to Catherine. “She’s the one who got the cavalry here in time to save your hide.”

  “Her?”

  “Her,” Slocum said.

  “Where do you think you’re going to sleep?” the blonde asked.

  “He said it was a small bed. Might be crowded.” Slocum enjoyed the way she bristled at the notion they were going to share the bed. “Not as crowded as a bathtub. That right?” Slocum directed the question to the clerk, but never took his eyes off Catherine.

  “Reckon that might be so,” the clerk said, frowning. He didn’t understand what Slocum was getting at.

  “I’d rather sleep in the mud,” she said.

  “Be sure to avoid drain spouts,” Slocum said. He took his gun off the counter, picked up the key, and headed down the narrow hallway to a spot near the back door. He had thought this was a closet when he came in. Opening the door and peering into the dark, damp room convinced him he wasn’t far wrong. He stepped in, and immediately what light filtered in from outside was blanked out. Catherine Duggan stood in the door.