Slocum and the Big Horn Trail

by Jake Logan

From time to time, he looked up at the hillside to the south, which was dotted with snow spots, and once he spotted her nearing the top in the trees. So nothing had happened to her—so far. After another half shovel of dirt and gravel thrown out, he was knee-deep in a narrow three-by-six grave. He never stopped. The sun reached near noon and he was wondering about her when he heard horses coming up the valley.

  He reached for his rifle and climbed out. When he stood on the edge of the grave, he could see by all the hats that it must be a posse. Many of the men were dressed in suits and all carried long guns. Where was Lilly?

  No sign of her in the crowd of men as they pounded up the valley. Someone noticed him above them on the rise. He shouted to the rest and guns came up. Wiser souls prevailed. The sheriff in the lead, his polished silver badge making a good target, scolded them and halted the posse.

  He rode forward on a stout buckskin and nodded to Slocum. “Who died here?”

  “Yesterday? Or two days before that?”

  “Huh?” The sheriff’s large black eyebrows formed a single line in his frown.

  “Mrs. McCullem’s husband and his foreman were shot and mutilated a few days ago over near Elk Creek,” said Slocum.

  “Oh, no. You found them?”

  Slocum looked at the bleary-eyed posse members who were waiting for his answer, and he nodded. “We found their bodies yesterday. They’d been murdered and scalped.”

  “We need the army up here,” someone said.

  “Yeah, instead of sitting on their asses over there at the fort.” Other complaints spread through the men on horseback.

  The sheriff held up his hand for silence. “Who burned the cabin?”

  “Same ones killed my friends Cutter and Roland.” Slocum indicated the two bodies.

  “That makes seven murders,” the sheriff said with a grim set to his mouth and dismounted. “Rube Yarnell and his two sons were murdered and scalped outside of town.”

  “Renegades?” Slocum asked with a frown.

  “There was a breed in town earlier flashing new gold double eagles. He made a big order, left the store to supposedly get his pack animals, and never returned. We thought the Yarnells tangled with him. But one man couldn’t have killed those three by himself.”

  “Describe him—this breed,” Slocum said, feeling edgy about where Lilly was.

  “Short, maybe five-seven. Reddish braids.”

  “A scar on his right cheek?”

  The sheriff nodded. “You know him?”

  “Red Dog. He’s wanted in Montana for a stage robbery. Rides with a Sioux breed named Snake and a black calls himself Tar Boy.”

  “Maybe they helped him kill the Yarnells?”

  “And made it look like renegades did it.”

  “Damn, I never thought about that.” The sheriff shook his head as if upset. “Reckon they killed McCullem and his companion too?”

  Slocum nodded. “That might explain the gold coins he had. McCullem, according to his wife, had lots of money on him from the cattle sale in Montana.”

  “Where is she, by the way? She came up here—”

  “Riding right up the valley behind you.” Slocum gave a nod in her direction as he saw her coming leading the pack animals.

  “Oh, yes. Lovely woman,” the sheriff said, and removed his hat.

  Very lovely. Slocum gave an exhale of relief. She looked fine riding up on the sorrel.

  “Gents,” he said to get their attention as they all watched her. “I have four graves to dig. I’d sure appreciate some help.”

  “Sure,” several replied. They didn’t look at him, though. Lilly was the center of their attention and they all rushed over to help hold the leads, take the bodies of McCullem and his foreman, and fall over each other to impress her.

  She directed the unloading of the supplies, the scrounging for firewood, the preparation of the campfire, and nodded to Slocum that she had matters in hand. “Food shortly.”

  Satisfied, he went up to the site of the grave digging. Two other small shovels had come from the posse’s things. Dirt was flying like three badgers were at work. Slocum squatted down to observe, reminded of all the sore muscles in his back and ribs as another man used his tool to pry out the dirt.

  “What happened to Davis?” the sheriff asked, joining Slocum. “This used to be his place.”

  “He was dead when I got here. A wounded grizzly got him the day before. I shot the bear and found a Shoshone girl here that Davis had kidnapped down on the Wind River.”

  The sheriff, Albert Hankins, a man in his forties with a full mustache that he needed to mash down with the web of his hand, nodded. “Where’s she at now?”

  “No sign or trace of her around here. The renegades must have her.”

  “Holy cow, Slocum, this business up here gets worse and worse the more I learn about it. You think that this Red Dog may have killed McCullem?”

  “He got those gold coins somewhere and it wasn’t by working. She said her husband had lots of money on him. He was a man who did not trust banks and usually demanded gold over paper money.”

  “Exactly,” Hankins agreed. “You know where Red Dog’s at?”

  “Some cave or cabin, I’d bet, hiding out.”

  “That’s a big order. It’ll have to wait. I better check on these renegades, though. Maybe send them back home before they do cause problems. These town fellas don’t mind one night away from mamma, but any longer, they get restless. What will you do?”

  “Send Mrs. McCullem back with you once we have her husband buried, and then if you’ll check on the renegades and try to recover Easter, I’ll search for Red Dog. Maybe I can recover the money for Lilly.”

  “Renegades or someone killed them two.” Hankins tossed a few clods at the bodies of the cowboys.

  “I don’t aim to be on that list.”

  Hankins nodded. “Neither did they.”

  Slocum agreed. Cutter and Roland had had no such ambition to be magpie bait either, that was for sure.

  10

  Red Dog decided the money belt felt uncomfortable to lie on as he studied the smoke coming from the low-walled cabin’s rock chimney. He’d seen the white woman come out twice. Once, earlier, with a bucket to milk the yellow and white cow. Later, she fed the chickens who were scratching and fluffing themselves in dirt wallows around the place. At her first “Chick, chick” call to them, dusty red hens from four directions came on the run to peck at the scattered grain.

  He studied the brown mesas and the junipers that dotted the valley. Less grass and drier down here, but a better place to winter than up in the high country. No man on the place—where was he? This might be ideal for them to hole up.

  The horses she kept in the corral were work horses—not worth much. Her blue hound had scented him once or twice and bawled. His effort caused her to squint around at the surrounding country, but she didn’t pay much more attention than that one good scan with her hand up for a shade from the glare.

  Dog went back to his horse and rode to their camp. He dismounted and gave Mia the reins. Without a word for her, he went to the campfire and poured himself a cup of coffee,

  Busy whittling on some red cedar with his jackknife, Tar Boy, sitting cross-legged in the shade, nodded at his arrival. “You’s learn anything down there?”

  “Her man ain’t there. Where’s Snake?”

  Tar Boy looked taken aback by the news. “Lordy, she’s a Mormon widow.”

  “Huh?” Dog frowned at him over the steaming cup.

  “Dey’s puts their extree wives and kids out in places like that to run ranches and him have a new young wife at home to break in.”

  “How you know about that?”

  Tar Boy rubbed the whisker bristles around his mouth and then showed his teeth in a big grin. “I learned all about it in Idee-hoe. Found me one of them widows. I cut her plenty of firewood. Helped her butcher and smoke two big hawgs. I even helped her mark some mavericks on the range.”

  “What did she
pay you?” Dog asked, doubting his story.

  Tar Boy grinned. “Aw, she done paid me every night lying on her back in that feather bed. Whew-ee, that was sure fine pay too.”

  Dog frowned at him in disbelief. “What happen when her husband come there?”

  “I just stayed up in them hills. He only come by once a month, and den he never stayed long.”

  “Why did you leave her then?”

  “I don’t know. She got real mad at me one day about sump’n and I just rode off. Boy, it made me sick for days too. You know you get use to having a big hard-on every day, it ain’t easy to get over it.”

  “You ever go back?”

  Tar Boy shook his head and scratched his kinky scalp. “Wasn’t no need. ’Sides, I done stole three good horses from a rancher nearby after I left her and they knowed I done it. So I cleared out of Idee-hoe.”

  “I see. We need to sneak up and take this one. I don’t care if you screw this widow to death. We’ll use her place to stay this winter and when the grass breaks in the spring, we can go south to Arizona.”

  “What if her husband comes by?”

  Dog used the side of his left hand to slide over his throat. Then he reached for the coffee cup. He finished it in time to watch Mia run back from unsaddling his horse.

  “Fix us some food. We got work to do.” He shot a glance at Tar Boy. “Go find Snake. We need to take her today. I’m tired of sleeping on the ground.”

  “You sure be in a rush.” Tar Boy pushed off to go locate the breed.

  Rush—he’d think rush. Maybe Dog would kick him good sometime. He’d’ve done it then, but he needed him to make sure nothing went wrong when they took over this ranch. Him and Snake both. If those dummies hadn’t burned that cabin, they could have stayed up on Trooper’s Creek—but they were so damn sure that Tom White was inside the cabin when it burned up and that he was dead. That Shoshone girl would entertain Snake for a while, even if she never talked. Not bad-looking, but Dog didn’t trust her—she might be a witch. Let Snake screw her to death—but if she ever used her witchcraft on them or he even thought she did, he’d kill that bitch.

  After they ate, Dog sat at the campfire, fretting that the money that White had stolen from him in Montana had burned up in the cabin. Then he felt the heavy belt around his waist and smiled. He’d hold that much out of their share too. They should have got that money off White first. No chance, they’d said. They’d jumped the girl going for water and the two men were holed up in the cabin.

  Snake shot a lot of arrows around to make it look like the renegades did it. Pretty smart of them—it and the killing of them hunters all pointed to those dumb Sioux bucks he’d defeated the day before up in the high country. Good, they could take all the blame. In a few hours, Dog and the others would have a roof over their heads and a place to hide out.

  “Hurry up,” he shouted at Mia as she rushed around loading their mules.

  They left their camp and rode south off the mountaintop into the canyon country. At sundown, they watered their animals in the Powder River near its source, crossed it, and headed for the isolated ranch. Sundown caught them moving in a long line.

  Snake took point, and in a few hours they rested close to the woman’s place on a small stream. Without a fire, they gnawed hard jerky, huddled under blankets, and said little.

  “I’ll catch her going to milk in the morning,” Dog said, and the other two nodded in the starlight.

  “The dog?” Snake asked.

  “You can sneak down there tonight and cut his throat,” Dog said, knowing what the breed wanted to do. Probably cook him. He’d never had any craving for dog meat, but Mia and Snake would eat every bite of it and suck the bone marrow. His mother would have joined them at the feast—maybe the white blood in him was the reason he’d never liked it.

  He was grateful he’d be down there waiting to ambush her while they ate the blue dog for their morning meal. Maybe that woman’d have some real food—eggs, pork meat, bread. He’d have her fix him some. Yes, have a feast.

  Snake returned an hour later dragging the dog’s carcass behind him in the moonlight. As if shaken by an unseen hand, the dozing Mia awoke, rushed over, and they talked excitedly about their treat. Nauseated over thinking about it, Dog rose and told them he was going down there. They barely nodded to him, engrossed in hanging the carcass up to skin it. He shook his head at them and started down the path through the pearly pungent sagebrush toward the ranch. With the freshly sharpened skinning knife in the scabbard on his hip, he imagined how the woman would pale in desperate fear when he jumped her and held the blade to her neck.

  He reached down and adjusted his half-hard dick. The biggest regret was he hadn’t used it on Mia before he left. Maybe later she’d be in heat after eating that dog meat. A small smile curled his lips—you white bitch, I’m coming for you.

  Squatted in the shadows near her front door, he wished for a blanket to ward off the breath of old man winter, so cold at this time of day. The moon was far in the west, and dawn had not brought its rosy lavender to the range in the east. He heard sounds of things hitting each other inside that tensed him to get ready. She must be stoking her fireplace or stove. He’d like to hold his hands out to such warmth.

  His shoulders hunched over against the cold, he readied himself to spring on her back. Over and over in the night, he’d planned and replanned how he would take her. Then the door bolt sounded and he saw her slip out with a bucket on her arm and close the door.

  Before she could turn back, he sprang up, had hold of her, and had his knife’s edge laid on her throat. She sucked in her breath.

  “Don’t move, bitch, or you’ll be dead.”

  “Yes,” she managed.

  “Open the door,” he said. “We’re going back inside.”

  “Yes. But I don’t have any money.”

  He reached down with the hand around the front of her and squeezed her breast. “Who says I want your money?”

  The door swung open and he saw no one. She swallowed hard in his grip, and stumbled some as he pressed his body to her back to force her to move inside the candlelit interior.

  On his first inspection of the large room, he spotted the flames in the fireplace and herded her over there. On the braided rug before the hearth, he released her and told her to undress.

  “But—but—”

  He waved the knife in her troubled face. “Undress or I’ll shred your dress.”

  His left hand shot out and grasped a handful of the sleeve top, and he sliced off a patch of the material and shoved it in her face.

  She gasped and shrank away from him. “You’re mad.”

  His eyes narrowed when she did not obey him. “No, I am half white, half red man. That makes me much worse than either.”

  “All right, all right,” she said, and began fumbling with the buttons. The red highlights from the fire shone on her trembling fingers as she hurried to open them. Soon the snow-white skin on her chest was exposed, along with the breasts that were pointed with dark-ringed nipples puckered by the cool air despite the reflective heat.

  He stared at her actions. Filled with impatience, he stepped in and jerked the top down to expose her breasts. When she tried to move back, he jerked her up close and holding her, rubbed her breast hard with his other palm and fondled it.

  “Get that dress off!”

  Red-faced, she cowered and hurried faster to obey. When she was naked at last, he pushed her backward toward the quilt-topped bed, ignoring her protests. After a final shove, she bounced her butt on the bed. Staring hard at her pale face, he unbuttoned his shirt, undid the money belt and hung it over a chair, then his gun belt, and toed off his boots.

  “I’m going to enjoy you—squaw!” His pants down, he stepped out of them.

  Then he pushed her down on the bed, felt for his erection with his other hand. It was ready to rip her apart. He climbed on the bed. Then he roughly raised and spread her thighs apart. She knew the drill. With a grin
on his mouth, he moved between them and sent his aching hard-on into her gates.

  All at once, she looked up at him in wide-eyed shock and disbelief.

  “Why, damn, woman, you ain’t even got all my dick in you—”

  “We’s sorry,” Tar Boy said close to his ear. His words made gooseflesh pop out all over Dog’s bare skin. “But you’s ain’t been fair to us. You’s can have this wrinkle-bellied white woman. We’s taking Mia, the money, and the hosses. Don’t follow us either ’cause we’s will sure ’nough kill you.”

  Then the white woman screamed and Dog’s lights went out from some hard blows to his head.

  11

  Slocum blew the steam off the cup of coffee that Lilly brought him. The sun was about to set, and the deer shot earlier by one of the posse members was roasting over the fire. The men appeared to have that job under control. She squatted beside him.

  “What are your plans?” she asked.

  “The posse is going to try to find the renegades. I’m going after Red Dog if I can find him and try to get your money back.”

  She nodded. “Where will you ever find them?”

  “They’ll show up or I’ll cut some sign.”

  “The sheriff is convinced that this Red Dog killed my husband and Blake.”

  “The money points that way.” Slocum tried the coffee, but it was still too hot.

  “I want to hire you to find this Red Dog.”

  “I planned to go recover the money if I could.”

  “Where?”

  He rubbed his left palm on top of his leg. “He probably isn’t far.”

  “Will he run now that he’s killed the Yarnells?”

  “These mountains are a better place to hide than to get out in the open. He keeps a squaw, so he’s not liable to run off and splurge in some whorehouse in Cheyenne or Denver.”

  She laughed quietly. “Is that where robbers go?”

  “Tom Purple and his gang spent the entire amount of their Union Pacific robbery in Norma Jean’s place in four nights down in Denver’s red-light district.”

  “And—”