by Jake Logan
“We have never met,” Paul said, shaking his hand. “You here on business, if I may ask?”
“Only to see her, and then I must go.”
“You know things in New Mexico are not well. We have many bandits and the law sits on its hands. I could use a man like you in my business.”
“Your business?”
“Yes, I have a large family ranch. There are people who do not respect the fact my family has owned this land for a century and a half.
“They drive their cattle on our range and won’t move them. Haul them to court, such a thing can take years, with delays and other things, before a judge will finally say—they don’t belong there.”
“I have many things I must do,” said Slocum. “Sorry, I cannot help you.”
“So am I sorry, too, for I see in you the man I need for this job.”
Paul excused himself, and as Slocum watched the man leave, Mary took hold of Slocum’s face and made him kiss her on the mouth. Slocum had forgotten how small her mouth was. His tongue filled it. Pressed hard to her, he felt the fire in her rising. His hand moved to feel her small breasts underneath the dress’s lacy material.
She winked at him and pushed her chest at his hand. Then the band began playing a waltz. “I want to dance more. Soon you will leave me.”
“Let us dance.” They were soon on the smooth floor dancing across the corn meal that smoothed the less polished boards underfoot.
“That man Paul, he might pay you well for such a job.” They swirled through the others.
“Would you come and be my wife while I worked for him?”
She frowned. “I’d never make a good wife for very long.”
“I’d need a good wife to go with me out there.”
“I would bet you can’t even see a mountain from out there.”
“Who needs mountains?”
She wrinkled her nose. “And the heat waves would make you think you were drunk every day. We better go to my place.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to cry in public.”
“Cry in public?”
“Yes.” She pushed on his chest to make him leave the dance floor. “You asked me to be your wife—” She sniffed. “And like a damn fool I turned you down.”
“It was only for—”
“Only for—” She blew her nose and tears sparkled in her lashes. “Hurry, please,” she said as he put on his coat.
“I am hurrying.”
Outside in the frigid night, she hugged him tight. “I know. I know. You could never stay on that ranch forever. Those Kansas deputies would show up looking for you. But—oh, Slocum—I would love to have you for as long as it would last.”
“Tomorrow I need to go down to Bernallio and find a man.”
“What did he do?”
“Robbed several stages.”
“Then what?”
“There is a gang of outlaws exploiting ranchers up north.”
Under his arm, she snuggled against him as they went down the stone sidewalk. “I hate it. I hate it.”
“Won’t do any good.”
“Those stairs,” she said, “go to my room.” And she guided him to the base of the stairs.
He searched the dark night, and then nodded for her to go up first. On her heels, he went upstairs. At the top, she indicated the neat stack of wood beside the door and he took an armful inside.
She swept the hat off his head and let him go to the hearth. The fire was dead, and on his knees, he began making kindling with his knife, and soon struck a match to it. The pine shavings burst into flames, and he put the split wood over it. Soon, they would have heat.
In a few moments, she returned with blankets and a down comforter she spread on the floor before the emerging fire. “It will be warmer here than in the bed.”
She took his coat and replaced it with a blanket over his shoulder. “There. I need you every night to make my fires. Mine never start that fast.”
He unbuckled his gun, wrapped it up, and set it close by. The fire’s growing flames were beginning to issue some heat and light the room up, casting his and her shadows on the wall.
She returned with a bottle of red wine, and on her knees before him she offered him some. He took a deep drink of the sweet grape, and then wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. She took the bottle and did the same. Then she bent over and kissed him.
“This will be a night I want to remember as I think how I could have had so many more such private fandangos with you.”
He reached out and began to undo the tiny buttons one at a time on the front of her dress. It was really a blouselike top, and he knew that down by her waist it would be open. He went button by button in the fiery light to expose the snowy skin of her throat and chest. Then, when he reached the last button, he spread the blouse open more and gently cupped her small breasts.
She swooned, and put her hands on his shoulders, pressing the nipples against his palms. He bent over and kissed the right nipple, then the left, and she clutched him to it.
“Don’t quit.”
He wouldn’t quit. She had no worries. It tasted like candy to him, and he was starved for more. While he sipped on her buds, she worked to shed her skirt and not interfere with what he was doing. At last, she pushed him back, and rose to get the skirt untangled from her legs and toss it in a chair.
He sat back and admired her willowy figure in the orange glow. Her legs were long, and would have taken any man’s breath away. Her butt was small and her hips narrow—he could span her waist with both hands thumb to thumb—but the sight of her slender figure in the buff was enough to give him a hard-on when she dropped back on her knees before him.
She snatched up the wine bottle and offered him more. He took a swig, and then she did the same.
“I need that for courage to be here with you like this.”
“Are you cold?”
“No, but I never undressed like this for anyone. Not even when I was married. He never ever saw me undressed.”
“How did you make love?”
“Under the covers. I raised my nightgown up a short ways.”
Slocum reached out and hugged her. “Then why do this for me?”
“I can see in your eyes how much you enjoy it.” She shrugged her thin shoulders and gave him a smug look. “Besides, it gets me all tingling, too.”
“Good.”
The logs were crackling in the hearth beside them, and she was flat on her back on top of the comforter. His hands had explored her entire body, and at last she’d raised her knees and spread them apart inviting his attention. Like a serpent, his palm ran over her small mound of pubic hair and his finger found the moist source. He probed her to the second knuckle, and she clutched his hand and nodded her head for him to start.
He shed boots, outer clothes, and underwear in record time, and moved between her snowy legs, and she lifted her butt off the comforter to receive him. A cry came from her when he plunged inside her, and his hips began to ache to poke her into the tile floor.
Sweat soon lubricated his muscle-corded belly rubbing on hers as they struggled for an end—a giant display of fireworks to shower down on them. Their breathing became shorter and more labored. She clutched him, wild with her possession and pleasure’s fast song.
Then, with a gurgling in his throat, he began to arch his back to drive the hard-rock spear deep into her contractions. And she made a nasal sound that met his explosion inside her, and they collapsed in a pile.
She fought the hair back from her face with her fingers and blinked her dazed-looking eyes. “Don’t leave me. Don’t ever leave me, Slocum.”
“I won’t—tonight,” he promised.
But he did leave her asleep the next morning before sunup. He hurried down the frost-glazed streets to a small café. After breakfast, he rented a livery horse and rode south down the Camino Real.
How long would she have lasted on that flat prairie country being his wife? A week, not mo
re than two, and by then she’d have worn out every deck of cards on the ranch playing cards with herself. Then, she’d have to go to town—not to shop, but to beat a few good old boys at poker. Then, she’d be satisfied to go back to the ranch. Then, the next week, she’d be begging to go back again, and then, every day it would be an issue.
He rode south and threw her kiss. Mary, I love you, but you ain’t meant for that kind of a life. Keep dealing cards and raking in the money. Somehow, he needed her name off that Wells Fargo list—he’d figure a way to do that.
19
Slocum sat cross-legged on the rise under a mesquite tree and scoped the Moores’ farmhouse. There were dried yellow corn stalks all stacked up and several stacks of alfalfa hay. Moore milked several cows, and with his wife had gone to the barn early that day armed with milk pails. The dairy stock made lots of noise and filed in and out of the barn when he called for them. No sign of the road agent.
If Slocum wanted to, he could shoot One-Eye on sight and collect his pay. Wells Fargo would consider it fine with them—just so the bastard didn’t come back and rob another shipment of theirs. But Slocum wasn’t their executioner. They could hire someone else for that job.
The morning passed and no One-Eye. Moore even drove off to town with his milk. And she did the washing and hung it on the line. This far south, the day warmed up fast, and his spot on the hill overlooking the irrigated farm was not that cold to begin with. With no luck by late afternoon, he rode back to town and told the liveryman that he wanted to rent the bay horse the next day.
He found a cantina, and soon was drinking what the bartender called the coldest beer in New Mexico. Lukewarm was what he considered it. Maybe that was as cold as it got this far south. He talked to the small Mexican man for a while, and learned about some woman One-Eye Davis was seeing. Her name was Gonzales and she lived near the pueblo. That didn’t make much sense because pueblos were all over New Mexico. But for two silver dollars he found out she lived north of town, and the bartender’s mind became much clearer and he drew Slocum a map to her location.
It was too late for him to wander around in the dark and risk getting bitten by dogs, so he went and found supper, then slept in his bedroll in the livery. Before sunup, he had the Gonzales place in view. In the corral, he found a horse with saddle scars on his withers, and he felt better. The area between the corral and the jacal was open, bare ground.
In the soft purple light, he crossed it, and his heart beat hard when he stopped at the side of the front door. Using his pistol butt, he pounded on the door and then stepped aside—in case.
“Who is there? Who is there?”
“The sheriff,” Slocum shouted. “And my men are all around the house. All of you come out hands high or we’ll open fire on you.”
“What should we do?” the woman inside asked.
“That ain’t the sheriff. He’s Mexican. That’s some fucking bounty hunter. Stay down.”
I’ll show him a fucking bounty man! Slocum cocked his six-gun, then used his boot to smash the door open and rushed inside. One-Eye whirled around with a gun in hand and Slocum shot him. The outlaw’s pistol rolled over in his fingers. His knees buckled. The woman screamed and fainted. One-Eye fell facedown.
Slocum moved around him, picked up his pistol, which was lying on the floor, and stepped over her. There were Wells Fargo canvas sacks in a pile in the corner—all empty. He went back to where the woman was sitting up on her butt looking woozy-eyed in the gun smoke’s haze.
“Where’s the money and gold?”
“He don’t have any—”
Slocum holstered the gun in his belt and put his hands on his hips. “Lady, I’ll start by cutting your right ear off if you don’t start telling me where it went.”
“Please don’t hurt me.” The chunky woman in her thirties held up her hands. “There is some hid in here. I don’t know where he hid the rest.”
“Start sacking it.”
“Shouldn’t we get a doctor for him?”
“Where’s all this gold at?”
“The bars are buried. Some of the money is in here.”
“Start sacking it. I’ll see if he’s alive.”
“Who—who are you?”
“The fucking bounty man, I guess. He’d surrendered, he wouldn’t have been shot.” Slocum shook his head in disgust. He knelt down and rolled One-Eye over. He moaned.
“Oh, thank God, he’s still alive,” the woman said.
“Load the money and be quick.”
“I-I know you—you and that fancy bitch,” One-Eye said, and then put his hand to his shoulder. “You shot me.”
“Right. Since you’re going to live, where is all this loot you took?”
“I don’t have it.”
“I’ll find it and after I do and dig it up, then you’ll get a doctor’s care.”
One-Eye sat up wincing at the pain and looking at all the blood on his hand from holding the wound. “The gold’s buried in the backyard. That damn stuff’s impossible to sell.”
“I’m going to take you and her to town. Get a doc to patch you up. First show me where to dig for it.” He jerked the struggling One-Eye to his feet by his collar and shoved him to the doorway. “Come on, you’re going, too,” he said to the woman.
“What about all this money?”
“I’ll come back and get it. Come on.” They went out the back way, and he closed the doors. He caught up with them in the middle of the yard.
“Where’s it buried under?”
“Under that old cart,” One-Eye said.
“It better be there.”
“It is.”
“I’m telling you it better all be there.”
He saddled the horse, loaded One-Eye in the saddle, and then the woman on behind him. “Don’t let him fall off,” he told her.
On his livery horse, he led the way back to a doctor’s office, and left One-Eye to be patched, with orders that neither of them were to leave the office until he came for them. After he left them there, he went and telegraphed Thorpe to come down to Bernallio. He had the ringleader and some of the loot. He also left a sealed envelope for Thorpe at the telegraph office with directions in it to the Gonzales house.
Then he found some men hanging around a general store who wanted work. He charged six shovels and two picks to Wells Fargo and sent the men hiking to her place. Next, he swung by the doctor’s office and learned that the bullet was out and One-Eye was bandaged.
He took One-Eye and the woman back to her house, passing the men Slocum had hired walking on the road. They looked puzzled at One-Eye and waved to him.
“See you up there,” he said, and they agreed.
“What will you do with us?” she asked when they had left the men behind.
“Collect the bounty. I’m a fucking bounty hunter.”
She shook her head in disapproval as she rode behind the outlaw.
At the jacal, he put most of his workers to digging. Two of the six were refilling canvas bags with the coins and money that she’d shown him were in the house.
In thirty minutes, he heard shouts outside. They’d found the gold. So he went out there and told them to start packing it into the house. One thing he began to realize as the loot was located. One-Eye had gotten enough loot from the robberies to worry Wells Fargo to death.
Soon, the money was tied shut in the canvas bags, which were put all in a stack. The gold bars were piled in the center of the floor. He gave each worker five dollars, told them they could keep all the shovels and picks, and swore them to secrecy. One-Eye lay on the bed. The woman tended to him, and every time he moaned, she gave him another spoonful of laudanum.
At dark, a wagon drove up and several men in canvas overcoats with shotguns arrived and jumped off the rig. Slocum wondered who they were, and met them with his rifle ready at the front door. “Hold it there. What’s your business here?”
“You must be Slocum. I am George Steele. Dan Thorpe is on his way and wanted to be
sure you had the backing you might need.” He showed him the Wells Fargo badge and a deputy U.S. marshal badge as well. Steele was trying to see past him.
“Who are those others?” Slocum asked.
“Employees of Wells Fargo, sir. How much have you recovered if I may ask?”
Slocum held his hand up to stop them. “First, I want the woman released, she had no part in this. One-Eye Davis used her. I shot him today when he offered resistance and a doctor treated his wounds. He is full of painkiller now, but he cooperated with the recovery of the loot.”
“How much did you recover?”
Slocum blocked the door. “Well?”
“We won’t prosecute her and we will consider his helping you as cooperating with us.”
Slocum stepped back and, filing in the room, they all looked shocked at the loot.
“Load it,” Steele said, and they set down their arms to obey his orders. “You count it?” he asked Slocum.
“No way, but I think all there is left is right here.”
Steele looked amazed as they made trip after trip out to the wagon. “He was responsible for more robberies than we even thought.”
“Him, a kid, and an old drunk. And I guess he never let them have much of it so they wouldn’t be seen spending it and draw attention.”
“Probably. You looking for work?”
“No, sir. But you owe the livery for a horse, and Akins General Store for the shovels and picks. I was out thirty dollars for the labor, and I have some more bills I want paid.”
“I’ll pay the livery and horse bill and the rest. What else?”
Slocum nodded. “Now, there’s reward money on this money and gold?”
“Yes, there is a ten-percent recovery reward. Where should I send it?”
“Don’t send it. You take it to Mary Murphy. She’s a card dealer in the Guadalupe Saloon and Gambling Hall in Santa Fe on the plaza. I also want her name off your wanted list. That embezzlement charge against her was trumped up.”
For a moment, Steele looked like he’d blow up. Then it all faded. “All right, she’s coming off the list.”
