by Jake Logan
“Hell, I’m as loony as he is.” Slocum ducked past Sarah Beth into the fort and found his paint. He swung into the saddle and trotted back to the gate. Louisa Magee stood on the porch of their temporary quarters, hand to her throat. She waved and smiled weakly as he rode out. Slocum cursed himself as a fool for giving in to Sarah Beth’s request. Her father was responsible for untold deaths and the destruction of several towns. No jury on the face of the earth would ever let him go free. If it were possible to hang him repeatedly, even that sentence might not be harsh enough for Major Magee.
Slocum rode past Sarah Beth, never looking at her. He heard ragged shots from the direction of the outlaw camp, and knew the leading element of the Fort Gibson detachment had opened fire. Galloping from the fort, he cut off the road and went directly for the spot where he had last seen Magee. The area was deserted now—except for the map Magee had spread on the ground and Catherine Duggan’s body.
Circling the spot, Slocum hunted for tracks, but the area was so chopped up with men and horses passing through that he could not figure which tracks were Magee’s. Then he rode closer and looked down at the map. He puzzled over it for a full minute before he got his bearings. A large X had been marked off to the side of the fort. Connecting it to where Slocum studied the map itself was a dotted line.
He looked up and saw a dry streambed leading away. Magee had marked it for some reason, as he had a spot behind Fort Supply. Not having any other notion where he might find the major, Slocum rode down into the dry streambed and trotted along on the pea-sized gravel, gently curving around to a spot behind the fort.
“This is where the X was marked,” he said softly. The banks on the stream had shielded him from the sight of all but the most alert sentry on the walls of the fort. With the chaos raging all around, no one would notice a single rider reaching this spot.
The spot where Slocum saw fresh hoofprints indicated that Magee—or someone—had come here within the past hour. Considering the frenetic battle, Slocum guessed whoever had come here had done so in the past few minutes. He dismounted and walked forward, now in plain view of anyone on the fort wall. From the decrease in gunfire, Slocum knew the fight was about over. Those outlaws not killed were on the run. Before the soldiers from Fort Gibson chased after them, they would consult with Captain Langmuir.
Slocum stopped dead in his tracks. The rider preceding him had dismounted and sent his horse running off, only the horse had not gone more than a few yards. Slocum saw it grazing at a clump of particularly juicy grass made tastier by the heavy rains. The horse might have thrown its rider—Slocum found boot prints going to the palisade. It didn’t take more than a few seconds of searching to find where someone had dug out dirt at the base of a post so that he could squeeze into the fort.
“Magee,” Slocum said. He knew where the major would be.
Slocum was either bulkier than Clayton Magee or not as driven. He lost a considerable amount of skin by wiggling between the rough-hewn posts in the palisade. Slocum got to his feet and ran straight for the quarters where Louisa had waved good-bye to him.
To his right he saw Isaiah Langmuir and a cavalry colonel talking. Not far away Sarah Beth stood, gazing lovingly at her captain.
“Louisa,” Slocum said under his breath as he doubled his speed. He neared the small cabin and caught sight of Louisa Magee through the single window. She backed away, hands outstretched in front of her as if to push someone away.
Slocum took the three steps in a single bound and tried to get the door open. It was barred on the inside. He stepped back and kicked as hard as he could. The door splintered and let him reach inside to pull free the chair blocking its opening.
He stumbled in, six-shooter drawn.
“Clayton, don’t do it.”
“You betrayed me. There was no kidnapper. No one kidnapped you. That woman took only Sarah Beth. She’s my little girl, and she’s dead because of you. You’re responsible for my little girl dying. You never could do anything right.”
“Clayton, she’s alive. Look out on the parade ground. Sarah Beth’s out there.”
“You fooled around behind my back.” Magee ignored Slocum and stared at his wife.
“You never let me out of the house! You kept me a prisoner!” Louisa looked at Slocum, silently pleading for him to help her.
“For your own good,” Magee said, advancing. He held a knife. “I’m going to punish you, Louisa. It’s for your own good. You need to learn to obey your husband.”
“Magee,” Slocum shouted. “Drop the knife.” It was as if Clayton Magee had turned stone deaf. He kept moving toward Louisa. His world had collapsed into just one thing: vengeance on a wife he thought had betrayed him.
“Magee, stop!” Slocum rushed forward and swung his six-gun as hard as he could at the man’s head. The barrel grazed Magee’s temple, but the man never took notice. Slocum slammed the gun down on Magee’s wrist in an attempt to make him drop the knife.
This got the major’s attention. Magee snarled and grappled with Slocum, the knife still clutched in his fist.
“You! You’re the one she’s screwing!”
Slocum found himself pressed back with manic fury. He winced as the knife slicked along his leg, but he kept his balance. Somehow, his six-shooter came up and fired. Magee never flinched and kept fighting. A second shot. Still no effect. Slocum thought he had missed. He dropped his six-gun and grabbed Magee’s wrist with both of his hands to force the blade away.
Clayton Magee suddenly went limp and collapsed to the floor. Slocum stared at him in disbelief. How could he have been so dangerous one instant and dead the next?
“You had to do it, John. You saved my life.”
“And mine, too, I reckon.” He rolled Magee over. Both shots had gone through the man’s heart, but it had taken him a long time before his fury gave way to his death. Never had Slocum seen a man so driven by anger and madness.
He heard steps behind him. Slocum turned, ready to use his six-shooter, but saw Sarah Beth Magee in the doorway.
“You killed Papa!” the woman screamed. Before Slocum could say a word, she whirled about and ran from the room, sobbing. Slocum turned and looked at Louisa. He wasn’t sure what he read on her face.
It was time for him to be moving on. He slid his six-shooter back into his holster and headed for the door.
28
“That’s quite a show,” Louisa Magee said. She moved a little closer to Slocum as they watched the troops marching past on the parade ground before stopping in precise ranks to face a small platform on the far side of the grounds. Two buglers dueled each other and a drummer worked even harder to drown them out. The troopers looked crisp and alert in spite of the sultry day as they went through their presentation of arms.
“It’s certainly Captain Langmuir’s day. He’s supposed to get a medal and command of the fort,” Slocum said. He also saw how Sarah Beth sat on the platform, her eyes fixed lovingly on the officer.
“It’ll be Sarah Beth’s, too,” Louisa said. “She thinks the captain will propose to her after the ceremony.”
“Congratulations,” Slocum said.
“She hates you, you know.”
Slocum shrugged that off. He had killed Clayton Magee because he had no other option.
“Better me killing the major than her beau doing it. I’m not sure she’d want to marry Langmuir if he had been the one coming face-to-face with . . . that problem.”
“There’s no need to pussyfoot around it, John. You killed that horrible son of a bitch.”
Slocum looked at her. The woman had her blond hair pulled back and neatly tucked under a broad-brimmed hat. From somewhere she had found a decent dress for the ceremony.
“Why aren’t you on the platform?” Slocum asked.
“Because you’re here,” she said, reaching over and taking his hand. She squeezed down hard on it. “I’ve been through too many ceremonies like this. Clayton forced me to attend too many.” She turned and started t
oward the door leading into the small cabin. Slocum stayed put. Louisa looked at him, but did not release his hand.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“I want to have a celebration I can appreciate,” she said. “I want a celebration for us both. A celebration of life, not death.” Louisa tugged harder on his hand. This time Slocum followed her inside. He kicked the door shut and blocked out only a little of the loud drums and bugles. The speeches hadn’t even begun yet. From the way the colonel from Fort Gibson went on when he wasn’t in front of a big audience, with a captive audience he would take more than an hour before presenting the medal to Isaiah Langmuir. How long the captain would speak was something of a mystery to Slocum.
What wasn’t a mystery was how Louisa had gone to the bedroom door and turned, framed by the light behind her. In silhouette, she began to slowly undress for Slocum. She shimmied and the dress slithered down her body, giving Slocum a view of her flaring hips, trim waist, and shapely legs. When she turned sideways, he saw her breasts in profile. Continuing with her striptease, she stepped out of the undergarments and turned back to him, arms outstretched.
“This is the prettiest sight I have ever seen.”
“No lies, John. Just make love to me.”
“No lies,” he said. “You’re beautiful.” And she was. If Sarah Beth matured into a woman half this appealing, Langmuir was a lucky man. Slocum went to Louisa and put his hands around the small of her back.
She trembled at his touch. He pulled her closer and felt her breasts crush against his chest. Even through his coat, vest, and shirt, he felt the hard points of her nipples growing even harder with lust. Moving his hands lower, he cupped her firm buttocks. Then he kissed her.
It started as friendly, then got serious. Passion began building in him until he could not control himself. His lips crushed hers and then moved around to nibble and lick at her earlobe. She moaned softly, then gasped as he worked even lower to the hollow of her neck—and lower.
His tongue lavished broad, slow licks across her breasts. He paid special attention to the woman’s nips, sucking and kissing and licking until Louisa began to swoon.
“I’m on fire inside, John. I want more.”
“More like this?” He dropped to his knees and pressed his face into the woman’s fragrant bush. His tongue snaked out and found the rim of her heated center. Around and around he raced until those nether lips trembled. Then he thrust his tongue hard into her.
Louisa staggered back and collapsed onto the bed. She propped herself up on her hands and lifted her feet to the bed, wantonly opening herself to him.
“I want more than your tongue in me. You know what I mean, too.”
Slocum shucked out of his coat and vest. He pulled his shirt off over his head and stood bare-chested. Louisa watched his every move. He dropped his gun belt to the floor and then worked to unbutton his jeans. He found that he wasn’t working fast enough for her. Louisa sat up and surged forward, grabbing hold and pulling him forward.
It was his turn to gasp with pleasure as she applied her mouth and sucked and kissed. Still, she stopped after a few ecstatic seconds.
Louisa leaned back on the bed again, this time reaching down between her legs.
“Here, John. I want you here.”
He did not need to be told twice. His hardness brushed along her nether lips and found the dampness welling out from her heated core. He positioned himself and then moved forward inexorably. She cried out. He stopped, thinking he must be hurting her.
“So good, so good,” she gasped out. “Don’t stop now, damn you, make me forget. Take me away from all this.”
He continued slipping into her tightness until she surrounded him totally. He began a slow rotation while entirely within her. This produced a loud gasp. He felt her tighten even more around him. He wanted to stay like this forever, looking down into her desire-racked face, seeing her tits bob about, feeling her tense and relax around him. It should last forever. But the pressure deep within his loins began to build, warning him of what was to come.
Slocum started thrusting with short, quick strokes that burned them both with erotic friction. He reached around her and grabbed her rump again, this time pulling her up off the bed so he could enter her at new and excitingly different angles. When she began thrashing about, he shoved his hips forward, trying to bury himself completely within her. She cried out as he spilled his seed.
He sank down on top of her, kissed her, and rolled to one side. Louisa turned to circle his leg with both of hers. She rubbed her crotch against him like a cat stropping up against a chair leg. Clinging tightly to him, she simply lay with her cheek pressed into his bare chest.
“How long do you think the speechifying will go on?” Slocum asked.
“Uh? Oh, a while. Why?”
“We’ve got time.”
“For what?” she asked.
He showed her.
“We will track down those outlaws who escaped capture,” Captain Langmuir said, “and bring them to justice. There will no longer be such lawlessness in Indian Territory.”
Slocum thought the captain’s speech was more for the benefit of Les Vannover, sitting at the far end of the platform, than for the soldiers. Most of the troopers would return to Fort Gibson now that the danger from Clayton Magee was past. It would take a month or longer for Fort Supply to get back to full complement and possibly longer, depending on those horse soldiers’ training, to get out in the field. By then, any of Magee’s men that had escaped would be long gone.
Slocum looked over his shoulder in the direction of the cabin where Louisa still lay in bed asleep. He had crept out like a thief in the night, not wanting to wake her. Or was that the reason? Trying to figure out such things was too hard for him.
The captain had his medal. Sarah Beth had her man. Marshal Vannover was recovering and would return to Charity a more respected man, if not a hero in his own right. Slocum went to the stable and saddled his paint. He had a promise to keep, and time was nigh for him to get on with it.
29
Gunfire drew Slocum because it was not a single discharge but a steady staccato burst from a Gatling gun. For three days he had tracked the wagon carrying the stolen weapon, and for the past few hours Slocum figured he was not the only one on the trail. Not more than three other horses had crossed the track and then begun following. He worried that the outlaws might be re-forming, but the gunfire told him that was not the case.
He rode down the center of the meandering valley, heading in the direction of the skirmish. Before he saw the main battlefield, he caught sight of a blue-uniformed soldier with a carbine hunkered down behind a tree, intent on someone ahead.
The dead horse some distance away showed that this trooper had ridden into a hail of bullets from the Gatling gun and was lucky to be alive. From the way he fired, he was no green soldier out on his first patrol. He sighted carefully and squeezed off each round. There was no hint of rush to his reply. Slocum hoped the others riding with this soldier were as experienced in combat.
He rode away from the soldier, slowly working his way forward until he came to a clearing where he got a better look at the fight. Albert Kimbrell stood in the wagon, turning the crank on the Gatling gun, while two of his cronies worked to remove and replace empty magazines. A third outlaw sat cross-legged in the wagon, frantically loading more magazines from boxes of cartridges. The wagon had been parked in a secure spot, partly protected from attack by low rocks. Being high enough to shoot over the boulders gave Kimbrell an advantage against only three soldiers.
Two of the soldiers were still mounted, further reducing the chance that Kimbrell’s position would be taken by a full assault.
Slocum drew his rifle and dismounted. He made certain his paint was out of the line of fire, then began climbing an oak tree with sturdy limbs. Up and up he went until he got to within ten feet of the top. Slocum edged out on a limb and found a tunnel through the leaves for a good shot. He levered a round into
the chamber and rested his rifle on the palm of his hand.
The gunfire went on, with the Gatling gun no longer spewing forth as much lead. Slocum watched closely, and decided the owlhoot loading the magazines was falling behind. There was a way to make him fall even further behind.
Finger coming back just as he exhaled, Slocum sent a slug flying the two hundred yards to its target. He had hoped for a killing shot. The man had moved after Slocum fired. The bullet caught him in the arm, causing him to send a box of cartridges skittering around the wagon bed. This caused enough confusion among the outlaws that they stopped firing.
Slocum saw the three soldiers advance, carefully picking their new posts and not risking getting shot. With a little more help, the trio of soldiers might capture Kimbrell and his men.
A second shot found its mark. The outlaw with the empty magazines tumbled over the side of the wagon, taking at least one of the partially loaded columns of bullets with him. Slocum could not hear what Kimbrell said, but he knew how angry the man became.
The Gatling gun opened up on him. Splinters and sap flew from the oak limbs all around. Shredded leaves blew about like a green hailstorm. And then there was nothing more. Slocum wiped sap from his face and smiled.
The Gatling had to be empty now. Kimbrell cranked furiously, but nothing happened. He shoved another of the outlaws, who jumped to the ground and fetched a rifle.
Slocum tried to take out the man on the ground, but the angle was wrong and the rocks got in the way. He saw his bullet kick up a dusty patch along the top of one stone and then go sailing off harmlessly.
This gave the three soldiers the chance to advance again. They moved systematically, firing as they went. Another of Kimbrell’s men bit the dust.
Seeing his small gang being reduced, Kimbrell shoved the remaining two forward and barked orders. Slocum could not hear what Kimbrell said, but he guessed. “Don’t let them get any closer. Kill them!”
Kimbrell jumped over the side of the wagon and headed into a wooded area. Before he saw Kimbrell come riding out, Slocum was already climbing down from the oak tree. He knew there was a chase ahead of him—and then he would face a cornered rat. For Slocum, that was just fine.
